Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [54]
“Are you all right?” Rollo hopped around the black mess, pushing his nose into the lass’s shoulders and arms, whatever he could reach without getting his clean paws in the black mess. “What’s wrong?”
“Erasmus is dead! He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! Because he talked to me, she killed him!” The lass howled and beat the cushion with even greater ferocity.
“Who killed him?” The wolf’s hackles rose.
“She did, she did, that troll, that troll . . . hag!” The lass picked up the fallen inkpot, now mostly empty, and hurled it at the window. It smashed into the ice, leaving a spiderweb of cracks before falling to the floor with a thunk.
Rollo breathed heavily on his mistress’s hair and then turned and ran out of the room. The lass thought that she had finally chased away her last friend, and began to cry even harder. Hans Peter wasn’t talking to her; Erasmus was dead; Rollo had abandoned her. Who was left?
The great white isbjørn’s paws were so large and soft that he made no noise entering the room. He stepped right into the inkstain and laid his huge head on top of the lass’s. The low rumbling of his voice vibrated her skull.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll kill her,” the lass hiccupped.
“Who?”
“You know who. The troll princess, the one who killed Erasmus’s Narella. And now Erasmus. I’ll kill her.” She raked her nails down the cushion of the chair, snagging the fine silken embroidery.
Another rumble from deep in the bear’s throat. He sat back and the lass leaned against his warm, furry torso. Even though she’d thought her tears had dried, a new wave swept over her, and she wept into the bear’s soft fur for a long time.
“Better?” He waited until the last sob faded away and she had pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket to mop up her face.
“I suppose. I still want to kill her.”
The bear growled. It rattled the lass’s bones and made Rollo whine.
“You shouldn’t even know she exists,” the bear warned the girl. “Don’t speak of her again. Don’t ask questions; don’t threaten her. Soon the year will be over.”
“That’s what Hans Peter says,” the lass snapped, pushing away from the bear’s embrace. “Wait and be careful, don’t do anything, just wait and then go home. Well, I can’t! Erasmus was kind to me, and now he’s dead.”
“Asking more questions won’t bring him back. It can only make things worse,” the isbjørn warned.
“How could things be any worse?” the lass raged. She stomped around the library, ripping books off the shelves and throwing them to the floor. “My brother’s life is ruined. Erasmus is dead. All the servants, their lives were ruined by her. Your life, my life. The girl whose bunader I found, she’s probably dead, too! There has to be some way to fight her.”
“No, there is no way. We can only wait, and see, and hope.” The bear was watching her rant with an uneasy expression.
“What does that mean?”
“I can’t tell you,” he said.
She rounded on him. “You!” She pointed a shaking finger at his broad white face. “You’re afraid of her!”
“Of course I am,” he shouted, getting to his feet. “Do you know what she’s—” His words cut off abruptly. He stood there, silent, for a moment, and then snarled in frustration. “I can’t—if you had any sense, you would fear her, too!” He came over to stand nose to nose with the lass. On all fours, he was as tall as the lass standing upright. “Believe me: things can be much, much worse. She can make you regret you were ever born.” And then he left.
The lass plucked a globe of the world inlaid with precious stones from a table and hurled it through the already cracked window. The ice pane made a creaking sound as it broke, and the globe hurtled through the air like a falling star, to smash on the jagged ice at the foot of the palace walls.
The next day, the salamanders tearfully told the lass that Mrs. Grey was gone. She had come in the night and taken her away.
The lass didn’t leave her rooms for two weeks.