The day had been awful. It was wonderful to see Jorg having so much fun with his mother and father, and even getting presents from them, but Svea had seen Thyri looking at her, and it made her feel so small and insignificant that it was eating her up. She hadn’t meant to spill the secret beans to a stranger. She was new; she didn’t know about this whole competition thing, or that it was even possible to end up in someone else’s body. She barely ever saw Rhaegar and what she had seen of the stranger hadn’t been enough to tell her that he was an imposter anyway. She spent the day shamed and guilt-ridden and quietly watching her charge and her familiar wear themselves out.
When it was finally all over, when Rhaegar and Thyri had left and Jorg had fallen fast asleep, Svea let herself sink into the sofa with a sigh. Nana, who had only just noticed the stress that her fairy was feeling at the time, climbed into her lab and began to lick her face.
“Don’t worry, Svea. I’m sure it will be okay,” she said between the kisses that were slowly bringing a smile to the Icelandic woman’s face. “Besides, she can’t fire you. She’d end up having to spend more time with Jorg or reveal the secret to someone else.”
The fluffy white dog didn’t have to finish that train of thought for it to make Svea relax. Whoever the imposter had been, he had seemed sincere when he promised not to tell anyone, and Thyri wasn’t going to risk finding someone else to nanny her son. Svea was as devout as she could possibly be and had spent the last five years keeping their secret and living a life of solitude. She loved Jorg and was pretty confident that he loved her back. Secretly, she hoped that meant if she were fired (or killed or Rhaegar smited her) he’d be inconsolable. The god’s consort had barely any patience for him when he was anything but happy and playful and, well, looking more like a future fighter each day, let alone when he was being a vulnerable child.
In gratitude for her familiar’s words, Svea gave the Samoyed a rub on the ear and rose to grab a piece of bacon that had been left over from the morning’s breakfast. She had only reached the kitchen when Nana bolted upright.
“Svea, I smell smoke.”
Confused, she turned toward the stove and the oven, worried she might have left something on from cooking dinner. “Nothing is burning, Nana. You’re imagin-”
The cry from Jorg’s room was like a shard of ice to the gut, leaving Nana to be the level-headed guardian. The dog leapt into action and raced down the hall, tail flagged in the air in her attempt to scare off the fiery monster disturbing Jorg. The receding white pulled Svea into action; she pursued toward the closed door, where Nana was barking frantically.
The metal knob was scalding but Svea hardly felt it through the fear and adrenaline streaming through her. The knob twisted and Nana shoved it open and dragged the little boy out by the shirt. Svea, in the face of the flames, saw her past and the ceremonies with sacred fires to watch over the worshippers. She shivered, chilled at the memory, and shut her eyes. If she’d gotten nothing else from Anissa and Rook, she was going to get this. She exhaled, releasing what tension she was holding, certain that her familiar had removed Jorg from the danger, and opened her eyes. She wasn’t going to fear the fire; she wasn’t going to fear the ice.
With a wave, each flame ceased to flicker, and the embers fell like snowflakes to the wooden floors. The panic returned as the weight of the ice on the curtains ripped the rods to the ground, and she spun around to find her small, pieced together family outside the cottage.
“Are you alright, Jorg min? What happened?”
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