A nearly uniform slate gray blanket of clouds covered the sky, hiding the sun. Snow drifted down slowly but steadily, the kind which settled and built up quickly. The air had a bite, promising the snow cover would be there to stay for a while. Perfect day to stay inside.
Dahlia dressed simply for a casual day but still conscious of the cold weather. The last thing any of them needed was to catch a chill. Golden curls tumbled loose down her back. Along with having no reason to pin it up, the blonde mane helped keep her head, neck and even back warm. Of course, the crackling fire and blanket across her lap helped as well.
Mrs. Gwenn and Natalia, the young girl she and Casimir took in a few months prior, were in the kitchen baking away. Only a few minutes ago Eva had gone down for her nap so Dahlia took the opportunity to tuck into her book for a while.
She lost herself in the story, enough that the sudden firm knock on the door actually caused her to jump, heart racing. A small frown touched her brow while she attempted to will her thundering pulse to calm. Who in the world could that be? We’re not expecting anyone. Mrs. Gwenn never mentioned anything, and nearly everyone who might visit don’t typically use doors…
Setting the book down and flipping the blanket off, Dahlia made her way to the door. An important looking man greeted her.
“Lady Dahlia Grimstad?” A cultured, deep timbered voice.
“Yes? To what do I owe the pleasure?” It never hurt to be polite, though dread began to coil in her belly.
“I wish I were here to deliver holiday tidings, my Lady.” The deep voice sounded gentle. Perhaps it was the sudden fear in her eyes, the paling of her ivory skin, but clearly he did not want to say what came next. “Your husband… He rode out to visit the next city over. Not long after, a few hours at most, his horse returned… Riderless.”
Dahlia stared at the man, unable to believe her ears. A jangle of metal drew her attention to Casimir’s horse standing next to the man’s, reins tied to the saddle, and all too clearly lacking its rider. She looked back at him when he began again.
“We searched for days, near a week, but the only sign of him we found was a tattered cloak. I recognized the broach on it to be his.” The man held his hand out and dropped the lion’s head clasp Evan had given Casimir when he’d been a boy back before they all knew each other as they did now into Dahlia’s extended hand.
Her eyes fluttered. Tears rolled down her cheeks. The winters in that place were harsh. There was…
“...No way he could have survived, exposed to the elements,” he finished her line of thought. “I’m sorry, my Lady. Casimir was a good man.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more but whatever he saw on Dahlia’s face stayed the words. Clearing his throat, his head shook. “I’ll see to the horse.” He met her eyes. “I’m sorry.” Then the man excused himself then, leaving Dahlia frozen with shock in the doorway. She watched him lead the horses presumably toward the stable but she honestly couldn’t say.
Eventually she stepped back and closed the door. Mrs. Gwenn stood behind and slightly to the side of her, hand covering her mouth. Dahlia barely registered her presence.
Everything surrounding her felt strange and unfamiliar, foreign. A queer calm, completely at odds with the current situation, settled over her. All sounds were muffled, replaced by a high pitched ringing. An enormous weight pressed onto her chest. She couldn’t understand why breathing became difficult. Mrs. Gwenn gathered a frightened looking Natalia into her arms as Dahlia walked past them, moving stiffly as if made from wood.
This continued all the way into the bedroom. Dimly she registered it as theirs. Her footsteps finally halted on the fur rug spread out in front of the fireplace, at which point her knees failed. Down she went.
Gone. How could he be gone? They had their whole lives ahead of them. They were supposed to grow old together. Dahlia balled her fists together and felt something dig into the palm of her hand. Puzzled, she opened her hand and found the cloak broach. Casimir’s cloak broach. Her husband. Her dead husband.
The room spun. She gasped once, twice. Every muscle in her body tensed. A strangled sound bubbled out of her throat. Drawing in a deep breath… Dahlia screamed; all the rage and pain she felt expressed in one ragged, heart shattering scream. Then came the sobs. The broken woman cried until her throat was raw, eyes bloodshot and swollen, until she had nothing left to give.
