Winter in the mountains seemed to last years. Even as the weather grew warmer, the snow still lingered, resilient and thick, as my patience grew thin.
Wolfe had left as he'd promised, almost without warning, and we'd seen so little of him, it was almost like he'd never been here at all. The only change in the house was the way the air suddenly felt less suffocating, like a pressure had been eased on our wind pies.
Gunnar's presence was easier to bear. I saw him sometimes from the windows, looking when I shouldn't have been, and I would hear him through closed doors, but he was like a ghost in this house. An existence to be doubted and questioned.
It wasn't until the weather had improved considerably that the king sent for my mother. She was to return to the City of Roses, she told me. Tending to wife duties. But she would be back very soon, she promised.
I felt a pang of fear strike me through the heart. I still didn't know enough—still hadn't figured out how to put a stop to this train headed steadfastly towards doom.
Now my chance was slipping away.
My gripped me in a tight embrace before she left. I felt every bone in her body through her clothes as she held me in the cage of her arm, squeezing like she meant to strangle the life out of me.
That's how I knew something bad was coming, and that I had failed.
Once she was gone, I never mourned her absence. My mother had put on a good performance while she was here, she had woven a web of carefully suspended plots, but I tended to none of them after she'd left.
I figured it would make no difference now anyway.
In those earliest and sweetest days of spring, Zelle and I did as we pleased. We went walking as often as we could, we didn't cover our faces, and we acted as though Gunnar wasn't even in the house, which distressed Bohdai greatly as his job was to serve the captain.
Gunnar was otherwise successful at evading us, since he occupied different rooms.
On the off chance that we happened to cross his path on the stairs or in the halls, I acted as though he didn't exist. If he'd forgotten me so easily, there was no reason why I shouldn't be able to do the same.
He was my ghost and nothing more. Haunting me always.
Zelle, of course, was uncomfortable with these acts of carelessness and would have many sessions a day. She often had a horrified look about her as she followed along to my acts of rebellion, like she couldn't fathom my boldness, but she also couldn't resist the chance to break out of her stifled existence. It was too easy to forget the laws that were threats to us all, while living so far away from the rest of civilization. Even the staff felt it, the other-worldness of being out here, and they turned a blind eye to our mischief.
With my mother gone, I ruled supreme over the house. With my mother gone, the others were unwilling to defy me.
With my mother gone, I lived.
I wore my cargos and went hunting most mornings, bringing home ducks and pheasants, sticking their feathers into my hair like a savage. I muted the Black Channel and threw a sheet over the screen. I sang songs of the resistance.
I knew the possible consequences of my actions, but I was seized by a strange sort of recklessness—I was indulging my humanity.
I was trying to catch his attention.
...
"You're being completely stupid," Gunnar barked when he found me in the woods.
I was crouched with my rifle in my hands, the nozzle aimed at a fat bird rippling peacefully on the flat surface of the lake.
When his voice shattered the silence, the flock scattered in fear. As they took flight above me, I rolled onto my knees and aimed up, squeezing the trigger. We heard the thud of its body on the ground, and the dog took off running to catch it.
I kept my back to him, not in a rush to turn around. My silence angered him.
"Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?" he raged on, voice tight with frustration. "I know you think Zelle is your friend, but she's a loyal servant of the gods and of our new king, and she won't hesitate to turn you over to the authorities if you go too far."
"Don't talk about Zelle," I snapped, rising to my feet and finally turning to face him.
His stare collided with mine, and a breath of relief shuddered through me. I'd gone so long without hearing the sound of his voice—so long without feeling the weight of his gaze on my skin—that I flushed all over with victory.
He wanted to say more—to lecture me—but I cut him off.
"Why are you here, Gunnar?" I asked outright, since I didn't care to waste time with useless subjects. "You said we'd never see each other again. So, what are you doing here?"
He looked at me like I was stupid. "I came here for you."
"Why?" I laughed bitterly. "Why would a religious man like yourself do such a thing?"
He shook his head. "I haven't been a religious man since the moment I first laid eyes on you."
It sounded like a confession but felt like an accusation. You'd think he hated me, just from the way he sounded.
I stared at him hard, trying to understand. "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to apologize?"
He ignored my question, bitterness spilling out of him fast. "They warned me about this, you know? They warned me that the second you let the devil into your heart, there's no going back. And they were right."
"You hate me."
He looked so shocked you'd think I'd just hit him. "I've done everything I could to be here."
"What does that mean?" I raised my voice to match his. "You've done nothing but ignore my existence since you got here."
"The second I got here," he snapped. "I found out you were intended for another man. What do you expect me to do?"
"Well, what do you expect me to do?" I shot back. "When I thought you'd forgotten me already?"
He froze, like my question caught him off guard. Somehow, in the process of snarling at each other like angry wolves, we'd gotten a lot closer without even noticing it.
