Espella was usually the embodiment of holiday cheer. Even now, she was dressed in her white dress, her red cloak exchanged for a woolen Christmas-y vest in a brilliant forest green. Her white apron had been exchanged for a similar one with candy canes embroidered on the pocket. She even had adorned the ends of her blonde plaits with sprigs of holly. But while her outfit was full of Christmas spirit, her sighs and slumped shoulders weren't.

"What's the matter, child?" Mrs. Eclaire asked outright one day. She was spooning raspberry and mint jam into the indents of cooling cookies, watching her young ward slump around the shop. "You were so excited about this village just a few weeks ago… has something happened?"

The 'village' she was referring to was Espella and Zacharias Barnham's first real holiday idea. They'd come up with the idea of a gingerbread village, with cottages small enough to fit into a child's hand. It had been a resounding success in Labyrinthia, and they'd sold out within the week. Each week, they made a new village with different cottages and new buildings, with little gingerbread people walking among their homes. No town was exactly the same as the last week, and the little children always ran to the bakery on Mondays to see the newest things.

"I'm still happy for it," Espella protested as she doused the buildings in a liberal amount of powdered sugar. "But… I've just been thinking." She paused in her sugar duties, staring out the bakery window at the people going about their business. They were well-bundled against the frigid winter air coming off the ocean, the endlessly gray skies casting a bleak glow on the houses decorated so beautifully for the holidays. "Is it too much to ask for a white Christmas, Aunt Patty?"

"Hmm?" The older woman asked, not really listening as she pressed her fingers lightly into the jelly to make sure it would solidify the proper way. "Whatever do you mean?" She brushed her fingers off onto her apron (who's little iced gingerbread men motifs matched the ones strolling over the gingerbread bridge built across the glassy sugar-lake).

"It's just that everyone talks about snow, and we all use snow in all our decorations, but has it ever actually snowed in Labyrinthia?" Espella pointed out as she began to sift the sugar over the browned rooftops again. "I've never seen it snow," she added in a mumble, as if feeling the need to back up her own words.

"Well of course it's snowed here…I think." Mrs. Eclaire paused, eyes unfocusing for a moment as she stared into the distance. "I mean, I distinctly remember making snow angels with my sister as a child, but now that I think about it… was that in Labyrinthia?" She nearly dropped a tray of pastries as she thought, the metal sliding from her mitted grasp and hitting the edge of the counter with a clang. She jumped, startled, and looked at it with wide eyes before sitting it back on the sturdy wooden surface.

Her conundrum was one that scores of Labyrinthians faced as they tried to separate their real memories from the fake ones following the events of the last Witch Trial. For the townspeople, the revelation of their true selves had been one that took a bit of work to accept. After all, when a man governed one's life for years, it was hard to go back to making one's own choices, as well as accepting the consequences of one's actions.

Most had chosen to remain in the town, as it was the only home they remembered, but the real memories still intertwined with the false ones and led to some confusing problems now and again. In the old days, it was easy to say "of course I only dreamed that my wife had black hair and weighed three hundred pounds!" but nowadays it wasn't quite as easy. Even Mrs. Eclaire, one of the most grounded people in the city, could still be caught calling the bakery a 'deli' and talking about when she and her husband fed paninis to the 'ninety-nine workers of the Eastern Metro on New Year's Eve", though Labyrinthia had neither deli nor metro in sight.

"Hello, hello," The door's bell jingled and they both turned to see Arthur Cantabella entering. Espella rushed to hug him and help him unwind the thick scarf from his neck. "What's with the somber mood?" he asked curiously, peering into the murky depths of the shop. "Surely it's not a quiet day at the bakery, is it? Not with Christmas coming just next week."

"Dad, why does it never snow here?" Espella asked him, taking the wool coat from him as well and shivering as the chill from outside found its way onto her bare arms. "Everyone talks of snow, but it's never snowed in Labyrinthia before."

"It has, actually, but it's a very rare occurrence," he corrected her, moving to sit at the long table. His hips cracked as he sat and he winced. "Ah, curse this arthritis. It always gets twice as bad in the winter." Mrs. Eclaire tutted and brought him a warm cup of tea. "To answer your question, my dear, it hardly snows here because we're just not in the right climate zone." He shrugged. "The conditions have to be just right for any sort of winter weather."

"That's just not fair," Espella sighed, taking a seat across from him with a large bowl of potatoes that were just begging to be peeled. She took her knife and began expertly separating the skin from the potato while still leaving both vegetable and peel mostly intact. "When was the last time it snowed? Do you remember?"

"I remember clearly," her father chuckled. "It was the year Eve was born, and it was a blizzard by Labyrinthian standards. Of course, it wasn't Labyrinthia back then," he noted. "In any case, poor Newton had to stand out knee-deep in the snowdrifts to board up all the windowpanes, because Eve's mother was afraid the baby might catch chill if there was a draft."

"Well she wasn't wrong," Mrs. Eclaire cut in from her spot at the counter. "Babies aren't quite hardy enough for a strong winter storm. The best place for a baby in winter is in a cradle beside the fire," she nodded, as if she had kids enough to prove her child-rearing skills.

"Newton wasn't one to argue with his wife," Arthur shrugged, taking a sip of the tea and grimacing as the hot liquid scalded his throat. "He stood out there and did it, snow and all. But that was the last time it snowed here in Labyrinthia. Anyone that tells you otherwise is only remembering their past life."

"So… we're due for another one, then." Espella brightened considerably as she looked down at her potatoes. "After all, it's been over two decades since the last snowstorm."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, Espella," her father cautioned gently. "After all, it's got to be perfect conditions, and that's not something that happens on the nose every two decades." The girl frowned and huffed.

"I wish… I wish the Story was real in times like these." Arthur tilted his head at her questioningly. "Then you could have just written snow into the Story and it would have happened."

"That's precisely why I didn't write a lot of weather into the Story, unless I knew for sure that it would happen." He smiled, though it was bittersweet. "Your father is many things, but I'm afraid magic just isn't one of them."

"You're magic in your own way, Dad," she shrugged before redoubling back to her problem. "If there was only a way to make sure it would snow…." She sighed again and turned the potato over in her hand, staring at it with such a fixed expression that her father couldn't help but laugh.

"You look so much like your mother when you make that face," he declared. "The potato can't make it snow, but who knows? One day you might be the one to finally figure out climate control, Espella. You've got the genes of a great scientist in you," he added with a wink.

"Mom was a great scientist?" Espella gasped teasingly before breaking into laughter herself. Mrs. Eclaire smiled at the sight; she really was happy to see them getting along as father and daughter should. Perhaps they'd been estranged for a long time, but now that a year or so had passed and the healing had started, the bond was stronger than ever.

Maybe it wouldn't snow, but warm hearts beat cold ones any day.

"Eve!" Eve opened her eyes, wincing at the bright morning sun shining through her window. Since when did the sun become so bright? She yawned, stretching in her bed before throwing back the quilt. Her bare toes curled and she shivered, yanking her long nightdress down over her pale legs. Damn, but it was cold! She sat up, stretching again as gooseflesh pimpled her arms and pushing her disheveled hair out of her face. "Eve!" She blinked, getting out of bed and crossing quickly to the window. The soles of her feet protested at the icy floorboards' touch.

She screwed her eyes shut against the blinding sun, trying to figure out what was wrong. Opening the sash, a plop of white fluff fell onto the windowsill and her hand brushed against it. She pulled it back with a gasp, the sheer cold of it shocking her fully awake. Looking out, she saw everything covered in a thick blanket of white, from the gray stone of the city walls to the waters of the lake surrounding her home. She leaned out the window, ignoring the cold breeze accosting her through her thin nightgown as she stared down at her front door. Espella waved up at her, dressed warmly against the cold. She could see her excited face from the window, eyes twinkling and cheeks blushed more from joy than from the winter air.

"Oh, look, Eve!" she called out rapturously. "Snow! It's really snow! Dad said that it wouldn't happen, but it did! Wonderful, beautiful snow!" she screamed in an almost maniac singsong, twirling around and falling back into the snow, white powder bursting up around her as she rolled around. "It's a holiday miracle!" She jumped back to her feet. "Come on and get dressed! Everyone's having so much fun!" Without another word, she turned and ran as fast as she could towards the Eldwitch fields, nearly sliding on the iced-over bridge and barely managing to catch herself on the railing.

