Winter

Thirteen

“When did you learn to embroider?” Jacin said, picking through the basket that hung on Winter’s elbow.

She preened. “A few weeks ago.”

Jacin lifted a hand towel from the collection and eyed the precise stitches that depicted a cluster of stars and planets around the towel’s border. “Were you getting any sleep?”

“Not very much, no.” She riffled through the basket and handed him a baby blanket embroidered with a school of fish swimming around the border. “This one’s my favorite. It took four whole days.”

He grunted. “I take it the visions were bad that week.”

“Horrible,” she said lightly. “But now I have all of these gifts.” She took the blanket back from him and tucked it among the rest of the colorful fabrics. “You know keeping busy helps. It’s when I’m idle the monsters come.”

Jacin glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He had been her guard for weeks now, but rarely did they get to talk so casually or walk side by side like this—it was expected that guards keep a respectful distance from their charges. But today Winter had dragged him along to AR-2, one of the domes adjacent to the central sector. It was mostly high-end shops set among residential neighborhoods, but this early in the day all of the shops were still closed and the streets empty and peaceful. There was no one to care about propriety.

“And all these gifts are for the shopkeepers?”

“Shopkeepers, clerks, household servants.” Her eyes glimmered. “The overlooked machine of Artemisia.”

The lower classes, then. The people who dealt with the trash and cooked the food and ensured all the needs of Luna’s aristocracy were met. They were rewarded with lives much more enviable than the laborers in the outer sectors. Full stomachs, at the least. The only downfall was that they had to live in Artemisia, surrounded by the politics and mind games of the city. A good servant was treated like a prized pet—spoiled and fawned over when they were wanted, beaten and discarded when they’d overstayed their usefulness.

Jacin had always thought that, given a choice, he’d rather take his luck to the mines or factories.

“You’ve been visiting them a lot?” he asked.

“Not as much as I’d like to. But one of the milliner’s assistants had a baby and I’ve been meaning to make her something. Do you think she’ll like it?”

“It’ll be the nicest thing the kid has.”

Winter gave a joyful skip as she walked. “My mother was a great seamstress, you know. She was becoming quite popular among the dress shops when—well. Anyway, she embroidered my baby blanket. Levana tried to throw it out, but Papa was able to stash it away. It’s one of my most prized possessions.” She fluttered her lashes and Jacin felt his lips twitch at her, rather against his will.

“I knew she was a seamstress,” he said, “but how come I’ve never seen this special blanket of yours?”

“I was embarrassed to tell you about it.”

He laughed, but when Winter didn’t join him, the sound fizzled away. “Really?”

Winter shrugged, grinning her impish grin. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Holding on to a baby blanket, of all things?” She took in a deep breath. “But it’s also my namesake. She embroidered a scene from Earth’s winter, with snow and leafless trees and a pair of little red mittens. Those are like gloves, but with all the fingers joined together.”

Jacin shook his head. “Embarrassed to show me. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Fine. I’ll show you, if you want to see it.”

“Of course I want to see it.” He was surprised how much her confession stung. He and Winter had shared everything since they were kids. It had never occurred to him she might harbor something like this, especially something so important as a gift from her mother, who had died in childbirth. But his mood brightened when he remembered—“Did I tell you I saw snow when I was on Earth?”

Winter stopped walking, her eyes going wide. “Real snow?”

“We had to hide the spaceship in Siberia, on this enormous tundra.”

She was staring at him like she would tackle him if he didn’t offer up more details.

Smirking, Jacin hooked his thumbs over his belt and rocked back on his heels. “That was all.”

Winter smacked him in the chest. “That is not all. What was it like?”

He shrugged. “White. Blinding. And really cold.”

“Did it glisten like diamonds?”

“Sometimes. When the sun hit it right.”

“What did it smell like?”

He cringed. “I don’t know, Win—Princess. Sort of like ice, I guess. I didn’t spend much time outside. Mostly we were stuck on the ship.”

Her gaze flickered with the almost slip of her name, something like disappointment that gave Jacin a shot of guilt.

So he smacked her back lightly on the shoulder. “Your parents did well. You’re named after something beautiful. It’s fitting.”

“Winter,” she whispered. Her expression turned speculative, the lights from a dress shop highlighting the specks of gray in her eyes.

Jacin tried not to be awkward when he looked away. There were times when she stood so close that he was amazed at his own ability to keep his hands to himself.

Moving the basket to her other arm, Winter started walking again. “Not everyone thinks I’m beautiful.”

He scoffed. “Whoever told you that, they were lying. Or jealous. Probably both.”

“You don’t think I’m beautiful.”

He snorted—somewhat uncontrollably—and laughed harder when she glared at him.

“That’s funny?”

Schooling his expression, he mimicked her glare. “Keep saying things like that and people will start to think you’ve gone crazy.”

She opened her mouth to refute. Hesitated. Nearly ran into a wall before Jacin scooped her back into the center of the narrow alley.

“You’ve never once called me beautiful,” she said after his hand had fallen back to his side.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you have an entire country of people singing your praises. Did you know they write poetry about you in the outer sectors? I had to listen to this drunk sing a whole ballad a few months back, all about your goddess-like perfection. I’m pretty sure the galaxy doesn’t need my input on the matter.”

She ducked her head, hiding her face behind a cascade of hair. Which was just as well. Jacin’s cheeks had gone warm, which made him both self-conscious and irritated.

“Your input is the only input that matters,” she whispered.

He stiffened, cutting a glance to her that she didn’t return. It occurred to him that he may have led them into a topic he had no intentions of exploring further. Fantasies, sure. Wishes, all the time. But reality? No—this was taboo. This would end in nothing good.

