Isabelle

When winter has broken through the warm colours of autumn, I teach Eli, Imogen and Astrid how to build snowmen. We start off with a small one, and then make more snow-people so that the little snow-boy won’t feel lonely.

It’s sort of funny to see the look of bewilderment on their faces when I tell them about ordinary things like this. It means that these people are not acting, and I’m not in some false world.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe any of this is real. Other times it’s hard to believe that the life I lived before was even real.

“Isabelle, look!” Eli cries out triumphantly as he sticks a carrot into the snow-boy’s face.

He reminds me so much of my younger brother. My smile plasticizes as I refrain from telling him it looks kind of scary with its nose daggering out from between its eyes.

Sitting on a bench nearby, Bayorn is reading the book Astrid had set down. Every now and then, he smiles to himself.

Kieran has been solemn since this morning. He keeps watching the falling snow, as if fire will materialize from the cold.

Soon I get tired of building an entire army of snow-people. Eli’s insistence on sticking the carrot noses in between – or above – the eyes doesn’t help, either. Out of the corner of my eye, Astrid yawns into her glove.

So I dig my hands into the snow, pat a fistful of it into a perfect ball, and hurl it at her.

She jolts right awake. Her mouth falls open, evidently betrayed. I make another snowball and throw it at Imogen’s back. She yelps in surprise and whirls on her feet.

Before I can giggle to myself, an ice cannonball launches itself into my thigh.

Eli is laughing cruelly.

“Oh, you’re going to get it!” I threaten him, already reaching for more snow. He leaps out of the way of my snowball and squeals in delight.

As I bend over to collect more snow, Eli scrambles to beat me to it. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him aiming in my direction.

I dance out of the way. The snowball sails in the air.

And lands against Kieran’s shoulder.

Everyone stills.

Irritation flickers across his features as he is dragged out of his contemplation. Gingerly, he pats the snow off his dampened coat. He rises to his feet and narrows his eyes sternly at Eli, who looks as if he’s about to turn into the petrified snow-boy beside him. Even Bayorn lowers his book cautiously.

Kieran scoops up a handful of snow. Then, he throws it in the boy’s direction.

An eternal second passes, during which we all gape openly at the unexpected shift in his gloom.

Astrid is the first to burst into peals of laughter. She picks up some snow and tries to curve it into a neat ball, but Imogen is quicker to form one and throw it at her.

Suddenly we are all reduced to children, engaged in an intense snow-war. When Bayorn joins in, we split ourselves into rival teams: where Kieran and Bayorn have the advantage of skill, the three of us gain an advantage in number.

We play in the snow until our fingers nearly freeze over.

Astrid

Isabelle ‘hangs out’, as she likes to put it, in my chambers the hour before we are all supposed to go down into the dungeon.

I try to read my book in peace, but she keeps twirling her dagger between her fingers. The moonlight reflects off the blade and into my line of sight.

In the end I give up on my book and try to distract her instead. “Besides running in circles and sparring, what else do you like to do?”

To my utmost gratitude, she sets the dagger down on the bed. She is lying on her belly and her feet sway absently in the air. Her lips purse together thoughtfully.

“Watching movies – it’s like a compilation of moving pictures…”

She has mentioned movies before, but now she has forgotten. “I know what they are,” I interrupt her. “What else?”

“Hmm. I don’t know.” Then she breaks into a wide, goofy grin. An embarrassed giggle escapes her. “I used to dance when I was younger. Not like a pro. I just used to learn choreographies online and put on shows for my mom and brother.”

I perk up at this. “I love to dance, too,” I say. Then I start to tell her about the time I jived with the man in London.

Isabelle props her body up higher with her elbows. Her jaw has fallen wide open.

“No way.”

“Yes, way,” I giggle.

“That is so cool!” she squeals. “Was the guy – you know, hot?”

My smile falters. “I... I do not remember the temperature of his hands.”

She laughs. “No, not like that. ‘Hot’ – as in, you know. Was he attractive? Good-looking? Like...like Kieran. And you.”

My eyebrows arch at the same time a teasing smile springs to my lips. I hug my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them.

She sees the look on my face and glances at the fireplace. “Oh, shut up.”

“You think Kieran is ‘hot’, as you say?”

“Come on,” she says with near spite. “You guys know you’re good-looking, okay? It’s like the enchantment on this castle has somehow magically made you permanently beautiful. And, like, you know. A guy with an accent and a face like that? Don’t tell me you don’t think he’s one of the most beautiful people in both your world and mine.”

I nod prudently. “As are you.”

“Nah,” she says it quickly, as if she is used to responding this way. “You’re pretty.”

“I am. I will not deny myself the peace that comes with being content with what I see in the mirror. And neither should you.”

Silence. Slowly, she nods, understanding.

Isabelle picks the dagger up again and twirls it between her fingers. “Dancing in the 40’s,” she scoffs to herself, her soft smile returning. “If you were to attend most of the parties people our age go to back in San Fran, you’d be sorely disappointed.”

“She wants to dance,” I tell Kieran the next day in the stables after breakfast.

He strokes the side of his mare’s head. Valkyrie recognizes her owner and stills at his gentle murmurs. I watch on in astonishment as he proceeds to feed her two sugar cubes with complete ease. Never before has she been so mild in nature.

“Then teach her how to dance the swing.” His tone does not break away from the soothing one he uses on his horse, so it takes me a second to realize he is speaking to me.

“I was thinking that perhaps you should dance with her. Show her the ropes.”

“Don’t you remember I hate dancing?”

“It’s not rocket science,” I pout, repeating one of the phrases both Isabelle and Kieran like to use from time to time – especially during our training sessions. Alfeir pushes his muzzle into my shoulder and nudges me gently, reminding me to feed him another sugar cube. “Besides, it is fun. Something to take her mind off the stress of training. A change in routine.”

“Remind me again why I should be the one to take her dancing,” he says dryly.

“Because...because you are hot.”

His head snaps up in my direction abruptly. A wide, audacious grin stretches over his teeth.

“Sorry. What?”

I regret instantly. This feels an awful lot like a friend’s betrayal. And he looks so stupidly gleeful, I want to chuck a sugar cube at him.

“Do not look so triumphant,” I roll my eyes. “Isabelle told me so. But very objectively,” I add, just to preserve her dignity.

“And do you...also think I’m hot?”

“Oh, shut up.” This time I really do pick a brush off the floor and chuck it in his general direction. He dances out of the way to escape it. Valkyrie whinnies in irritation.

Kieran chortles like an immature boy. It takes all my self-control not to pick up another object to throw at him.

“Fine, fine,” he says, clearly pleased with my explanation. “You win. Teach me how to dance, and I will repeat the lesson to her.”

My lips part in surprise. “Truly?”

“Truly. But you must teach me first before I make a complete clown of myself, alright?”

“Fine,” I scowl at him, but when Alfeir’s body shields my face from him, I allow the giddy excitement to infect my silly grin.