She closed the sash again, rubbing her arms and moving to her bureau. She'd never been in the snow before. The people in her stories knew of snow, and her father had told her the story of the Labyrinthian blizzard the year she was born, but she'd never actually seen it outside of pictures from the modern world. Despite her calm demeanor, her heart gave a quiver of excitement and she rushed to pull out her warmest clothing from the back of the bureau.

She dressed in her woolen undergarments and then found a thick black sweater and matching pants. Rolling up the sweater's sleeves, she went down the hall to her bathroom and splashed some warm water on her face before brushing her teeth. She left her hair down, running a comb through it; if she was going to wear a hat, trying to put it up in her usual hairstyle wouldn't be worth it.

Going downstairs, she stopped in the kitchen for a quick breakfast of day-old roll and tea. The tea warmed her further, resting in her stomach like a small fire and cutting her hunger. She pulled on her boots by the door, searching through a chest before coming up with a maroon scarf and matching toboggan. She put on her black coat before winding the scarf around her neck and looping the ends in a loose knot. She pulled the knitted cap snugly down over her ears, mashing her hair and the scarf to the back of her neck. Her face began to flush from the heat of the outfit, but she knew out in the snow it would be far better to be hot than cold. Thinking, she dug around more and found an old pair of knit gloves; one of them had a hole in the thumb, but they'd work well enough to keep her hands warm.

She stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind her and smiling as the frigid wind did little to her through her coat. She set off after Espella, following the girl's bootprints in the snow. It crunched when she walked with an oddly satisfying sound, reflecting the sun's rays and making the world seem three times brighter than usual. The sounds of the woods were muffled; she heard shouting and laughter from beyond the bridge, and her own crunching—nothing more.

When she reached the bridge, she could barely hear the trickle of not-quite-frozen water pushing its way through the stream's ice. Where the ice was thick in the actual lake, a few townspeople were out slipping and sliding along the surface. It looked like it hurt when they fell, but they seemed to be having fun anyway. She stopped and stood on the bridge to watch the Vigilantes (minus their loud leader) all in a row, holding hands and working in unison to move across the ice. Their metal boots sounded loud in the absence of other sound, and she cringed when the gangly one's crutch slipped and they crashed with a clamor, breaking their tight handholds and slipping away from one another like ripples on a pond's surface.

She moved on and went over the rise, standing at the top to survey the fields. With the snow covering all the natural markers she'd come to know, the fields seemed to stretch on and on. They were large enough that even with most of the city out and about, there was still room enough that groups were able to break off by themselves to play.

The Wordsmith was posing serenely on a snow-covered bolder while the little Petal and her brother worked on making a worthy effigy of him out of the snow. The boy slid on the side of the rock and knocked a piece of the snow-sculpture loose, prompting his red-faced sister to stamp her feet and shout, her young voice breaking on a high note. He began to cry and she crossed her arms with a huff, but reached out after a moment and said something quietly to him, causing him to dry his tears and nod with a snotty sniffle.

In another area, the 'reformed' Muggs and Briggs were engaged in what looked like a cross between knife-throwing and beanbag tossing, with the snow built up in little holes and markers in front—assumedly to serve as points to whomever could land their knife in the proper holes. Their opponents were Rouge and Boistrum, the latter proving himself to be quite skilled at the art of arcing the knife just so, causing it to land perfectly blade down in the snow-hole. Rouge applauded him with an impressed smirk as he hit the furthest one from where they stood; he colored, but looked smugly pleased.

Cinderellia was dancing circles around her mother, who seemed to be gathering the snow in a bucket for some reason. Goats hopped and frisked in the snow, baaing happily and forcing Mary and Knightley-Whatley-Whoever-he-was-this-weekly to chase them down before they hit the lake and went spinning, hooves facing four different directions (to the town children's growing delight). Ridelle and Dewey were building an entire tiny Labyrinthia, with a snow Archive towering over the tiny snow huts. There were pine needles for flags, river rocks for windows, and even a snow-wall.

