Page 16 of The Yuletide Fairy's Curse
“Tomorrow,” Kolfrosta said. “Puck will come at midday. Take my scepter—it’s how I travel between worlds. The servants will bring you to a side entrance, where the stags will wait with the sleigh. They’ll direct you back to the mortal world for another year.”
“I don’t want you to die,” Dalla whispered.
“It’s not forever,” Kolfrosta said, wiping a tear from Dalla’s face. “Only for a few months, really. I will see you next year at the height of my power.”
Kolfrosta slid from the table and lifted Dalla by the shoulders. She pressed against Dalla’s abdomen, pushing her back onto the table.
“Kolfrosta…” Dalla said.
And then she said no more, because Kolfrosta’s mouth was on her.
CHAPTER 11
Dalla’s sleep that night was fitful. In her dreams, Kolfrosta hovered over her, teeth red with Dalla’s blood. Then, Kolfrosta bowed over a graveyard of Dalla’s family—eleven headstones paired with one open hole for Dalla’s body. Kolfrosta, silver lashes fluttering as she leaned down to give Dalla a kiss; Kolfrosta between Dalla’s thighs, looking up at her with those dark eyes that held a thousand secrets.
Kolfrosta, Kolfrosta, Kolfrosta. Chasing, licking, killing, kissing.
Dalla woke with her heart pounding. Faded daylight flooded the room through the window, an overcast sky’s light reflected from the snow. The sheets were so warm that getting out of them was unthinkable.
These were not her guest rooms, but the rooms of the ruler of this palace. Next to her: Kolfrosta, her captor and, at least once, lover. So much less imposing asleep and bare, her hair tangled up around her shoulders. Her body rose and fell with even breaths. Dalla stroked Kolfrosta’s spine with the back of her finger, pressed a kiss to her skin. Kolfrosta was deep asleep, andthe snow under her skin seemed to slumber too, eddying in lazy circles.
“Happy Yule,” Dalla murmured. It was not lost on her that Kolfrosta’s Yules were far from happy.
Dalla’s stomach rumbled, and in response, a delicious smell filled the room. To the left of the bed, someone had left a tray of food: sweet bread in the shape of a sun and a bowl of something hot. She picked up the bowl. Warmth seeped into her hands, comforting and inviting, and she lifted it to her lips.
Creamy chocolate met her tongue. She took one long sip and then froze. Whatwasthat? The reflection of her eyelashes peered back at her from the murky liquid.
Peppermint. She tasted a hint of peppermint.
Hundreds of times growing up, she’d woken from her feverish nightmares to this beverage. Only one person had ever prepared it for her.
Dalla set the bowl down. “Fonn?” she whispered to the air.
There was no response. But then, the invisible servants had never spoken to her… Because they didn’t know who Dalla was, she realized, hand flying to her mouth. Not anymore, anyway.
Dalla eased herself out of bed, careful not to wake Kolfrosta. She donned her discarded clothes, strapping her dagger around her waist and sliding the lost ring back over her finger.
What other purpose was there in the servants’ invisibility, if not to hide their identities from Dalla? And Kolfrosta had said she was not a murderer, but Dalla wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
It made more sense, then, for Kolfrosta to erase the royal family’s memories and keep them around, serving her until they died. And Dalla’s older sister was among the invisible servants here, perhaps devoid of any memories of her past life.
Even so, enough of Fonn’s mind remained that she prepared Dalla a cup of chocolate with peppermint after witnessing herstruggle in her sleep. Was it similar to muscle memory, Dalla wondered, the way her own arms remembered how to swing a sword? Or did more of her family’s memories remain than base instincts and servitude?
Her mother and father deserved to pay for their actions, Dalla knew from experience and from reliving her mother’s memory. Most of her siblings, too, though Dalla had not been as personally affected by them, only their neglect.
But Fonn? Sweet Fonn, who tucked Dalla into bed? Who gave her her first book and taught her to read? Who protected her when she needed protecting and consoled her through her nervous attacks?
No. Fonn did not deserve the same fate as the rest of her family—of that, Dalla was sure. She needed to get her out of here.
But how?
The answers were in this room, she realized with a jolt. The wooden box under Kolfrosta’s bed—from when Kolfrosta offered Dalla the memories of her first visit—contained a number of baubles. Dalla had assumed some kind of importance regarding herself, like they were allhermemories. She tried to recall how many of them there were. Likely, around a dozen.
One of them had to belong to her sister. If she dashed it on the floor like she did with the others, her sister’s memories would be fully restored.
“Fonn?” Dalla whispered again. “Are you in here?”
The lack of response frustrated her. Fonn had communicated with her by preparing the drink, whether she meant to or not. And Dalla had no way to understand any response from her. Did Fonn remember Dalla’s name? Did she remember anything about who she was before Kolfrosta took her memories?