Gunnar moved to close the remaining distance, but I shrunk away from him, shaking my head.
"Don't," I whispered, suddenly afraid, because I knew it would complicate everything.
He knew it, too, but it didn't stop him. He reached out, bent down. He kissed me. Hard enough to bruise. A hateful kiss. One full of blame. My blood boiled, part fury, part something else.
When we parted, I slapped him clean across the face.
In this instance, the kiss and the slap were the same. My palm stung. He'd gasped, but his pain wasn't entirely physically.
How violent and unpracticed we were. Hellish creatures tormented with forbidden desires, vicious and unchecked.
"I'm sorry," he said, his tenderness returned.
I looked at him sadly. "That wasn't nice."
It was clear neither of us knew how to do this.
"I know. I'm sorry." He straightened, the military in him showing. "I should go."
He started to turn, a soldier surrendering from battle.
"Gunnar," I whispered.
He stopped as suddenly as if I'd shouted.
"Come see me," I said. "Tonight."
His eyes lifted slowly, filled with disbelief and something else—something that burned. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
...
We didn't talk. In the darkness, it was easy to forget our nerves, to forget the risk. He'd slipped into my room long after nightfall, once the house was quiet and still. I hadn't dared to move or make a sound until I felt him behind me on the bed, and it was easy after that. We found each other in the sheets, pressing together seeking warmth. I shuddered at the sound of him breathing, at the gentle grunt that vibrated from deep in his chest.
"Do you love me?" he didn't ask.
"Yes," I didn't say.
He kissed me then, and it was nothing like in the forest. It was tender and pure sin. My legs weakened in ways and places I wasn't familiar with. Inner thighs and back of the knees. I closed my eyes.
It was hours later that he held me in the cage of his arms, as morning drew near and our time together was almost up.
"When did it start for you?" I whispered, my hand over his chest so I could feel the steady beating underneath.
He appeared to think it through for a moment before he spoke.
"I don't know. Almost right away, I think. I just didn't know what it was at first." I could feel the warmth of his breath on my bare skin as he spoke the words. "But as soon as I saw you, I knew you were going to ruin me in some way. I thought to myself: this is it. Your time has come. This is the one. The one who's going to kill you. I don't know how I knew this, but I knew that you were going to be the end for me. A finish line of sorts."
When I pulled back to look at him, his face was clouded, as though he were recalling all the moments.
Our first meeting in the flash of a lightning bolt, the two of us locking eyes for the first time. His first sin. Then later, on the train, when I could have shot him. I came close to being that girl he described, the one that would kill him, but I didn't take the shot when I had the chance. And finally, the kiss on the staircase, sealing his fate and condemning his soul once and for all.
I blinked once the memory was over, and Gunnar gazed down at me tucked at his side.
"I should go," he said. "Before anyone else wakes up."
"But you'll come back?" I winced at the sound of my own desperation.
"Always."
...
"You're in a good mood today," Zelle pointed out, later that day as we laid on blankets out on the lawn.
It was true. I felt lightheaded. Intoxicated. I was on my back, looking up into the clear blue sky, the sun warm on my skin. I used to never lay out in the sun, my skin would burn too easily, but out here the sun didn't hurt so much. There was still a coolness to the air, and it clung to the grass as I ran my fingers through it, watching the blades poke between my pale fingers.
"I take it you don't miss your mother," she said.
"Zelle," I huffed. "I hate my mother."
She frowned at me. "Don't say such things."
"It's true," I said, even though I'd never told her anything like that before.
"You're lucky to have a mother," she went on. "You should have another session just for saying such things."
"I don't want to do any more stupid sessions."
"Olya!"
The pitch of her voice suddenly pierced through my good mood, and I realized what I'd just said. Maybe I really was intoxicated. I was being thoughtless. When I looked over at her, Zelle looked hurt and offended. The poor thing. I loved her for what she was, but she could never truly love me for what I was, could she?
I suddenly couldn't stand being in her presence. I couldn't stand the daytime, when I wanted it to be night, when I wanted to be in bed with Gunnar. I hated all these limitations that separated us all day long. I hated being careful all the time.
I was a selfish creature, but I didn't care.
"We should go inside." I stood up. "It's almost time for dinner, anyway."
She didn't say anything. She just helped me roll up our blanket in silence, but I could tell she was unhappy with me. I tried smiling at her to ease the tension, but she only looked away.
As soon as we were inside, she left to go to her room, and when we met in the dining room a little later, she had covered her face again. She held a defiant look in her eyes, like she was daring me to say something.
I didn't. I figured it was best to leave her be, so she could get over it.
If I'd known how wrong I was, I would have done everything in my power to earn her forgiveness. But I didn't do anything except give her space.
Besides, maybe it wasalready too late by then. Maybe my weeks of misbehaving had already sealed myfate.