Amid the Winter Snow

  “I’ve never compared you to Balien,” she said woodenly. “That’s not what this is about.”

  “What we have—right here, right now, with each other—is precious. Maybe we aren’t reshon, but you can’t tell me we’re not meant. I love you and I want a life with you. I don’t want to wait when heaven has already given me a precious gift.”

  She shook her head. “But if she is out there—”

  “If she’s out there, then nothing. It’s you I want.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I would have you as my mate, Renata. I want that more than anything. And nothing would change that bond. You are my choice. You are the one I want. That is all that matters.”

  Renata was silent.

  “Say it again,” he whispered.

  She frowned.

  “Tell me you love me,” he said. “I’ve been waiting to hear it for a very long time.”

  “I love you.” Her eyes were defiant and still a little angry. “Don’t ever question that.”

  “And I love you. Think about that when you decide if you’re willing to make a home with me. Don’t think about what might be. Think about what is.” He wrapped his arms around her. “And you’re right. I was thinking about hiking down the mountain, but you changed my mind. You’re stuck with me now.”

  They made love in front of the fire, and this time Max fell asleep with Renata wrapped in his arms. They slept long and hard, through the early morning when the snow and wind returned. They lay tangled together in front of the fire and listened to the wind together.

  Sometime around dawn the next morning, Renata sang a soft song about Midwinter Night and the stars shining from the heavens. It was a song of praise and thanksgiving and hope for longer and brighter days ahead.

  Outside of battle songs, it was the first time Max had heard her sing.

  ~ 7 ~

  “Why are we doing this?” She tromped up the hill behind the house.

  “Because it’s a lovely tradition, it’s cheerful, and if we don’t get some fresh air in the next few hours, we’re going to be out of luck for the next day.”

  Renata could see the storm clouds moving across a distant ridge. Max was right. They’d slept through the early morning and woken together when the sun was high. And though it was shining off the newly fallen snow at the moment, by evening another wave of the storm would be on them.

  “Christmas trees are a human tradition.”

  “So?” Max grinned. “Irin already cut branches to bring in the house for Midwinter. This is just… a little more greenery.”

  “It’s a tree. In the house.” Even though she didn’t quite understand why Max wanted to participate in the human tradition of a Christmas tree, she nevertheless scanned the slopes for a suitable specimen. “Is this Ava’s doing?”

  Ava was mated to Malachi, one of Maxim’s brothers. They lived together in Istanbul at the scribe house, but Ava had grown up in the human world and still identified strongly with it, even after discovering her magic.

  “Ava started it a few years ago in Prague, right before the babies were born, but we kept it up. The children like it, and it’s cheerful.” Max put his hands on his hips and squinted at the snow-covered slopes. “We often have to drive quite far for a tree at home, but there are so many here.”

  “Yes, the humans here have their pick of trees to kill.” She walked over to one that looked appropriate. “This one?” It was a few inches taller than she was and would reach nearly to the rafters.

  Max said, “Are you sure you want one that big?”

  “If we’re going to cut one, we shouldn’t cut a small one.” She cocked her head. “And this will smell lovely in the house. I do love the smell.”

  He walked around the tree, and Renata watched him as he examined it. He’d wrapped up in his parka and boots, leaving his head bare because they weren’t walking far. His dark blond hair shone in the sun, and his skin, naturally pale, was ruddy and sun-kissed.

  Max had always been one of the most attractive men she’d ever known. All Irin were naturally handsome because of their angelic blood, but even among them, Max stood out.

  He caught her watching him. “What?” He brushed his hair. “I was crawling in the brush.”

  Renata shook her head. “You don’t have anything in your hair.”

  He frowned. “Then—”

  “You would make beautiful children,” she said quickly. “That’s all I was thinking.”

  “I would with you.” Color rode high on his cheekbones. “Do you want children?”

  She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it. The only man she wanted was Max, and Max had never been hers. Renata had been convinced that one day she would hear about him meeting his reshon and mating. Probably Sari would tell her. Or Ava. Someone would casually let it drop in conversation. Renata had forced herself to imagine it over and over, forming different scenarios as if preparation would guard her heart from devastation.

  Because losing him would devastate her. She’d been prepared for that. What she hadn’t been prepared for was a future with him.

  “I don’t know if I want children,” she said. “What I do—what we do isn’t friendly to family life. My roots were torn once. I don’t know if I want new ones.”

  Max paused. “You know… it used to be that scribes and singers would take sabbaticals to bear children. They would find a place—sometimes isolated like this—and have their children quietly. Raise them until they were independent and ready for training. For boys, it’s only thirteen years before we enter training.”

  “For girls it depends on geography. I never left home.”

  “Because you were preparing to follow your mother as an archivist.”

  She nodded. “I know what you’re saying. We live long lives. Raising children is a short season.”

  “We could come here, Renata. Or we could raise our children in Istanbul with Ava and Malachi’s. Join the community there.”

  She felt her heart pick up when he said “our children.”

  “Or we could choose to simply be.” Max walked around the tree toward her. “Children are never guaranteed for our kind. Don’t ever think that you aren’t enough, Reni. You have always been enough for me.”

  She leaned her forehead into his chest. How can I be enough?

  “I love you,” he whispered. “You will always be enough.”

  What if Max was right? What if they had both lost their chance of a soul mate? Renata knew that she’d never love another scribe the way she loved Max. Her fear had been that he would find better. Find his best.

  But what if it really was her?

  “Are you frightened?” he asked.

  “Yes. Aren’t you?”

