Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [58]
“I thought I had a gray hair,” the lass said. “But it was just a trick of the light.”
“Hmmph. Vain” was Rollo’s comment.
By the time they went to meet the bear for dinner that night, the lass had made up her mind. She couldn’t continue to sleep beside someone—or something—that she had never seen. She knew it would be risky, so she made preparations.
After dinner, she filled her secret pockets to bursting with pearls and rubies and coils of gold wire thread. She packed her troll dictionary and clothing into the knapsack Mrs. Grey had given her. She begged food from the salamanders and they gave her bread, dried meat, cheese, and apples. As an afterthought, she attached Tova’s pack to her own knapsack with silk scarves. She laid the awkward bundle by the hearthrug where Rollo slept and told him to keep an eye on it.
“Why?”
“Never you mind, dog.” She put the candle and the matches under her pillow, and then she cleaned her teeth and slipped into bed.
She had worried that she would fall asleep and not wake up until after her visitor had gone, but that wasn’t a problem. She lay, rigid as a board, while her thoughts screamed at her: run, hide, run, hide!
She told herself over and over that she had done it for months, she could do it one more night. The memory of all those past nights curdled her stomach. She could not go on like this. She would look, and then in the morning, as soon as he? . . . she? . . . it? . . . left, she would grab her pack and Rollo and run home. It was possible that she would die somewhere in the forest or on the snow plain, but it would be better than having her life sapped away by a troll.
By the time the creature climbed into bed with her, she was vibrating like a fiddle string. When the weight of her nighttime guest hit the mattress, she almost bolted. Instead she gripped the edge of the blanket and concentrated on breathing deeply. This calmed her somewhat, and she was able to keep up the pretense of sleep until she heard a soft snore from her companion. She counted to fifty, just to make sure that it hadn’t also been feigning sleep, and then she fished the candle and matches out from under her pillow and slithered out of bed.
There were thick silk curtains all around the bed, and she stood outside these, counting to twenty to make sure that she hadn’t woken whatever it was. Her fingers shook so badly that it took three tries before she could get the wick lit. Then, cupping her free hand carefully around the flame, she crept around the bed.
Biting her lip, the lass parted the curtains and leaned into the bed to see what had been lying beside her all these months.
A man.
A handsome, young man. Dark hair, a fine straight nose, long eyelashes fanned on a smooth cheek. He looked older than the lass by a few years—perhaps he was twenty, twenty-one years old. He wore a linen nightshirt, and the collar was open to reveal a glimpse of smooth, muscular chest. The lass leaned over him, studying the planes of his face, but could see no flaw, no sign of a monstrous nature.
And then.
And then the burning wick reached one of the scented herbs Frida put in her candles. The herb sizzled, making the flame sputter. A little streamer of smoke curled up the lass’s nose.
She sneezed.
Hot wax dripped off the candle as the sneeze jolted through her body. It fell on the shoulder of the young man’s white nightshirt, and he woke. His wide eyes fastened on the lass’s. They were violet.
“Oh, no,” he breathed, an expression of horror creeping across his handsome face. “What have you done?”
“I only wanted to s-see what you were,” she stammered, backing away from the look on his face. “I thought that maybe—”
“One year and one day. You had only to endure one year and one day of my company. Bear by day, man by night, just like your brother. Tova failed too. They always fail. And then we have to go.” He