indefinable essence, not because they conform
to some checklist.”
“A checklist would be nice though,” Christine said, rolling carefully onto her side. “Sometimes girls like compliments.”
“All right then. You’re beautiful and clever and kind.”
“No, it’s no good giving me a compliment when I asked for it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I asked for it. Because it’s not sincere. You have to give me one when I’m not expecting it.”
“But you’ll still know you asked for it, won’t you?”
“Not if you leave it long enough between this conversation and the compliment.”
“But if I leave it too long, you’ll remind me again and then we’ll be back where we started.”
Christine giggled. “Nobody said love was easy.”
He pinned her down and kissed her again, and her senses flared with passion. This bodily response was the only physical thing
that could match her pain for intensity. He let her go and she sighed.
“You know,” she said, “I had the strangest dream when I blacked out the other day. I was in a place where I felt no pain at
all.”
“Yeah? What happened?”
“In the dream? Not much. Just silly dream stuff.” Telling him would be too much like acknowledging its power.
“Was it nice? To be without the pain?”
“It was incredible, Jude. Absolute freedom.” She locked her fingers with his under the covers and thought about how pain had
become a default setting in her life. Everything was geared around it. How she walked, how she moved, how long she could stay
in a conversation without distraction, how she slept, showered, ate, drank. “Do you think someone can go mad from pain?” she
asked.
“I don’t know. But you’re strong, you’ll be okay.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a dream,” she said carefully. “Maybe it was a hallucination. Maybe I’m going nuts.”
“Hey, don’t worry yourself about silly things like that,” he said. “You’re perfectly sane.”
“But the dream was so—”
“Shh, you’re getting worked up over nothing,” Jude said, stroking her hair. “Don’t be afraid of shadows. A dream is only ever
just a dream.”
Eisengrimm!” Mayfridh swept up the corridor, setting the autumn-colored tapestries dancing in her wake. “Eisengrimm, where
are you?”
She poked her head into the dim, low-ceilinged kitchen. “Has anyone seen Eisengrimm?”
A flurry of fumbling curtsies and slack mouths and shaking heads greeted her. Idiots. She backed out and kept walking. Why
did people have to turn all silent and fearful in her presence? She was not a cruel queen. Nobody ever spoke to her with their
hearts, only with their heads—ever mindful of their careers, or their reputations, or their fortunes. Her own heart was aching
under the unexpressed weight of this truth. Eisengrimm was the only one she could tell her woes and insecurities to, and he
was a good listener and a good counselor. But he was a wolf. She couldn’t marry him or adopt him as a brother; he could never
be of her kind.
She threw open the door to the garden and called, “Eisengrimm!”
The garden was strewn with fallen leaves. She knew she had until the last leaf of autumn fell to find Christine, because then
it would be time to move to the Winter Castle and away from this favorable alignment of their worlds. Mayfridh couldn’t explain,
even to herself, why she had become so desperate to find Christine again. The faery world worked on the memory in strange
ways. She had forgotten so much about her previous existence, about Christine and her own Real World parents, but now it was
swirling back to her in gentle waves. All those warm memories, filling her with an unutterable longing for a simpler, happier
time.
Mayfridh lowered herself to the ground and stretched out on her back among the leaves. The sky was pale above her and she
breathed deeply. Every breath brought her closer to agreeing to make passage to the Real World. She
to some checklist.”
“A checklist would be nice though,” Christine said, rolling carefully onto her side. “Sometimes girls like compliments.”
“All right then. You’re beautiful and clever and kind.”
“No, it’s no good giving me a compliment when I asked for it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I asked for it. Because it’s not sincere. You have to give me one when I’m not expecting it.”
“But you’ll still know you asked for it, won’t you?”
“Not if you leave it long enough between this conversation and the compliment.”
“But if I leave it too long, you’ll remind me again and then we’ll be back where we started.”
Christine giggled. “Nobody said love was easy.”
He pinned her down and kissed her again, and her senses flared with passion. This bodily response was the only physical thing
that could match her pain for intensity. He let her go and she sighed.
“You know,” she said, “I had the strangest dream when I blacked out the other day. I was in a place where I felt no pain at
all.”
“Yeah? What happened?”
“In the dream? Not much. Just silly dream stuff.” Telling him would be too much like acknowledging its power.
“Was it nice? To be without the pain?”
“It was incredible, Jude. Absolute freedom.” She locked her fingers with his under the covers and thought about how pain had
become a default setting in her life. Everything was geared around it. How she walked, how she moved, how long she could stay
in a conversation without distraction, how she slept, showered, ate, drank. “Do you think someone can go mad from pain?” she
asked.
“I don’t know. But you’re strong, you’ll be okay.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a dream,” she said carefully. “Maybe it was a hallucination. Maybe I’m going nuts.”
“Hey, don’t worry yourself about silly things like that,” he said. “You’re perfectly sane.”
“But the dream was so—”
“Shh, you’re getting worked up over nothing,” Jude said, stroking her hair. “Don’t be afraid of shadows. A dream is only ever
just a dream.”
Eisengrimm!” Mayfridh swept up the corridor, setting the autumn-colored tapestries dancing in her wake. “Eisengrimm, where
are you?”
She poked her head into the dim, low-ceilinged kitchen. “Has anyone seen Eisengrimm?”
A flurry of fumbling curtsies and slack mouths and shaking heads greeted her. Idiots. She backed out and kept walking. Why
did people have to turn all silent and fearful in her presence? She was not a cruel queen. Nobody ever spoke to her with their
hearts, only with their heads—ever mindful of their careers, or their reputations, or their fortunes. Her own heart was aching
under the unexpressed weight of this truth. Eisengrimm was the only one she could tell her woes and insecurities to, and he
was a good listener and a good counselor. But he was a wolf. She couldn’t marry him or adopt him as a brother; he could never
be of her kind.
She threw open the door to the garden and called, “Eisengrimm!”
The garden was strewn with fallen leaves. She knew she had until the last leaf of autumn fell to find Christine, because then
it would be time to move to the Winter Castle and away from this favorable alignment of their worlds. Mayfridh couldn’t explain,
even to herself, why she had become so desperate to find Christine again. The faery world worked on the memory in strange
ways. She had forgotten so much about her previous existence, about Christine and her own Real World parents, but now it was
swirling back to her in gentle waves. All those warm memories, filling her with an unutterable longing for a simpler, happier
time.
Mayfridh lowered herself to the ground and stretched out on her back among the leaves. The sky was pale above her and she
breathed deeply. Every breath brought her closer to agreeing to make passage to the Real World. She
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