“No,” Mina said almost instantly, a sharp edge to her voice. She reached for Lynet’s face. “I would have considered it an act of cruelty to tell you.”
Lynet flinched from Mina’s outstretched hand, backing away until she tripped on the corner of a rug. That small indignity was too much for her, and whatever courage she was trying to maintain in the face of this revelation shattered in an instant, leaving her with all the fear and hurt of a child who’d discovered pain for the first time. “That doesn’t make any sense!” she shouted as she burst into tears. She shut her eyes and hugged her arms around herself, expecting Mina to come and hold her at any moment. But moments passed, and she was still alone in the dark.
“Doesn’t it?” Mina said, her voice small and wavering. “There’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you can change, so what’s the point in knowing the truth? Why would I tell you, except to hurt you?”
When Lynet opened her eyes again, Mina was clutching the bedpost like a shield between them. Lynet wondered if she had ever seen her stepmother appear so distressed. She almost moved to reassure Mina, until she remembered that she was supposed to be the one in need of comfort. That was why she was so angry, so scared—not because Mina hadn’t told her before, but because Mina wasn’t doing anything now to make it better. She had thought Mina would tell her it would all be fine, but instead she seemed even more afraid than Lynet.
“At least tell me what else you know,” Lynet said. “Tell me … tell me what I should do.”
Her voice cracked, and the sound seemed to reach through to Mina at last. She straightened and came to her, pulling Lynet into her arms. “Of course, Lynet,” she said, her hands pulling at Lynet’s curls, untangling them from years of habit. “Tell me what you want to know.”
She gently guided Lynet to the chair in front of the mirror, and Lynet sank into it gratefully. She didn’t want to be angry anymore—she was too scared and confused to take on the truth alone, and the feel of her stepmother’s fingers combing through her hair made her feel safe. More than that, it made her feel like herself.
“So what am I, then?” she said, her voice more like a croak. “Am I just … a doll?”
“No, you’re not just a doll,” Mina said. “My father shaped you not just from snow, but also from blood.”
“Is that important?”
Mina’s hands paused for a moment, but then she continued. “Yes, it’s important. Without his blood, you’d be artifice, a perfect imitation of a human being, but only an imitation. You wouldn’t grow or age. You … you would have no heartbeat. Blood creates genuine life.”
Lynet took a shuddering breath. “So I’m not … I’m not going to die at the same age as my mother?”
Mina looked up in surprise, meeting Lynet’s eye in the mirror. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Oh, Lynet, no, your life is your own, to live out as you choose.”
A fresh set of tears filled Lynet’s eyes, though whether they were from relief or despair, she couldn’t say. She covered her face with her hands, ashamed that Mina should see her like this again. But when Mina gently tried to move her hands away from her face, Lynet allowed it, seeking to draw strength from her stepmother’s example. Mina was kneeling beside her, waiting for her to speak.
“I’m sorry,” Lynet managed to say. “I’m sorry I’m like this, but I … I wish it weren’t true. I wish I had something that was only mine. I wish everything were different.”
Mina seemed to wince, but then she nodded. “I understand. But listen to me, wolf cub. I never knew your mother; I only know you. You don’t have to be like your mother, no matter what anyone says.”
“Sometimes I think I will be whether I want to or not.…”
She took Lynet’s hand, a fierce gleam in her eye. “I won’t let it happen. You’re not your mother, and you’re allowed to have something that belongs only to you.”
In that moment, Lynet believed her. She believed that Mina could do anything she was determined to do, her will stronger than any magic. Lynet threw her arms around Mina’s neck, and Mina held her close. “Thank you,” Lynet said.
Mina pulled away first, as she always did. “Do you feel better now?” she asked.
Lynet nodded, though she wasn’t sure how she felt. She still had the unsettling feeling that she was trapped in someone else’s body. Then again, she had felt that way even before knowing the truth.
Mina bit her lip, and then she said, “I want to show you something.”
She stood, went to the door, and held her hand out to Lynet, waiting for her to follow. Lynet did follow, and the two of them left the room and walked through the halls together, crossing the long gallery to the west wing of the castle, continuing until they were in a narrow hallway Lynet wasn’t even sure she had seen before. That was impossible, though; she knew every corner of Whitespring, even if there were some she visited less frequently.
At the end of the hall was a simple wooden door. Mina pushed it open and Lynet followed her inside. She recognized the place now: it was a chapel, or at least it used to be. The line of stone altars was still there, but the wooden benches for worshippers had been removed over time as the North stopped trusting in any gods but Sybil, and now the room felt cavernous and empty. Three large stained-glass windows lined the wall behind the altars, but without much sunlight, the windows were dull and a little sad, the pattern of colors all appearing as the same dreary hue.
“I always found this chapel a comfort,” Mina said, her voice barely echoing in the empty room. She walked over to the line of altars and sat in front of the center one in a single graceful movement. Her presence seemed to make the room feel intimate rather than lonely.
Lynet sat beside Mina, careful not to make any noise—she felt somehow that it would be disrespectful if she did.
“I used to come here when I wanted to be by myself,” Mina continued. “I knew no one else came to this chapel anymore, so I felt like it was the one corner of Whitespring that was mine.”