Finally, I crossed my arms and went over to Scarlet’s room. I knocked, but no one answered. I risked a quick peek in, but she wasn’t there. Her fire, I noted, was lit, but there were only two logs left over. I couldn’t take that from her.

Closing the door, I moved to the empty room beside hers, hoping that perhaps it had been stocked in advance. Unfortunately, that was not the case. It seemed I’d only gotten my first cache of wood under the watchful eye of Aunt Jovana as she ordered an extra room to be prepared.

I’d ask her for some, but I didn’t know where her rooms or Mother’s were. I was stuck.

I sighed, looking across the hallway to Etan’s door. And I asked myself if I would rather speak to him or potentially lose a few toes to frostbite. . . .

Shoving away my pride, I walked across the floor and knocked. I heard him springing up and was surprised when he opened the door so forcefully.

“What’s wrong?” he asked urgently.

I was temporarily distracted by the fact that his shirt was both untucked and untied, half of it slung off his shoulder. I could see at least three different scars on his chest, presumably marks from his time as a soldier.

“Everyone is fine,” I said, holding up a hand. “No emergency.”

He let out a long breath and nodded, as if needing to calm himself down. In a split second he had jumped to the worst conclusion, and he had to undo all the anxiety he’d built up. It was a sensation I understood too well.

“It’s just . . . ,” I began, then hesitated.

“Spit it out.”

“The maids won’t bring me firewood, and I don’t know where to find it myself. Could I please have some of yours?”

Ugh, I wished I could wipe the smug little smirk off his face. “So, the mighty Lady Hollis needs a favor.”

“Don’t do this, Etan.” I tried to look brave in the midst of being humbled. “Imagine how cold I must be if I’m willing to ask you. Please, give me some of your firewood.”

There was a long pause, and I waited for him to slam the door in my face.

“Come in,” he finally said, and I followed him inside, holding my head high.

In my mind I’d imagined him to be messy, but his things were mostly tidy. He had three books open on a desk, and a few extra cups that looked used on the table by his bed, but he didn’t have clothes strewn about the floor, and it didn’t smell in here.

“Hold your arms out,” he commanded, and I did as I was told. He started piling split logs across my hands, and I watched them, adjusting my grip so I’d hopefully avoid splinters. “The firewood is out back, stacked between two trees. You can get your own tomorrow.”

“I will,” I said.