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 faint with the lavender Jane used in the wash. She turned and sat with her back against the piled pillows, patting the space beside her in a silent, insistent invitation.
"Viens, grande sœur."
(Come, big sister.)
Fleur sat down, her movements more guarded than Nimue's had been. The mattress dipped under her weight as she tucked her legs to one side, leaving her leather boots dangling off the edge of the frame.
Cinder jumped up after her, the russet fox circling twice on the pillow at the foot of the bed before curling into a tight ball. His amber eyes stayed open, glowing with a quiet intelligence as he watched them both.
Fleur looked at the fox and then at Nimue's serious face. The smaller girl's green eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that should have felt strange for a child her age, but it did not. It felt more like being observed 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 it to be.
(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 looked away toward the window. Outside, the bare skeletal branches of the plane trees scratched at the grey Paris sky like claws.
"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 to that. She looked back at Nimue, who hadn't moved or blinked. The younger girl showed no sign that she found the conversation difficult or the compliment unusual.
Nimue shifted closer until her knee pressed firmly against Fleur's leg. "Tu veux voir quelque chose?"
(Do you want to see something?)
"Quoi?"
(What?)
Nimue pulled the Cold Light stone from beneath the pillow. It sat in the centre of her small palm, grey and deceptively smooth. The sharp chill of the object raised goosebumps along Nimue's arm, but she didn't flinch.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Fleur asked, leaning closer to inspect the object.
(What is that?)
"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. Up there, there are monks and a special bird.)
Fleur reached out, and Nimue dropped the stone into her hand. Fleur turned it over carefully, her blue eyes studying the dull grey surface.
"Elle est froide."
(It's cold.)
"Toujours. Même en été."
(Always. Even in summer.)
Fleur held it for a moment longer, feeling the unnatural frostiness seep into her skin, before giving it back. Nimue tucked the stone under the pillow once more.
"Tu as beaucoup de choses étranges," Fleur said.
(You have many strange things.)
Nimue considered this for a beat, her gaze drifting toward the mess of clothes on the floor. "Oui. C'est ma vie."
(Yes. It's my life.)
Fleur's mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.
They sat in silence for a while as the winter light through the window shifted and paled. The grey clouds thinned just enough for a weak wash of gold to fall across the parquet floor. Dust motes drifted in the beam, slow and aimless in the quiet air of the bedroom.
Nimue leaned sideways until her shoulder pressed against Fleur's arm. Fleur didn't move away. Instead, she shifted slightly to make room, her arm resting 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 didn't uncurl.
"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, the long echoing hallways, and the painted portraits that watched her every move but never spoke unless she spoke first. She remembered Tilly crying when she left and the distant sound of her parents' voices in the next room as she waited for sleep.
"Parfois," she said quietly. "Mais maintenant j'ai toi."
(Sometimes. But now I have you.)
Fleur's hand, resting on the pillow, moved slightly. Her fingers brushed against Nimue's shoulder and then settled there, a warm and steady weight.
"Tu es étrange," Fleur said again, though her voice was much softer this time.
(You are strange.)
"Tu l'as déjà dit."
(You already said that.)
"Je le redis."
(I'm saying it again.)
Nimue smiled. It was a small smile, barely visible, but it transformed her whole 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 said yet.)
Nimue's brow furrowed. She thought about her magic, the frost that bloomed on window glass when she was angry, and the cold fire that burned without heat. She thought about the bath, the screaming, and her mother's grey, terrified face. Those weren't things to tell.
"Je sais parler aux serpents," she said instead.
(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 too. And my mother. Even 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, places to hide. They don't have many words.)
Fleur looked at her with new eyes, 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's no snake here.)
"Dommage."
(Too bad.)
Nimue leaned more of her weight against Fleur, and the older girl's arm came around her shoulders, settling there as if it had always belonged in that position.
"Tu veux voir quelque chose?" Nimue asked.
(Do you want to see something?)
"Quoi?"
(What?)
Nimue held out her left hand, palm up. She didn't close her eyes or whisper a spell, but called the cold from the hollow of her chest, the way she had taught herself in secret months ago. Frost bloomed across her palm, starting as a single, jagged crystal before spreading into an intricate pattern: a snowflake that grew and turned, catching the light. It shimmered with an icy silver glow, spinning slowly like a tiny galaxy contained against her skin.
Fleur's breath caught, and her hand on Nimue's shoulder tightened. "Comment...?"
(How...?)
"Je l'ai toujours eu. Le froid. Il vit ici." Nimue pressed her free hand to her chest.
(I have always had it. The cold. It lives here.)
The frost continued to spin, beautiful and dangerous. Fleur reached out with one finger, hesitant, and touched the very edge of the crystal. The cold was real, dry and sharp, and she 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 instantly, leaving only the normal warmth of her palm. She looked at Fleur, whose blue eyes were wide and fixed on Nimue's hand as if she expected the ice to reappear.
