Jaenelle stepped back, looked at what they had fashioned, and began to laugh. Daemon stepped back, looked at it, and started to cough and groan and laugh. Even though it was crudely shaped, there was no mistaking the face above the grossly rotund body.

“You know,” he choked, “if any of the groundskeepers see that and word gets back to Graff…we’re going to be in deep trouble.”

Jaenelle gave him a slant-eyed look sparking with mischief, and he didn’t care how much trouble they got into.

He took the apples from his pocket and handed her one. Jaenelle took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and sighed. “It won’t last, you know,” she said regretfully.

Daemon looked at her quizzically. “They never do.” He looked at the sun beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. “I don’t think this snow’s going to last. Feels like it’s warming up.”

Jaenelle shook her head and took another bite. “No,” she said, swallowing. “It’ll go before it melts. I can’t hold it very long.” She frowned and fluffed her hair as she studied the snow-Graff. “Something’s missing. Something I don’t know about yet that would be able to hold it longer—”

That you can do it at all is beyond what most achieve, Lady.

“—would be able to weave it—”

Daemon shivered. He tossed the apple core toward the bushes for the birds to find. “Don’t think of it,” he said, not caring that his voice sounded harsh.

She looked at him, surprised.

“Don’t think about experimenting with dream weaving without being instructed by someone who can do it well.” He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “Weaving a dream web can be very dangerous. Black Widows don’t learn how to do it until the second stage of their training because it’s so easy to become ensnared in the web.” He held her at arm’s length, searching her face. “Promise me, please, that you won’t try to do this by yourself. That you’ll get the very best there is to train you.” Because I couldn’t bear it if there was only a blank-eyed, empty shell to love and I knew you were lost somewhere beyond reach, beyond return.

Daemon’s hands tightened on her shoulders. Her thoughtful expression frightened him.

“Yes,” she said at last. “You’re right, of course. If I’m going to learn, I should ask the ones who were born to it to teach me.” She studied the snow-Graff. “See? Already it goes.”

The snow was starting to lose its shape, to sift into a fluffy pile in the center of the alcove.

Together they air-walked to the main garden path. Dropping into the snow, Jaenelle trudged away from the house for a few feet, turned, and trudged back, kicking up the snow, leaving a very clear trail. Daemon looked back at the unmarked path, considered what the consequences would be if the others found out that Jaenelle could move about without leaving a trace, lowered himself to the ground, and trudged behind her, back to the house.