Nimue climbed onto the bed first, her knees sinking into the mattress as she crawled toward the headboard. The white sheets rustled beneath her, still carrying the faint scent of lavender from the wash Jane used. She turned and settled against the piled pillows, then patted the space beside her in a silent but insistent invitation.
« Viens, grande sœur. » (Come, big sister.)
Fleur sat down beside her, moving more cautiously than Nimue had. The mattress dipped under her weight as she tucked her legs to one side, leaving her leather boots dangling over the edge of the bed.
Cinder jumped up after her. The russet fox circled twice on the pillow at the foot of the bed before curling into a tight ball. His amber eyes remained open, watching the two girls with quiet intelligence.
Fleur glanced at the fox, then at Nimue's serious little face. The younger girl's green eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that might have seemed unusual in a child her age. Yet it didn't feel strange. It was more like being examined by someone who had already made up her mind about the world and everything in it.
« Pourquoi tu me regardes tout le temps? » Fleur asked, her voice softer than she had intended.
(Why do you look at me all the time?)
Nimue tilted her head, her white hair shifting against the pillowcase.
« Parce que tu es belle. » (Because you are beautiful.)
Fleur's cheeks warmed, and she turned toward the window. Outside, the bare branches of the plane trees stood against the gray Paris sky.
« Ce n'est pas une raison. » (That's not a reason.)
« C'est la mienne. » (It's mine.)
Fleur didn't know how to respond. She looked back at Nimue, who had neither moved nor blinked. The younger girl showed no sign of finding the conversation difficult or the compliment unusual.
Nimue shifted closer until her knee pressed against Fleur's leg.
« Tu veux voir quelque chose? » (Do you want to see something?)
« Quoi? »
Nimue reached beneath the pillow and pulled out the Cold Light Stone. It rested in the center of her small palm, gray and deceptively smooth. Its sharp chill raised goosebumps along her arm, but she didn't flinch.
« Qu'est-ce que c'est? » (What is that?) Fleur asked, leaning closer to examine it.
« Une pierre. Elle vient d'une montagne très haute. Là-haut, il y a des moines et un oiseau spécial. »
(A stone. It comes from a very high mountain. There are monks and a special bird up there.)
Fleur reached out, and Nimue dropped the stone into her hand. Fleur turned it over carefully, studying its surface with her blue eyes.
« Elle est froide. » (It's cold.)
« Toujours. Même en été. » (Always. Even in summer.)
Fleur held it a little longer, feeling the unnatural cold seep into her skin, before handing it back. Nimue tucked the stone beneath the pillow again.
« Tu as beaucoup de choses étranges. » (You have so many strange things.)
Nimue considered that for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the clothes scattered across the floor.
« Oui. C'est ma vie. » (Yes. That's my life.)
The corner of Fleur's mouth twitched into a faint smile.
They sat quietly for a while as the winter light shifted across the room. The gray clouds thinned just enough for a weak wash of gold to reach the parquet floor. Dust motes drifted through the narrow beam of sunlight, moving slowly in the still air.
Nimue leaned sideways until her shoulder rested against Fleur's arm. Fleur didn't move away. Instead, she shifted slightly to make room, resting her arm along the top of the pillows.
« Grande sœur. »
« Oui? »
« Tu as des frères et sœurs? » (Do you have brothers and sisters?)
Fleur shook her head.
« Non. Je suis fille unique. Mes parents ont voulu plus d'enfants, mais... ça n'est pas arrivé. »
(No. I'm an only child. My parents wanted more children, but... it didn't happen.)
Nimue nodded slowly.
« Moi aussi. Je suis seule. Mais j'ai Cinder. » (Me too. I'm alone. But I have Cinder.)
The fox's ear twitched at the mention of his name, but he remained curled up.
« Est-ce que tu t'ennuies? » Fleur asked. « D'être toute seule? »
(Do you get lonely? Being all alone?)
Nimue thought about the manor back in Britain, with its long, echoing hallways and painted portraits that watched her every move but rarely spoke unless she addressed them first. She remembered Tilly crying when she left and the distant sound of her parents' voices from the next room as she waited to fall asleep.
« Parfois, » she answered quietly. « Mais maintenant j'ai toi. »
(Sometimes. But now I have you.)
Fleur's hand, resting on the pillow, moved slightly. Her fingers brushed Nimue's shoulder before settling there, a warm and steady weight.