She was a princess. Her stepmother was a tyrant who would marry Winter off to someone who was politically beneficial for her own desires.

Jacin was the opposite of politically beneficial.

But here they were, and there she was looking all pretty and rejected, and why had he opened his big, stupid mouth?

Jacin sighed, exasperated. With her. With himself. With this whole situation. “Come on, Princess. You know how I feel about you. Everyone knows how I feel about you.”

Winter stopped again, but he kept walking, shaking his finger over his shoulder. “I’m not saying these things and looking at you at the same time, so keep up.”

She scurried after him. “How do you feel about me?”

“No. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying. I am your guard. I am here to protect you and keep you out of trouble, and that’s it. We are not swapping words that will result in a whole lot of awkward nights standing outside your bedroom door, got it?”

He was surprised at how angry he sounded—no, how angry he felt. Because it was impossible. It was impossible and unfair, and he had spent too many years in the trenches of unfairness to get riled up about it now.

Winter strode beside him, her fingers clenched around the basket handle. At least she wasn’t trying to catch his eye anymore, which was a small mercy.

“I do know how you feel about me,” she finally said, and it sounded like a confession. “I know that you are my guard, and you are my best friend. I know you would die for me. And I know that should that ever happen, I would die immediately after.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s pretty much it.” The sound of a nearby coffee grinder rumbled through the stone walkway, and the smell of baking bread assaulted his senses. He braced himself. “Also, I think you’re sort of pretty. You know. On a good day.”

She giggled and nudged him with her shoulder. He nudged her back and she stumbled into a flower planter, laughing harder now.

“You’re sort of pretty too,” she said. He threw a scowl at her, but it was impossible to hold on to when she was laughing like that.

“Your Highness!”

They both paused. Jacin stiffened, his hand going to his gun holster, but it was only a young girl watching them from the doorway of a little shop. A soap-filled bucket stood untouched at her feet and her eyes were as big as the full Earth.

“Oh, hello,” said Winter, adjusting her basket. “Astrid, isn’t it?”

The girl nodded, heat climbing up her cheeks as she gaped at the princess. “I—” She glanced toward the shop, then back to Winter. “Wait here!” she squealed, then dropped a rag into the bucket with a wet plop and rushed through the door.

Winter cocked her head to one side, her hair tumbling over her shoulder.

“You know that kid?”

“Her mother and father run this florist.” She ran her fingers along a trailing vine in the window box.

Jacin grunted. “What does she want?”

“How should I know? I wish I’d brought them something…”

The girl reappeared, now with two younger boys in tow. “See? I told you she’d be back!” she was saying. The boys each paused to stare at Winter, their jaws hanging. The youngest was gripping a ring of twigs and dried flowers in both hands.

“Hello,” said Winter, curtsying to each one. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Winter.”

When the boys couldn’t find the courage to speak, Astrid answered, “These are my brothers, Your Highness, Dorsey and Dylan. I told them you bought flowers from our shop before and they didn’t believe me.”

“Well, it’s true. I bought a posy of blue belldandies and kept them on my nightstand for a week.”

“Wow,” Dorsey breathed.

Winter smiled. “I’m sorry we can’t stay to take a look through your shop this morning, but we’re off to visit the milliner’s assistant. Have you been to see the new baby yet?”

All three of them shook their heads. Then Astrid nudged the younger boy, Dylan, with her elbow. He jumped, but still couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“We made something for you,” said Astrid. “We’ve been waiting for you to come back. It’s just … it’s just from the leftovers, but…” She nudged her brother again, harder this time, and he finally held up the ring of flowers.

“What is this?” asked Winter, taking it into her hands.

Jacin frowned, then jolted as he realized what it was.

The older boy answered, “It’s a crown, Your Highness. Took us almost a week of scrounging to get all the pieces.” His cheeks were flushed bright red.

“I know it’s not much,” said the girl, “but it’s for you.”

The younger boy, having divested his gift, blurted suddenly, “You’re beautiful,” before ducking behind his brother.

Winter laughed. “You’re all too kind. Thank you.”

A hazy light caught Jacin’s eye. Glancing upward, he spotted a nodule in the eaves of the next shop—a tiny camera watching over the shops and servants. There were thousands of identical cameras in sectors all over Luna, and he knew the chances of anyone minding the footage from a dull morning in AR-2 was unlikely, but a threatening chill still crept down his spine.

“The crown is lovely,” Winter said, admiring the tiny white sprigs of flowers. She settled it on top of her thick black curls. “As splendid as the queen’s jewels. I shall cherish it always.”

With a growl, Jacin snatched the crown off her head and dropped it into the basket. “She will cherish it just as well in there,” he snapped, his tone a warning. “The princess is busy. Go back inside, and don’t go bragging about this to all your friends.”

With frightened squeaks and wide eyes, the children couldn’t have scurried back into the florist shop any faster. Grabbing Winter’s elbow, Jacin dragged her away, though she soon ripped her arm out of his grip.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded.

“It looked bad.”

“Accepting a gift from a few children? Honestly, Jacin, you don’t have to be so mean.”

“You could stand to be a little less nice,” he spat back, scanning the walls and windows but not seeing any more cameras. “Putting it on your head. Are you insane?” She scowled at him and he scowled unapologetically back. “You’re lucky no one saw.” He gestured to the basket. “Cover it up before I rip it apart and bury it in one of these planters.”

“You’re overreacting,” Winter said, though she did tuck a few of her hand towels around the mess of branches.

“You’re not a queen, Princess.”

Her gaze met his again, aghast. “I do not wish to be queen.”

“Then stop accepting crowns.”

Huffing, Winter turned away and marched on ahead—like a true princess would march ahead of her guard.