She saw Espella over near the woods and headed towards her, hand raised in greeting. Espella saw her and said something over her shoulder, her hands working on what looked like a snow-Patty. There was a flash of red and she thought that real-Patty was there, but the figure straightened up and she saw that it was Sir Barnham. He was wearing a dark blue scarf that she'd never seen before, the ends tossed over his shoulders as he grabbed large handfuls of snow and packed them around the snow-Patty's base. He saw her and grinned, wiping his arm across his forehead.

"Miss Eve," he greeted her brightly as she came closer. "Tell me; is this not a genuine likeness of the baker Eclaire?" She stared at the lopsided figure, a small, polite smile locked on her face. Yes, about as genuine a likeness as that birthday éclair was of me…. But they had clearly worked up a sweat building it, and she didn't want to hurt their feelings.

"She—she's very unique." He took her remark as a compliment and grinned even wider, his face scrunching and making him look rather boyish. She felt something flutter in her chest and looked away, stomach flipping. No, none of that. Not today.

"She needs some snow-bread," Espella pointed out, gloved fist smacking against her open hand. "Sir Barnham, you get the snow, and I'll get some of these leftover mouth pebbles for the berries on the top." She bent down and scooped up a handful of round river pebbles, counting them as they sat wetly in her hand. Barnham gathered up some snow, but eyed it, then Espella, with a mischievous grin. He winked at Eve, holding a finger up to his lips before crunching quietly over to stand directly behind the girl.

Eve realized what he was going to do a split-second before he did it, but to her surprise she felt no urge to stop him. He yanked the lapel of Espella's coat back in one quick movement, shoving the handful of cold snow down her shirt and stepping back with an expression of prankster glee. It took only a moment longer to register with the girl and she began to hop up and down, face contorting.

"Oh, OH! Cold! It's cold!" she squealed, flapping her arms and turning in a circle until the snow melted against her skin. She whipped around, running full speed at the ex-Inquisitor and pounding his chest and back with her fists while he laughed uncontrollably. "How could you!? That was so mean! Oh, I hate you!" she cried as he gave up trying to fend off her blows and began to run around the field with her in hot pursuit. She stopped long enough to scoop up a great armful of snow and began pelting him with it as they ran around childishly, both shouting and yelling at the top of their lungs.

Eve stood dumbly, watching them with an expression of utter bafflement. How could they stand to act so immature in front of the entire town? Was freezing each other really so fun that they forgot where they were? They're acting like a brother and his kid sister, she thought disapprovingly as they tore up the snowy field, throwing snowballs at each other as they dissolved into laughter.

"Oh, wait!" Espella said when she was out of ammo. She stood up straight and then ran to Eve's side, standing on her tiptoes to whisper in the older woman's ear. "Eve, is your house unlocked? I have you…you know." Eve nodded and a look of relief crossed the blonde's face. "Good. I hate going in the woods. I'll be right back," she called to Barnham before turning and picking her way back towards the bridge.

"Well, shall I freeze you next, Miss Eve?" he said impishly, turning towards her. She stared wide-eyed at him, shocked that he'd even suggest stuffing anything down her shirt. After all, Espella was still immature enough to be considered a younger girl, even if she was in her teens. She was a grown woman, and no man was pulling her shirt. Not that I'd mind him doing it…. Her cheeks burned as her mind made a U-turn into unacceptable territory; she shook her head quickly, backing away and crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

"Absolutely not. If you even try, the consequences will be severe," she warned seriously. To her growing amazement he stepped forward to put the same distance between them, his hand moving to tug the knot of her scarf playfully as he smirked.

"Is that a challenge I hear?" he asked teasingly. "Or are you just afraid that I'll overpower you with the balls of snow?" Her poor heart continued its desperate fluttering, stomach twisting knots as he stepped even closer. Is he…flirting with me?! The very thought had her red-faced, her shyness rearing its ugly head and leaving her speechless. I d-don't know how to respond; what do I do? Where the hell was Espella when you needed her? The girl always seemed to disappear right when her bubbly personality was needed to dispel the tension. Finally she scoffed, trying to put some distance between them again. At this point, he'd be stepping on her boots in another moment.

"There's no challenge; I'd never let you overpower me." He stood there and laughed, hands on his hips. Her face burned harder as he laughed at her, though what exactly he found so funny she didn't know. Before she realized what she was doing, she'd scooped up a small fist of snow and threw it at him with expert aim. It smacked him in the face, snow exploding out of the lightly-packed ball.