« Tu es étrange, » Fleur said again, though her voice was much softer this time.
« Tu l'as déjà dit. » (You already said that.)
« Je le redis. » (I'm saying it again.)
Nimue smiled. It was a small, barely noticeable smile, but it changed her entire face. Fleur looked at her and didn't look away.
« Raconte-moi quelque chose, » Fleur said. « Quelque chose que tu n'as pas encore dit. »
(Tell me something. Something you haven't told me yet.)
Nimue furrowed her brow as she thought. She considered telling Fleur about her magic, the frost that sometimes spread across windowpanes when she was angry, and the cold fire that burned without heat. She remembered the bath, the screaming, and her mother's terrified, pale face. Those were not things she wanted to talk about.
Instead, she said,
« Je sais parler aux serpents. » (I can speak to snakes.)
Fleur's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise.
« Vraiment? » (Really?)
« Oui. C'est un don de famille. Mon père aussi. Et ma mère. Même grand-mère. »
(Yes. It's a family gift. My father can do it too. And my mother. Even my grandmother.)
« Qu'est-ce qu'ils disent? » (What do they say?)
Nimue shrugged her small shoulders.
« Des choses de serpents. Ils parlent de la chaleur, du froid, des endroits où se cacher. Ils n'ont pas beaucoup de mots. »
(Snake things. They talk about warmth, cold, and places to hide. They don't have many words.)
Fleur regarded her with renewed interest, a different kind of curiosity taking hold.
« Tu peux leur parler maintenant? » (Can you speak to them now?)
« Il n'y a pas de serpent ici. » (There isn't a snake here.)
« Dommage. » (Too bad.)
Nimue leaned more of her weight against Fleur, and the older girl's arm slipped around her shoulders, settling into place as though it had always belonged there.
« Tu veux voir quelque chose? » Nimue asked. (Do you want to see something?)
« Quoi? »
Nimue held out her left hand, palm facing upward. She didn't close her eyes or whisper an incantation. Instead, she called the cold from the hollow of her chest, just as she had secretly taught herself to do months ago.
Frost blossomed across her palm. It began with a single jagged crystal before spreading into an intricate pattern. A snowflake slowly took shape, growing and turning as it caught the light. Its icy silver glow shimmered as it rotated, like a tiny galaxy contained within her hand.
Fleur's breath caught, and her hand tightened on Nimue's shoulder.
« Comment...? » (How...?)
« Je l'ai toujours eu. Le froid. Il vit ici. » Nimue pressed her free hand against her chest.
(I have always had it. The cold. It lives here.)
The frost continued to spin, beautiful and dangerous. Fleur hesitated before reaching out with one finger to touch the very edge of the crystal. The cold was real, dry and sharp. She quickly pulled her hand back with a small gasp.
« Ça ne te fait pas mal? » (Doesn't it hurt you?)
« Non. C'est à moi. » (No. It's mine.)
Nimue closed her hand, and the frost vanished at once, leaving her palm as warm as before. She looked at Fleur, whose blue eyes remained wide and fixed on her hand, as if she expected the ice to appear again.
« Ne le dis à personne, » Nimue whispered, her voice suddenly serious. (Don't tell anyone.)
« Pourquoi? »
« Ce n'est pas pour tout le monde. » (It's not for everyone.)
Fleur nodded slowly, understanding the importance of the secret. Her hand returned to Nimue's shoulder, and this time her fingers rested lightly against the back of the younger girl's neck.
« Je ne dirai rien. » (I won't tell anyone.)
Nimue believed her.
They stayed together for a long time. The light through the window gradually faded from pale gold to the deeper gray of late afternoon. Cinder uncurled, stretched his front legs with a silent yawn, and padded up the bed before settling against Nimue's thigh. His warmth seeped through her trousers, a sharp contrast to the lingering memory of the ice.
Nimue's head began to feel heavy, and her eyelids grew difficult to keep open. She tried to fight the drowsiness for a while, then gave up and leaned fully against Fleur, resting her cheek against the soft wool of the older girl's jumper.
« Tu es fatiguée, » Fleur observed.
« Non. »
« Tu as les yeux fermés. » (Your eyes are closed.)
« Je regarde à l'intérieur. » (I'm looking inside.)
Fleur laughed.
« Tu es vraiment étrange, » Fleur murmured.
« Je sais. »
Nimue opened her eyes and looked up. Fleur's face was close, her blue eyes gentle and her lips curved in a way Nimue wanted to keep looking at forever.
