Glaciana Frostcall's Arc

Chapter 7 of 10

The wyrm dropped below the shelf and out of sight. Glaciana closed the door. Kristian still held her hand. She had told him the truth about her song, and he had stayed. But she had never spoken love to him without her voice carrying its old pull. If she could not say it plain now, he would never know which part was her and which part was the thread. "Come with me," she said. "To the hall. I need my voice small." She led him through the ice corridors. Her castle sang around them without her — wind through the wave-shaped towers, drip and creak in the frozen spires. In the great hall she stopped under the tallest arch. The crystal walls would catch any note she let slip and throw it back doubled. "Sit," she said. He sat on the low ice bench. She stayed standing, three steps back, hands folded so they would not reach for him. "I am going to say something," she said. "I want you to listen for my song under it. If you hear it, tell me. Do not spare me." He nodded once. She drew a breath and held it until the pull in her throat went quiet. Sirens breathed to sing. She breathed to speak. The difference was small and it hurt. "I love you," she said. The words came out flat. No lift. No shimmer in the ice. The walls did not ring. She waited. Her chest ached with the effort of holding the song down. A single high note tried to climb her throat. She swallowed it. "Again," Kristian said. His voice was steady. "Please." "I love you." Plainer this time. Her hands shook. "I do not want you for the castle. I do not want you to prove anything. I want you." The hall stayed silent. No echo. No pull. Kristian sat very still. Then he put his face in his hands. When he lifted his head his eyes were wet, and the tears froze on his cheeks before they fell. "There was no song under it," he said. "I heard you. Only you." Glaciana's knees nearly gave. She stepped forward and he caught her hands. "Then you know," she said. "I know what you feel," he said. "I still do not know what I feel is mine." He said it gently. "You spoke clean. I cannot yet." She had won her half and lost the other in the same breath. He believed her. He did not yet believe himself. A thin pink light bled through the high window. Not sunset. Something closer. The wyrm had not left the shelf. Its rider was waiting for him to walk out and test his own heart against hers. "Then we find your answer next," Glaciana said. "Without giving you to her."