  “I’m only frightened you’ll leave again,” he said. “I’ve chased you for a long time.”

  She lifted her head and met his eyes. “This was my last hiding place.”

  His eyes danced. “As if you couldn’t find another.”

  “I’m tired of running from you.” She leaned forward and took his mouth in a long kiss. His lips were warm and dry. Heat radiated from his chest and arms as he put them around her. Renata’s head spun. From pleasure or lack of air, she couldn’t quite tell. When they broke apart, Max was smiling as she gasped for air.

  “You wanted to be caught.”

  “Maybe. I suppose if I hadn’t, I would have shot you the first time you found me.” She closed her eyes and leaned on his shoulder “What do you want from me, Maxim?”

  “I want you to give us a chance,” he said. “I want to love you when you don’t have one foot out the door like you did in Vienna. I want you to move to Istanbul and live with me and help me in my work. Help Leo and Kyra train kareshta. Help me gather information about Grigori who are threats. You don’t have to stay in one place—you’re not that kind of woman—but I want to know that when you’re ready to come home, you’re coming to me.”

  As he listed his wishes, Renata realized that what Max really wanted was a commitmen
t. He wanted Renata to risk that his love would last. That it wouldn’t be usurped by an interloper who might or might not exist. He wanted her to trust him.

  When she thought about it that way, the answer was obvious. Max was the most stubbornly faithful man she’d ever met. She’d trust him with her life. More, she’d trust her sisters’ lives to him.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “We should cut this one and get back to the house.” She stepped back and looked at the tree, holding her hand out for the ax Max was carrying. “May I?”

  His mouth was hanging open. “What?”

  “We should cut this one. Unless there is something wrong with the other side. You looked at it. I did not.”

  “You said yes.”

  “I did.” And part of her soul was crouched in fear. She felt as if she’d stripped to her skin and walked into the storm that was coming for them.

  “You’ll move to Istanbul?”

  She nodded. “It’s a reasonable suggestion and a good base. I have no problem working with Malachi.”

  “You’ll help Leo and Kyra.”

  “When I can.”

  He dropped the ax and reached for her hand. “You’ll come home with me.”

  “And I’ll leave again.” She looked at him. “Understand that, Maxim. I won’t be with you every moment. I was that girl once; I’m not anymore. I need to be useful, which means that sometimes I’ll leave. Sometimes you’ll come with me. Or I’ll go with you. But sometimes I won’t be able to tell you where I’m going and I’ll have to go alone.”

  His hand gripped her fingers. “But you’ll come home.”

  “I will come home. So if you want to be that home, then I say yes. I’ll come home to you.”

  They spent the afternoon cleaning and decorating the tree, cutting paper garlands from stacks of newspaper piled by the fire, making stars out of sticks and thread, and finding small candles to light the branches. They set the tree in the corner, and Max decorated it while Renata cut bread and opened cans of oily sardines and oysters one of the renters had left. She set out a tray with oysters, olives, apples, and roasted hazelnuts.

  “We should be fine as long as you like bread,” she said. “There’s plenty of flour and oil. The meat I brought will last for another week or so. The previous renters left quite a few cans of these. The apples won’t last long though.”

  “Is there hunting here?”

  Renata nodded. “There’s good hunting if the weather clears. Deer and chamois, mostly. I can set out traps for rabbits.” She could feel his eyes on her. “What?”

  “You’re very easy to live with,” he said. “I remember from Vienna. Not everyone is.”

  “I thought the same about you.”

  “Did you live with Balien?”

  Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to take deep breaths.

  Max said, “It still bothers you to talk about him.”

  “It bothers me to talk about the past,” she said. “It’s not him in particular. And no. My parents were traditional. We wouldn’t live together until we were mated, though we shared rooms when we traveled. That wasn’t an issue.”

  “Why didn’t you mate?”

  Renata laughed a little. “Not everyone is so eager to jump into mating. I wanted to meet Balien’s family. And later, he was worried that mating with me…”

  “You both would have been weaker for a time.”

  She nodded. “It didn’t seem like a good idea when we were running.”

  Max turned back to the tree, hanging red paper stars on the top branches. “I’m giving us six months.”

  Renata blinked. “What?”

  “Six months,” he said. “After that, the world might be falling apart, but I’m taking you away and making you mine. My brothers will have to understand.”

  “Six months is not very long.”

  He frowned. “How about six months and eighteen years? Is that long enough to know if someone is your mate?”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I suppose you have a point. Still, we don’t know what will be happening in six months. It might not be a good time—”

  “No.” Max walked over and pulled her up by her hand. “Six months, Renata. I knew years ago we were suited. I’m not willing to wait longer to appease someone else’s schedule or plans. You are my priority. When it comes to you, I will be entirely selfish.”

  “You’re important to your watcher.”

  “And you’re important to me.” He kissed her and let her go. “Six months.”

  She snuggled into his side, looking at the tiny lights on the tree as they sat by the fire.

  “Admit it.”

  Renata didn’t feel like arguing. “You’re right. It’s lovely and a wonderful tradition. Though I’ll be sweeping up pine needles for weeks.”

  “Worth it. I’ll vacuum them up too. The tree is perfect.”

  She cocked her head. “It does look very nice there.”

  “Our dinner was delicious. And the bread you have baking smells heavenly.” He nuzzled her hair. “Almost as heavenly as you.”

  “The bread is far, far sweeter,” she said with a laugh.

  He leaned back and looked at her. “What is that expression? I don’t think I recognize it.”

  “I’m… happy.”

  “Are you?” He played with her hair.

  “Don’t tease.”

  “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?”