« Tu es si belle, » Nimue said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
(You are so beautiful.)
The tips of Fleur's ears turned pink. She looked toward the window, then back at Nimue, her gaze lingering on the younger girl's face.
« Tu dis ça tout le temps. » (You say that all the time.)
« Parce que c'est vrai. » (Because it's true.)
Fleur didn't answer. Her fingers moved absently against the back of Nimue's neck, and the gentle motion made the younger girl's eyes drift shut again.
Nimue shifted, turning so she could curl against Fleur's side. She drew her knees up and rested her head in the hollow of Fleur's shoulder. Cinder stirred at the movement, then settled across both their feet, his tail draped over Fleur's ankle.
Fleur looked down at the fox before turning her attention back to Nimue.
« Il est à toi? » (Is he yours?)
« Oui. Il s'appelle Cinder. Il ne mord pas. » (Yes. His name is Cinder. He doesn't bite.)
Cinder's ear twitched, as if he understood the introduction. Fleur reached down and touched his fur. It was soft, russet, and warm. He allowed her to stroke him, his amber eyes closing halfway in a quiet display of trust.
« Il est doux. » (He is soft.)
« Oui. Et il ronfle. » (Yes. And he snores.)
Fleur laughed again, this time with a genuine laugh that Nimue could feel vibrating against her cheek.
Nimue lay down on her side, resting her head on the pillow, and patted the space in front of her. Fleur hesitated. The bed was narrow, and Nimue's small body already occupied a good portion of it. Still, the younger girl's green eyes remained steady and unblinking. Before she had even made a conscious decision, Fleur found herself lying down beside her.
The mattress shifted under her weight. Fleur lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, where a thin crack stretched from the light fixture toward the wall. Her arm remained around Nimue's back, while the smaller girl curled against her side like a kitten seeking warmth.
Cinder lifted his head and watched them for a moment before standing up. He turned twice, then settled again, this time on the pillow above their heads. His russet tail draped across the top of Fleur's hair, and he rested his chin on his paws.
Fleur didn't move. She wasn't entirely sure why. The room was quiet, the afternoon light fading into the gray of early evening, and Nimue's breathing had slowed into a peaceful rhythm.
« Grande sœur. »
« Oui? »
« Tu restes encore un peu? » (Will you stay a little longer?)
« Oui. Un peu. » (Yes. A little.)
Nimue smiled against Fleur's shoulder. Cinder's tail gave a single thump against the blanket.
« Tu t'endors? » Fleur whispered. (Are you falling asleep?)
« Non. Je réfléchis. » (No. I'm thinking.)
« À quoi? » (About what?)
Nimue remained quiet for a moment. Her hand had found the edge of Fleur's sleeve, and her fingers traced the seam back and forth, feeling the texture of the thread.
« À comment tu es arrivée ici. » (About how you came here.)
« Le marché? Tu m'as parlé. » (The market? You spoke to me.)
« Oui. Mais avant ça. Avant que je te voie. » She paused, her voice growing quieter. « Tu étais là. Et j'ai su. »
(Yes. But before that. Before I saw you. You were there. And I knew.)
Fleur turned her head on the pillow. Nimue's face was very close, her white hair spread across the white cotton and her green eyes half closed.
« Tu as su quoi? » (You knew what?)
« Que tu étais pour moi. » (That you were meant for me.)
The words lingered in the small, intimate space between them. Fleur should have laughed. She should have explained that people were not things to be claimed, and that such words meant little coming from a four-year-old.
But she didn't laugh.
Nimue wasn't looking at her like a child asking for a toy. She looked as though she had found something precious and was simply stating a fact that needed no explanation.
Fleur's arm tightened around Nimue's back in a small, unconscious movement.
« Tu es étrange, » Fleur said again, though there was no real weight behind her words.
« Je sais. »
Nimue closed her eyes. Her fingers stopped moving against Fleur's sleeve, and her breathing gradually evened out. Her body relaxed completely against the older girl's side.
Fleur remained awake. She stared at the crack in the ceiling and listened to Nimue's soft breathing, the faint rumbling sound Cinder made from his place above the pillow, and the distant, muffled traffic outside.
She should wake Nimue. She should go back, find her aunt, and leave before it got dark. But the younger girl's hand was still curled around her sleeve, and Fleur found that she didn't want to move.
So she stayed.
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