He stopped laughing, shaking his head and brushing the snow off his cheek. It stuck to his eyebrows and in his hair, the spot of skin where it impacted bright red from the cold. For a moment all was still. Their eyes locked and they stared each other down. She felt some silent conversation passing between them, but it was in a language she wasn't quite familiar with and she licked her lips nervously. A slow, calculating smile spread over his face and she found herself returning it as he bent down and up in a smooth, solid motion.

The snowball smacked her in the stomach with enough power to disintegrate the ball, but not enough to really hurt. She grunted and backed away as he stalked towards her, two handfuls of snow ready to throw. She hit the side of a tree and an idea popped into her mind. She let him get close before smacking the limb directly above her head hard. The snow shook from the limb and fell on him, causing him to drop his handfuls as the chill made him cry out in surprise. She ran around him, ducking around the falling snow and gathered enough to beam him in the back of the head, the powder falling on the sapphire scarf and bringing out the color of the cloth even more than his hair did.

He got her in the arm as she dodged out of the way and then it was a battle. Both of them used the trees as both cover and weapons. Snow got in her hat, in her gloves, in her coat, but surprisingly she didn't care. She was actually having a good time! There was something to the dirty tactics of their little battle that made her enjoy every hit she got on him and curse every one that hit her.

Eventually their supply of snow-covered limbs ran dry and she made a break for it, slipping and sliding through the snow back towards the snow-Patty still standing forlornly at the crest of the hill just outside of the woods. His fingers found purchase the back of her coat and she gasped, dreading what would come next; somehow she found herself laughing as she tried to dislodge him, using every means at her disposal to keep him from getting the snow past her scarf. She twisted around, trying to break his grip and her boot slid beneath her; the snow, warmed by the sun, was beginning to melt and turn into slush.

He fell with her, twisting them both so that his shoulder took the brunt of the fall before rolling twice. She ended up on top of him, both of them nearly breathless with laughter and exertion.

"Alright, so maybe I cannot get the best of you after all," he conceded, lying on the cold, melty ground as though it were a warm bed. His smile softened as he looked at her, gloved hand reaching up to brush the snow from her hair. Her heart pounded in her ears and it must have been loud enough for him to hear it, for he looked at her strangely and then sat up, close enough that their noses brushed when he adjusted his arm beneath him. She couldn't pull away, her entire body frozen; it had to be, since he was so warm beneath her that she could feel him through her clothes…or was it just her body was too hot all of a sudden?

"Miss Eve—there is something I've wanted to say for a while now," he murmured, gray eyes looking solemnly into her own. She gulped, licking her lips again and feeling the cold on them anew, along with the warm puffs of his breath mingling with hers in the space between them.

"Y-yes?" Was that his heart racing beneath her hand, or was it just her own pulse she felt in her fingers? Why was he breathing so heavily? Come to think of it, she was fighting for air too. Was it because he was so close to her? She could smell berries or jam or— whatever he had for breakfast—on his breath. Too close, her mind chastised, but she wasn't pushing him away. Why wasn't she pushing him away? In fact, she was letting him come closer, his head tilting, and it was either go cross-eyed trying to look at him or close her eyes, and her lids were sliding shut, and the fact that the entire town was in the fields was a miniscule thought in her mind that hardly registered, and—

"H-help! Someone, anyone, help!" The panicked shriek cut through her senses and she turned her head towards the source of the noise, nearly smacking him in the nose. The bridge! His hand tightened on her shoulder (when did it get there?!) and he pushed himself off the ground, almost knocking her off of him. Others stopped their play and turned, sounds of confusion rising from the citizens as they looked in vain for the source of the cry.

"Help, please!" the person shouted again; they were both off and running towards the bridge in an instant, their instincts working and overriding any other thoughts. She sprinted as fast as she could in the melting snow, but he still overtook her by a good three paces as they climbed the hill that led towards the bridge. Reaching the top, they saw a small crowd gathered on the bridge.

"Get out of the way!" Barnham shouted at them. They turned and immediately obeyed, used to following the celebrity-status knight's orders without fail. The pair ran to the middle of the bridge, where a girl of about ten was sobbing hysterically and pointing at the water. "What's happened?" he said, his voice somehow gentle even in its urgency.

