Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [49]
There was a knock at the door. “Pika? It’s me,” Tordis said, sticking her head into the room. “Anxious to go?”
The lass picked up her hairbrush and smiled at her sister. “No,” she said. “I just didn’t want to waste my last hour with Father by having to pack.”
“Can’t you stay longer?”
The lass made a face. “I promised that I would go back today. The longer I stay, the longer my year will be.”
Tordis stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“I have to stay with the bear for a year and a day. Since I’ve been here for five days, that means I have to stay five days longer at the isbjørn’s palace.”
“Is everything really . . . all right . . . there?”
Now the lass laughed. “I live in a palace with a giant isbjørn,” she reminded her sister. “It’s as ‘all right’ as it could be.” She shook her head, laughing, as she continued to pack. “And it will be a relief to get away from Mother,” she muttered, half to herself.
“Mother is much happier now, you know,” Tordis said.
“Oh, I’m sure. But her happiness seems to have made her rather nosy,” the lass replied. “She’s been poking and prying all week. ‘What do you eat? How many servants are there? Does the bear have courtiers?’ “ She pitched her voice higher in imitation of Frida.
It was Tordis’s turn to laugh. “That’s her exactly,” she said. “But it’s not like you have anything to hide,” she continued. Then her gaze sharpened on the lass, who had lowered her eyes. “Do you?”
“N-no.”
Tordis came around the bed and put her arm around the lass. “What’s bothering you, little sister?”
“Nothing,” the lass said, folding and refolding a shift. The lie sounded obvious even to her ears.
“Nothing?”
“It’s just that—” The lass brought herself up short.
“It’s just that what?”
Two voices warred in the lass’s head. One was the voice of the white bear, warning her not to tell any “secrets.” The other voice was her own, almost crying with loneliness as her sister embraced her. She enjoyed the bear’s company, but there was a vast difference between being with him and being with another human, especially one of her sisters.
“It’s that . . .” She still hesitated, not sure how to begin. “Well, don’t tell Mother or Father, but every night someone gets into bed with me,” she said in one breath.
“Someone gets into bed with you? Who?” Tordis’s brows drew together.
“I don’t know.” The lass shrugged. “I can never find a candle at night. It’s a huge bed, and . . . they just get in on the other side and go to sleep. They’re gone in the morning.”
“They?”
“Um, it? I can’t see. . . .”
Tordis put her free hand to her throat in dismay. “Is this thing that’s sleeping with you human?”
“I think so.”
“How can you be sure?”
The lass blushed. “I felt his head,” she muttered.
“It’s a man?” Tordis’s eyes narrowed.
The lass didn’t have to speak. Her flaming cheeks said it all.
“A strange man is lying beside you every night? You poor child!” Tordis clucked her tongue. “Just because you think it’s a man doesn’t mean that it really is, you know.”
The lass pulled away to get a better look at Tordis’s face. “I don’t understand.”
“This is an enchanted palace,” her sister pointed out. “This . . . man . . . who shares your bed may be under an enchantment as well. It could be a horrible troll, who feels human only to lure you into a sense of security.”
“I really don’t think so.” And the lass didn’t. There was something so . . . solid and ordinary about her nightly visitor. Compared to the minotaurus in the kitchen, he was almost boring.
“What if this whatever-it-is is playing some game with you? Trying to convince you that it’s innocent, so you’ll forget it’s even there?”
“But what good would that do?”
“Living as deep in the forest as I do, I’ve heard some horrible stories,” Tordis said with solemn certainty. “You don’t know what this creature could do to you.”
“I don’t feel threatened,” the lass argued.
Tordis just shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. You must look at this creature in good light, to make sure that it is not some hideous monster.”
“But I told you: