“I will,” said Arrin.
Snow woke.
Her throat ached in ways that defied description. She was surrounded by whiteness — white walls, white ceiling, unbleached linen sheets. There was a window with wooden shutters, and a vase of dried hydrangea blossoms on the sill.
“W-what?” The sound of her own voice was hoarse and ugly. “Where am I?”
“The convent of St. Mirriam,” someone replied. “You were attacked, but you’re safe now. All will be well.”
“Yes … ” said Snow slowly. “I remember — ”
A thought struck her suddenly, and she tried to sit up. The nun sitting beside her put a hand on her shoulder and held her down. “Ashes!”
“Ashes is fine,” said a familiar voice near the floor.
Snow craned her neck, and Juniper stood up and laid her great bristly head across the sheets. She smiled, as much as a boar can smile.
“Hush!” croaked Snow. “They’ll hear you — ”
“Don’t worry,” said the nun. She did not look much older than Snow, but she had a great air of calm. “We know about them. It is … unusual, but their leader agreed to be bathed in holy water, and did not turn into a demon, so we are forced to conclude that it is some manner of miracle.”
Juniper grinned. “It’s a good thing we didn’t bring Puffball. He would have pretended to be one, just for a joke.”
“That’s all right, then … ” croaked Snow, and drifted back to sleep.
The next time she woke, she was stronger, and she was able to drink a little broth. Her throat hurt, but if she let liquid trickle down the back and did not try to swallow, it hurt less. Mother Clara came as soon as she was awake, and sat down on the bed beside her.
“My dear, how do you feel?”
“Horrible,” whispered Snow, and smiled weakly.
Mother Clara threw her head back and laughed. “Very good! That will pass. We were worried for a little while, when that young hunter brought you here. Your throat was so swollen that we were not sure that you would survive.”
“She tried to strangle me,” Snow whispered, plucking at the edge of the sheet. “She was mad. She must have been.”
The abbess took a deep breath, and her smile faded. “I am afraid,” she said slowly, “I am afraid that was your mother. The queen. Her sorceries had recoiled on her somehow.”
There was a long silence in the little white room. A breeze came through the little window, and rattled the edges of the dried flowers.
“My mother is the castle midwife,” said Snow, closing her eyes.
The abbess patted her hand. “I sent for her, and will tell her you said so.”
There was a little silence. Snow stirred. “The boars?”
“Your truffle-hunting friends,” said the abbess, laughing. “They were a surprise. I had expected fairies, you know, or possibly dwarves, and I was a little concerned by it. They are not safe friends, and some are devils in disguise. But I could not understand why they would need a human to bargain for them. Your friend Greatspot was a revelation. If she were human, she would make a marvelous abbess, I think.”
Snow thought about a time last winter, when Greatspot had gone into heat and had spent several days away from the den with Puffball. It did not seem terribly appropriate to mention this to a nun. She settled for a nod.
Mother Clara patted Snow’s hand again, and rose. “Rest. When you are strong enough, we will take you out to the garden. Men are not allowed within these walls, and I fear Master Arrin is going half-mad wanting to see you.”
Master Arrin was in fact going half-mad, and had been for several days. When Snow, assisted by Juniper on one side and Mother Clara on the other, made her way into the garden, Arrin nearly flung his arms around her. (He did not, largely because Mother Clara was there.)
“You’re alive,” he said, as she settled on a bench.“I was afraid — you were so limp and your breathing was terrible — ”
She smiled. “I still sound terrible,” she said. Her voice still sounded hoarse and hard, like a crow laughing. “It’s not painful, but they tell me it may not ever recover. Oh, well. I got off lightly, really.”
“I should have come sooner,” said Arrin. “Or never left you alone.” He sank to his knees next to the bench.
(Mother Clara shared a look with Juniper, which did not — quite — include rolled eyes.)
Snow shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. It was the queen. She would have found a way. At least … at least it’s over now.”
“You were very brave,” said Arrin.
Snow looked at him blankly.
But I wasn’t brave, she thought. I was brave before, when I talked to the farmer. I was frightened and I did it anyway. I was brave when I went to the nuns. Being attacked by the queen — that wasn’t brave. I just wanted not to die.
She wondered if he would understand. She thought not.
She wondered if, given time, she could teach him.
And then she thought, he rode from the boar’s house, all that dark way, with me rasping for breath in his arms. And perhaps I don’t understand what that was like, either.
It is possible that we might teach each other.
Mother Clara cleared her throat discreetly. “It may be useful for both of you to know that the king has disinherited Snow and remanded her to my care. I believe he would like you to discover a vocation and take orders, but I made him no promises. In any event, you are welcome here as long as you would like to stay.”
Snow exhaled, leaning back on the bench. “Thank God.”
“God most likely had a hand in it,” Mother Clara agreed. “At least by way of his humble servant.” She smiled demurely and Juniper snickered.
Arrin took Snow’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Then I will come and see you again.”
“Yes,” said Snow. “I think