"M-m-my brother!" they managed to make out amongst sobs of meaningless panic and fear, along with "water" and "goat". An adult stepped forward, gesturing madly to them.

"The boy was chasing a goat beneath the bridge and the ice cracked! He's fallen in!" he said quickly, his voice struggling to be calm as it could in the face of the sister's grief and terror. Eve looked over the side of the bridge to see a small hole, just the right size for a kid to fall through. She cursed, knowing that the water she'd heard beneath the bridge meant that the stream wasn't frozen like the lake. The sun had been warming it all morning, and now the ice on the stream was thin. If an adult were to go down there, they'd fall in as well.

How were they going to get the child?! She looked up and down the bank, trying to see fi the ice broke up downstream for them to catch the child as it drifted. There was no luck, and she smacked her fist against the side of the railing. What could they do? What could they do!? A child was trapped, helpless beneath the ice, and there was nothing she could do!

There was a flurry of movement next to her and a woman screamed as a body jumped from the railing. Eve saw a flash of ginger as a loud crack rang through the frosty air and an even larger hole appeared next to the smaller one. There was a chorus of shouts from the men as they all moved forward, crowding her on the bridge as they looked down at the hole.

"Zacharias! No!" She fell onto her knees, worming her way through the bars of the railing to be able to see better. Muffet let out a fluttering sob and fainted dead away, leaving Lottalance to catch her before she fell off the side of the bridge as well. There was a silence, the only sound the snatches of burbling river, and then someone whispered "Sir Barnham?" quietly enough that she might have only imagined it.

Suddenly she leaned closer to the water, eyes narrowed. Did I see—? Yes! A hand thrust up out of the water and she swooped in to grab it in a tight grip, not daring to let go for anything. There was a collective intake of breath from the townspeople, and then someone shouted "Help her! Help the High Inquisitor!" Hands grasped at her clothes, under her arms, nearly yanking her arm out of its socket as they tried to pull her up enough that they could reach around and catch Barnham's hand.

A tiny body came up from the water first and before she could say anything, Boistrum was at her side. He grabbed the child and cradled it to his chest, running in the direction of the Shade Village; it was much closer than the town, and there'd be fires and warm clothes there.

"Someone call for Jean Greyearl to help the child!" she heard a woman say.

"I'll do it!" That was Lettie, Eve knew from the voice. Good, send Lettie! She thought desperately. With a voice as loud as yours, Jean should be able to hear you from the gates. "I'll find his parents, too! I've seen him on Main Street; he must live around there!" She heard the quick tramping of feet on the bridge, but her mind was focused on getting the rest of Barnham's body out of the water.

He emerged coughing and sputtering, and she couldn't help but sigh in relief. He's not dead! He managed to grab ahold of the railing and help pull himself up with shaking hands. Everything was shaking, his teeth chattering, clothes sodden and scarf darkened to a black cloth with the water's help. The people on the bridge cheered, but she heard a feminine scream and looked up to see Espella standing on the side of the bridge, hands over her mouth.

"Espella!" she called. "Run to the bakery! Get Zacharias some dry clothes and bring them!" The girl faltered only a moment before heading in the direction of the city, following Lettie's footsteps as fast as she could. "Come on. You're coming with me. Move aside," she ordered in her High Inquisitor voice, commanding instant obedience from the crowd just as well as he had. They stepped back and let them through, offering Barnham encouraging words and shouts of praise for his bravery. He didn't seem to hear, his lips turning blue as he tried to walk a few steps without trembling like a leaf.

She half-led, half-carried him back to her house, leaving the crowd on the bridge without another word. She was surprised they didn't follow her back to her home, but maybe they were just as shocked as she was, in their own way. She led him through the house, not even stopping to frown at Espella's drippings in the hallway and foyer where she didn't remove her boots. She put him in the drawing room, pulling the curtains to.

"Get those wet clothes off," she directed, piling logs into the grate. She had to get him warmed back up before hypothermia set in. She filled it as high as she dared and then lit the fire, staying kneeled on the hearth until the little flame had grown to her liking. She stood and saw that he'd only removed his coat, scarf, boots, and gloves, still shaking in his clothes. "I meant all your wet clothes, Zacharias."