"Ne le dis à personne," Nimue said, her voice dropping to a serious whisper.
(Don't tell anyone.)
"Pourquoi?"
(Why?)
"Ce n'est pas pour tout le monde."
(It's not for everyone.)
Fleur nodded slowly, the gravity of the secret settling between them. Her hand returned to Nimue's shoulder, and this time she let her fingers rest on the back of Nimue's neck, light and careful.
"Je ne dirai rien," Fleur said.
(I will say nothing.)
Nimue believed her.
They stayed like that for a long time. The light through the window shifted from pale gold to the deepening grey of late afternoon. Cinder uncurled from his ball, stretched his front legs with a silent yawn, and padded up the bed to settle against Nimue's thigh. His warmth seeped through her trousers, a stark contrast to the memory of the ice.
Nimue's head grew heavy and her eyes wanted to close. She fought the sensation, then stopped, letting herself lean fully against Fleur while her cheek pressed into the soft wool of the older girl's jumper.
"Tu es fatiguée," Fleur observed.
(You are tired.)
"Non."
"Tu as les yeux fermés."
(Your eyes are closed.)
"Je regarde à l'intérieur."
(I'm looking inside.)
Fleur laughed. It was a small sound, a breath more than a laugh, but it made her chest move under Nimue's cheek.
"Tu es vraiment étrange," Fleur murmured.
(You are truly strange.)
"Je sais."
(I know.)
Nimue opened her eyes and looked up. Fleur's face was close, her blue eyes soft and her mouth curved in a way that Nimue wanted to look at forever.
"Tu es si belle," Nimue said, the words coming out without her permission.
(You are so beautiful.)
The tips of Fleur's ears turned pink. She looked away toward the window and then back again, her gaze lingering on Nimue'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 moving on the back of Nimue's neck in a small, absent motion that made Nimue's eyes drift shut again.
Nimue shifted, turning her body so she could curl against Fleur's side. Her knees drew up, and her head found the hollow of Fleur's shoulder. Cinder, disturbed by the movement, resettled himself across both their feet, his tail draping over Fleur's ankle.
Fleur looked down at the fox and then at Nimue. "Il est à toi?"
(He is yours?)
"Oui. Il s'appelle Cinder. Il ne mord pas."
(Yes. His name is Cinder. He doesn't bite.)
Cinder's ear twitched again, as if he understood the praise. Fleur reached down and touched his fur. It was soft, russet, and warm. Cinder allowed the contact, his amber eyes closing partway in a show of trust.
"Il est doux."
(He is soft.)
"Oui. Et il ronfle."
(Yes. And he snores.)
Fleur laughed again, a real laugh this time, and Nimue felt the vibration in her chest.
Nimue lay down on her side, 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 took up a third of it, but the girl's green eyes were steady and unblinking. Fleur found herself lying down before she had even consciously decided to.
The mattress shifted under her weight. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling where a thin crack ran from the light fixture to the wall. Her arm was still around Nimue's back, and the smaller girl curled into her side, fitting against her like a kitten seeking warmth.
Cinder lifted his head, watched them for a long moment, and then stood up. He turned twice and settled again, this time at the pillow above their heads. His russet tail draped across the top of Fleur's hair, and his chin rested on his paws.
Fleur didn't move. She wasn't sure why. The room was quiet, the afternoon light fading toward the grey 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 thumped once against the blanket.
"Tu t'endors?" Fleur whispered.
(Are you falling asleep?)
"Non. Je réfléchis."
(No. I'm thinking.)
"À quoi?"
(About what?)
Nimue was quiet for a moment. Her hand had found the edge of Fleur's sleeve, and her fingers were tracing 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 small. "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 for me.)
The words sat in the small, intimate space between them. Fleur should have laughed. She should have told the little girl that people weren't things to be claimed, and that such words meant nothing at four years old.
But she didn't laugh. Because Nimue wasn't looking at her like a child asking for a toy. She was looking at her like someone who had seen something precious and was simply stating a fact of the universe.
Fleur's arm tightened around Nimue's back in a small, unconscious movement.
"Tu es étrange," Fleur said again, though her voice had no weight to it.
(You are strange.)
"Je sais."
(I know.)
Nimue closed her eyes. Her fingers stopped moving on Fleur's sleeve, and her breathing evened out, slow and deep. Her body relaxed completely against Fleur's side.
Fleur didn't close her eyes. She stared at the crack in the ceiling and listened to the soft rhythm of Nimue's breath, the faint sound of Cinder's purr-like rumble from above the pillow, and the distant, muffled traffic of Paris.
She should wake the girl. She should go back, find her aunt, and leave before it got dark. But Nimue's hand was still curled around her sleeve, and Fleur found that she didn't want to move at all.
So she stayed.