From her new place in the Hall, seated with Xenia and her circle, Mina often caught the king’s eye, a private smile passing between them. Over the next year, she watched him cater to his daughter’s every wish and learned that the king cared more about his daughter than about anyone else. If she wanted to win over the father, she would have to win the child, as well.
And so when a birthday celebration for the princess was announced, Mina knew how important it was for her to attend. She wasn’t the only one—the Hall was crowded with visitors on the night of the celebration, but this time Mina had a place among them. Mina knew Xenia’s niceties were anything but sincere, but she still welcomed the pretense, and she felt some satisfaction at knowing that Xenia and her friends couldn’t even comment on the thick furs Mina wore.
As the evening wore on, Mina recognized that there were some virtues to standing apart from the crowd with her warm dress: there were one or two instances when the king saw her from his table, their eyes meeting before someone else—usually Lynet, who kept kicking her legs and trying to duck under the table—distracted him. But she’d had enough of shared glances and distant smiles; she needed to find a way to bring him over to her again, to make him seek her out.
The next time she looked up, the king wasn’t there.
Mina looked around the Hall, but she couldn’t find him anywhere. And then, while she was watching the main door, she saw a cloud of dark hair run out from under a table and escape outside.
She put the pieces together: a restless princess who had slipped away, a worried father searching for her, and Mina, the only one who knew where the princess had gone. She could go tell the king’s guard what she had seen, but Mina knew that if she found and retrieved Lynet herself, the king would undoubtedly be grateful to her.
Mina made some excuse about needing air and left the Hall, emerging into the chilly courtyard, the light from inside throwing her shadow large over the snow. There was a juniper tree near the edge of the courtyard, but unlike the spindly trees in the Shadow Garden, this one was green and full, its leaves frosted with snow.
She looked around the courtyard, hoping Lynet hadn’t gone too far, and saw a shower of snow fall from the juniper tree. There was no wind to have caused it. Mina casually strolled toward the tree.
When she was standing under the tree, more snow started to fall. Mina brushed the wet snow from the back of her neck and glared up at the offending tree—and found two curious eyes peering back at her. Nestled in the branches was a little girl, her eyes and hair as black as the lake at night. The girl crouched down in panic at her discovery.
“Lynet?”
The girl clung to her branch wordlessly, refusing to confirm or deny her identity.
“Lynet? That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“What do you want?” Lynet said, before shoving her knuckles into her mouth.
Tucking her skirts beneath her, Mina sat at the foot of the tree. She patted the ground, but Lynet didn’t move. “If you come sit with me, I’ll give you a present,” she said.
Lynet climbed down from her branch to a lower one, and then she dropped down to the ground, landing on hands and knees. She was wearing only a thin dress, like a true northerner, but even when the snow touched her skin, she didn’t seem to feel the cold at all.
“What present?” the girl said as she plopped down beside Mina.
Mina had only half expected the bribe to work, so she hadn’t considered what she would give Lynet for a present. She wasn’t wearing any rings, but she had her silver bracelet, bought in defiance years ago. She unclasped the bracelet and held it out. “Here,” she said. “Isn’t it pretty? Let me put it on you.” She placed it around the girl’s wrist; it was too big for her, of course, but it stayed on, and Lynet was entranced by it.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’re pretty, what’s your name?”
“My name is Mina.”
Lynet nodded and went back to twirling her new bracelet around her wrist.
“You’re pretty too,” Mina said.
“Thank you,” Lynet said at once. Mina supposed this wasn’t the first time she’d heard that compliment.
“You’re very bold to be climbing such big trees,” she said, and this time, the girl rewarded her with her full attention.
“What’s bold?”
“It means you’re brave and fierce, like a little wolf cub.”
Lynet bent her head over her wrist, her hair hiding most of her face, but Mina saw that the girl was smiling.
“My name is a bird,” she said. “Papa told me. He says I’m like a bird.”
“Oh? What else does your papa say?”
“He says I’m like my mama. She’s dead.”
Her bluntness was unexpected, but Lynet didn’t seem upset. It was a fact, like anything else. It was unfair to be jealous of a child, but Mina wished for that sense of detachment about her own mother’s death, rather than the sting of rejection.
“My mother is dead too,” Mina said without thinking. She was staring straight ahead, thinking of the day her father had told her the truth of her mother’s death, when she felt a tug. Lynet had moved closer to her, one of her dirty hands entangled in Mina’s skirt. She wanted to brush the hand away before it soiled the fabric, but that wouldn’t endear her to the child. And … she found she didn’t mind it. The girl rested her dark head against Mina’s shoulder, and that didn’t bother her either. The weight of Lynet’s head was heavy and comforting.
“Do you miss your mama?” Lynet said. She lifted her head, and the sudden absence left Mina colder than she was before.
“I did once, but not anymore.”
The girl was unhappy with this answer, though; her forehead scrunched up and her head drooped as she picked at her skirts.
“What’s the matter? Do you miss your mama?”
“Papa misses her,” Lynet mumbled.
“Does that make you sad?”
She shrugged.
“Do you miss her too?”
She gave no answer—but then, how could she miss a mother who had died before she was even born? “It’s fine if you don’t miss her,” Mina said softly. “You don’t remember her. You never really knew her. It’s hard to miss someone you can’t remember.”
Lynet kept her head down. “Don’t tell my papa,” she whispered.
Mina shook her head. “I won’t say a word, wolf cub.”
“Lynet!”
Mina was startled by the sudden cry, but Lynet stiffened in recognition: King Nicholas was hurrying toward them. Mina stood immediately, brushing the snow off her dress. She needn’t have bothered; the king passed by her without a glance and swung Lynet up into his arms.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said.
“I was bored,” Lynet mumbled into her knuckles.
“What were you even doing here—were you climbing trees again? I’ve told you how dangerous it is to climb trees. Those bones of yours are breakable.”