To her amazement, he looked self-consciously down at his shirt. She huffed, shaking her head. "This isn't the time to be shy; you'll catch your death of cold if you keep those on. Come on and take them off. I won't look, I promise." Like she'd be able to look without wanting to hide under a rock for an eternity! Perhaps if Dimere really worked, she might have made herself invisible for a quick peek, but even then she'd never be able to look at him without blushing. "I'm going to get some warm blankets. Stay here."

"A-a-aye," he managed to say. She turned on her heel and paused only to take off her boots and place them neatly at the door, getting a cloth from the kitchen to mop up the melted snow before someone (most likely her) slid and hurt themselves. Goodness knows there were enough accidents today already. She ran upstairs and rummaged around in her bedroom, finally coming up with one spare sheet. She cursed and shrugged, pulling the quilt and blankets from her bed as well before wadding them all together and marching back downstairs.

She went back into the drawing room, peering around cautiously to see that he'd half hidden himself behind the loveseat, hunkered down even while his hands stretched feebly towards the fire. He saw her and hunched lower, trying to hide his shirtless chest from her. Her mouth went dry and she stood still for a moment, her eyes roving over him before getting embarrassed at her behavior. The poor man was half-frozen and here she was, eyeballing him like he was one of the half-naked men that paraded around outside the tavern after work hours.

"Here," she muttered, handing him the sheet first and closing her eyes, turning her head. She heard him come forward and take the sheet from her.

"Alright," he said after a moment, still shaky but not quite as shivery. She opened her eyes to see he'd wrapped around himself like a toga, effectively hiding anything and everything she might have seen otherwise. She silently handed over the rest of the blankets and he wrapped up in them as well, draping them over his shoulders and moving to sit on the loveseat facing the hearth.

"I'll get us some tea while we wait for Espella to bring your clothes," she said and he nodded, his eyes locked on the fire. She left for the kitchen, finding a tray and putting on the water to boil. While she waited she gathered some teacakes and the cups and saucers, and then stood wringing her hands as she chewed her lip. Get yourself together, Eve! She sniffed and rubbed her face, realizing that she still wore her outerwear. She pulled off the hat and scarf, draping them over the table as the kettle began to whistle. Taking a deep, much needed breath, she gathered the rest of the tray together and carried it back down the hall.

"Here we are," she announced as she came back into the room. She prepared a cup for him and he took it silently, hands closing around the hot glass as he took a short sip. He shook his head at the teacakes so she just ate one herself, neither of them speaking as the clock above the mantle ticked quietly. After he was finished, she took the cup back from him and pushed the platter towards the middle of the coffee table before turning to face him on the loveseat. "That was a foolish thing you did. You could have been killed, you know."

"What else was there to do? Someone had to try and save that child." He stared into the fire, and she noticed with satisfaction that his lips were not blue anymore and there was color coming back to his face. "I did what I had to."

"I know. That's why I'm not going to say any more about it." He looked at her now, eyes glimmering in the dusk of the room. The only light was from the fire and what filtered in from the hall, since the curtains were closed. She could technically open them up now that he was covered decently, but she couldn't find the strength to get up. Between the ice scare and the day's events, she was tired.

"Miss Eve…" He was staring hard at her, his expression the same one he made in the snow right before he was about to—

"What were you going to say to me?" she asked quickly, before she could let her bashfulness get the better of her. He looked startled.

"Ah, er—'tis just that the moment got away from us, don't you think?" he laughed awkwardly. She moved closer, leaning over to box him in the way she used to do the cowardly, snot-nosed ne'er-do-wells that she caught writing graffiti on the alleyway walls.

"You were going to kiss me instead of talk, weren't you?" she asked boldly, despite how the word 'kiss' made her tremble a little herself. He swallowed and then looked pensively at her; before she knew it, he'd extended his blanketed arms like a crazed bat and swallowed her up in cloth. She was nestled between him and the couch, the blankets forming a protective cocoon of warmth.

