Read Online The Crystal Heart by Sophie Masson - Free Book Online

the rabbits my traps caught, but she insisted on helping and valiantly carried through with it, despite the unpleasantness. She would not be spared anything; not the work in the woods and not the work in the house, however menial. In the Tower, she had never had to wash her clothes or cook or clean her room – the latter being solely the job of the blind cleaner – so that, too, she had to learn. She was a quick study for everything and made no complaint, even insisting on chopping kindling for the fire with the battered old axe.
    But when I suggested clearing some ground for a garden, Izolda looked troubled. ‘They take a long time to grow, don’t they?’
    I knew the question that was in the back of her mind. Just how long are we going to have to stay here? It was not a question I could answer. I did not know the answer, for a start. And increasingly I found I did not want to know it.
    We planted some of the buckwheat for it’s a fast-growing grain, which would be easy to harvest. We pulled up some wild strawberry plants I found in the woods, too, and bedded them down along with wild sorrel and parsley. The plum-tree blossom was almost over and the fruit would soon bud up. Our little clearing was sheltered from the wind and any lingering frost, and the soil was rich and dark. With the water we ferried from the spring, our garden was sure to thrive.
    After a couple of weeks, a faint flush of green showed where we’d planted the buckwheat, and the herbs and strawberries had taken well to their new home. Sometimes, Fela, the pigeon Izolda had nursed back to health, would follow us into the garden, cooing, waiting for the grass seeds we’d turn up in the soft earth.
    If we were out all morning, we’d often stop to have a lunch of cold leftovers from the previous night’s roast or stew. If we were around the house, we’d eat on the grass. We would mainly talk of what we’d done that day, but sometimes Izolda would speak of the Tower and of how she passed her time there, reading, playing card games against herself, drawing.
    She often asked me to tell stories about my home. She had only snatches of stories and images from her own,but they were always so vivid – about the wonders of her father’s realm, a marvel unlike any in the world above. She painted such a glorious picture of the feyin world of the deep caves below the Lake that was its portal. Of a world lit by the golden glow of lamps that never went out, a towering city of salt stone and gold, of crystal and opal. A rich city where giant greenhouses grew crops that fed the entire population. Where a soaring crystal cathedral was dedicated to the Lady of the Rock, founder of Night itself. It was a city far in advance of anything we could imagine in Krainos, and whose people lived well beyond human years. Izolda had been only eight when she was taken, yet it was sharper and brighter in her memory than the ten grey years she had passed in the Tower.
    When Izolda spoke of home, her voice took on a yearning note, she’d finger the crystal pendant on the chain around her neck, and my heart would constrict. For it was in these moments that I was put starkly in front of one simple fact: Izolda was in my world, but she was not of it. It was easy to forget that, in this green and peaceful place where we’d found a haven. Easy to forget, sharing the long sunny days with her, and nights spent by the fire. Easy to forget, as her skin lost its pallor and turned to honey-gold, as she relaxed and lost her fear of the woods, as, her sleeves rolled up, her bright hair held back with a makeshift band, she concentrated on her tasks. She could almost have been a girl from my village then, and not a feyin princess from an enemy realm. Almost …
    She trusted me. And for that I was glad. We were becoming real friends. And for that I was even gladder. But I wanted more, and I knew she did not. For she neverforgot – I could see