“I wouldn’t dare.” He settled back beside her. “I could become accustomed to Happy Renata.”
Midwinter was the next day, but though the wind had picked up, she was feeling light. She was letting herself imagine a future with Max, and she liked her imagination. For the first time in two hundred years, she wasn’t faced with an endless dark night on Midwinter. She felt hope.
“Is it your mother’s honey bread recipe that you’re baking?”
She nodded.
“She’d be pleased you remember it after so many years.”
“I baked it with her every year. How could I forget?”
The memory that had marked Renata as an archivist from the time she was a child became a curse after the Rending. She could remember every moment and every horror just as she remembered every joy and every verse of Irina songs and histories. If she was stronger, she would have composed a lament and let their history be sung and shared with those who also endured grief.
She hadn’t done that. She’d locked the memories away.
“What are you thinking?” Max said.
“My mother would not be proud of me,” she whispered.
“How can you say that?”
She closed her eyes. “It was my duty to remember and sing the songs. That is what she did. What her grandmother did. Her great-aunt. All the women of our family who are gone now. I was the only one left, and it was my duty to write the songs of the Rending for those who were there and those who weren’t. I was an archivist. To have healing, our people need a lament.”
“Others have written laments.”
“But not mine,” she whispered. “Not mine.”
“You couldn’t forget what happened here if you tried.” Max kissed her temple. “When you’re ready, you’ll write your lament, and I will listen to every note. I’ll hold you while you sing it if you need me to. Others will listen and hear and remember. But to sing it properly, you have to sing the joy as well as the sorrow. I think you’ve remembered the sorrow but not the joy that preceded it. Centuries of joy and learning and life, Renata. I felt it in the library. Don’t forget to sing that too.”
She glanced at the table under the window where the seven-branched candelabra should sit. She’d hidden it back in the caves once Max had come, unwilling to face any reminders of the Midwinter holiday when her defenses were so low.
Renata stood and wrapped a woolen throw around herself.
“What are you doing?”
“I put the joy away,” she said. “Can you come help me get it out of storage?”
Max stood with a smile. “Absolutely.”
They walked back to the library, leaving the heavy iron door open. A gust of cool air brushed Renata’s face as she entered the reading room, and she was reminded of the pictures in the classroom.
“We’ll need to close off the back tunnels,” she said. “I’m sure whoever was here doesn’t mean any harm, but it’s really not safe to be exploring back in the caverns unless you know where you’re going.”
“After the storm,” Max said. “Whoever is breaking in hasn’t harmed anything, and the last thing they need to deal with is finding another shelter in weather like this.”
She walked to the cabinets where she’d stored the silver as Max walked toward the back hallway. She didn’t love the idea of anyone trespassing on her family history, but she knew Max was right. Nothing good could come of taking away shelter in a storm. What disturbed her more was the artist who’d drawn the pictures.
“Whoever has been visiting brought a child with them,” she said. “These caverns are not safe for a child.”
Max was standing in the hallway, staring at something on the ground. “There’s a child.”
“I know. I just said—”
“Renata,” he hissed. Max was pointing at the ground. “There is a child.”
Her eyes dropped to the ground. In the alcove, surrounded by a cozy nest of blankets, lay a child of no more than eight or nine, sleeping soundly. It appeared to be a female with tangled hair falling over her face.
Renata walked toward Max, stopping when she saw the girl’s breath hitch. She and Max froze. The girl stopped breathing.
Then her eyes flew open, she sat bolt upright, and a scream of terror echoed through the library. Renata fell back against a wall and felt it warp under her hands as the girl’s fear manifested. A punch of magic hit Renata in the solar plexus, leaving her breathless. Even Max stumbled back.
In the space of a heartbeat, the child bolted up and disappeared into the darkness of the caves. Max started to run after her, but Renata held him back.
“No!” she shouted. “She’s terrified of you. Of us.”
“What was that?”
“She’s kareshta.” Renata ran her hands along the hallway walls, her eyes wide and wondering.
“What? How do you—?”
“Look at the stone, Max. That child has magic, and it’s very, very powerful.”
8
Max and Renata walked back to the house.
“There’s climbing equipment in the storeroom, Renata said. “We’ll need it if we’re going back to the caverns.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“You felt her magic, Max.”
“I know. I just… If she doesn’t want to be found—”
“She needs to be found. It’s not safe.”
Renata opened the door opposite the music room, and Max saw a collection of outdoor equipment. There were snowshoes and skis. Sleds and ropes.
Renata walked straight to the wall of ropes. “Have you climbed before?”
“Yes.”
“Grab a harness and the basics. Most of the passageways are level and sloping, but there are a few drops and I don’t want us to get stuck. Some of the passages are narrow. You’ll have trouble getting through some areas with your shoulders.”
Max had a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Renata, are you sure this is a good idea?”
“I don’t know if there are others with her, but if she’s run away, if there is a mother—”
“If there is a mother, there could be an angel.” He gripped her shoulders. “Have you thought about that?”
“What are our choices?” She shrugged off his hands and secured her harness before she gathered an armful of ropes. “If there is an angel, then we reassess. I don’t sense one. I saw one child, and she was tired and thin. There’s a storm out there. She needs our help.”
Max didn’t try to argue any more. He grabbed the ropes and followed her back to the library. Wading into the twisting passageways had been difficult for Renata when she was steeped in memory. In the face of a rescue, however, she showed no hesitation. She walked to the left corridor and pulled back a tapestry hanging on one wall. There was a narrow passageway behind it and a gust of warm wind.
“This is the only one we left open because it’s the main source of heat. This passage leads to the springs,” she said. “Can you make it?”
“I’ll be fine. Lead the way.”
She ducked under the archway and turned sideways. Max followed her, inching along until he felt the tunnel widen. As it widened, the warmth built and he could feel sweat running down his back. The air grew damper and warmer. Max truly understood why the original Irina built here.