"Not originally, but when you didn't stop me, I—" He cleared his throat and grabbed tightly to her arms when she tried to rise up. "Stay with me, Eve. I'm cold," he whispered, the sound going right through her like a jolt of electricity. "And you're warm." She slowly stopped resisting, letting him pull her back down until her head was on his chest. It was his heart this time, beating quickly beneath her ear. She felt as though she was on fire; despite his claims, his chest felt warm against her cheek and the air in the blanket cocoon was growing more and more heated the longer she lay there.

"Espella will be coming soon," she reminded him softly, though she made no more moves to leave her current spot. He made a sound of agreement, twisting and turning on the loveseat until his body faced hers. "Zacharias, this isn't—" She trailed off, unsure of what she meant to say. This isn't right? This isn't proper? They should stop before Espella walks in and finds them in a very compromising situation? Yes, all of those, but at the same time she didn't want to stop, not exactly.

A hand touched her chin hesitantly, cupping her jaw and tilting her face up. She struggled to breathe as the tension rose along with the heat; the look in his gaze was scorching her to the bone, so it was no wonder that she couldn't remember how to think, much less tell him to hurry up and spit out whatever he was going go tell her.

"Miss Eve, for quite a while now I've been—um, well, you see—I've been thinking about you." She blinked at him uncomprehendingly, not sure what he was trying to say. "What I mean is that for almost as long as I can recall, I've been harboring—I've been wanting to—I, erm…." He closed his eyes, cutting off her view of the stormy irises and giving her time to clear her head.

"Zacharias, would you please hurry and tell me what you need to tell me before Espella comes back and rui—interrupts?" She was chewing her lip again, worried that perhaps the ice water had got to his head after all. He'd only been in there a minute or two; how long did it take for hypothermia to set in?

"I know," he insisted, but lapsed back into silence. Finally he opened his eyes, running his thumb along her jaw. She shivered as he began to speak. "Tis just that I wish—every time I look at you, I wish to touch you. A-and when you say my name…" he wriggled, his free hand grabbing one of hers and placing it on his chest. "My heart begins to do this, and I want to put my hand here," His hand rested on her stomach, fingers running over the soft fuzz of her sweater. "And I can't help but wonder what you'd do if I—"

His lips brushed hers, cutting off any response as he grew bolder. She moaned softly, eyes closing as she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Her fingers tangled in his hair of their own accord, feeling the damp strands curiously. He made a muffled sound in the back of his throat and his tongue swept out to run along her lip, sending a burst of desire straight through her nerves. She forgot his condition, Espella, everything; her only thoughts were of the taste of his mouth, the slick sensation of his tongue against hers, sliding teasingly as his hand pressed into the back of her neck, pushing them even closer.

When they finally broke apart, panting and clinging to each other, she found that she'd somehow managed to loop one leg around his waist and his hand was on her breast. She cleared her throat and he chuckled nervously, taking his hand away and smoothing the edge of her now-rumpled sweater. She tried to pull her leg back down, but his thigh was in the way and it took a moment of adjustment for them to get back to a less intimate position, their jumbled bodies like a puzzle that needed to be figured out.

"Well, in any case…." His tongue darted out across his lower lip . "I've kept telling myself that romance has no place on the battlefield, but I suppose that was before I realized how much I thought about you."

"Need I remind you," she started slowly, her fingers spreading out across his chest as she gathered her thoughts, "that you have a crudely drawn image of me that you've thrown darts at for years whenever we fought?" Despite her accusations, she couldn't help but remember the old adage spoken by every Labyrinthian mother at some point: he only teases you because he likes you. She hated every time a dagger hit the center of her fatly drawn face; half the time he did it simply for spite. "You only did it to make me angrier, didn't you?"

"When you're angry, your face gets all red and you're so…passionate." There was a husky edge to his voice that made her spine tingle. "I like to see it, even if that is wrong of me." She heard a knocking at the door and sighed, moving to get up. He pulled her back quickly, lips brushing her ear. "If I make an excuse to remain here, will you have me?"

"No," she replied smartly. "Not after just saying that you get me angry on purpose." She began to walk out of the room, turning back at the door and plastering a purely Darklaw expression on her face. "But if you agree to go home and rest, then the next time you're here I'll see what I can do about becoming a little passionate."

She winked and then all but ran to the door, afraid of looking back and seeing something that might make her want to ignore Espella's desperate knocking and stay.

Author's Note: Fluff tier. Major fluff tier.