Dream of Me/Believe in Me

the brilliant blaze of the cloudless day. The snow that had ebbed and flowed for weeks had finally stopped, although piles of it remained on the ground with drifts as high as a man along the walls.
    Miriam clucked and tried to discourage her, but Cymbra dressed warmly in a long-sleeved wool gown of blue so deep as to be almost purple. Over it, she donned a cloak made of wool she had dyed herself to produce a rich green hue. Thus arrayed in colors that hinted of the spring for which she yearned, she ventured out into the brittle day.
    The servants were busy in the great hall but several nodded to her as she passed through. Just outside, she paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the brilliant light reflected off the piles of snow. Pathways had been cleared between the keep and the outbuildings. People were hurrying about their tasks only mildly inconvenienced by the weather.
    Off to one side, small children rolled in the snow like exuberant puppies. Cymbra laughed at the sight. On impulse, she went to join them. They quieted respectfully, managing to bow their heads without taking their eyes from her.
    “Good morning, my lady,” one of the bolder among them murmured. He was a boy of perhaps six with dark, curling hair and inquisitive eyes.
    “Good morning,” she said with a smile. “Isn't the snow wonderful?”
    They all nodded, continuing to look up at her like so many grubby-faced, wide-eyed angels. A sudden thought occurred to her. “Do you know how to do this?” Before any could answer, she plopped down in the snow, stretched out to her full length with her legs together and her arms at her sides. As the children watched in astonishment, she moved her limbs back and forth in the downy flakes. With great care and just a little awkwardness, she stood up again, managing not to damage her creation. When she stepped out of it, she left the clear impression of a winged creature.
    With a wave of her hand and a smile, she said, “A snow angel. Think you can do that?”
    The children hesitated scarcely a heartbeat before leaping to the challenge. Cymbra helped the littler ones until they, too, had the idea. Soon that side of the keep was festooned with snow angels of varying sizes and shapes. The boy with the black locks even thought to try making one while turned on his side. She applauded his efforts, then attempted it herself while the children, who had thrown off their shyness, stood in a circle and encouraged her.
    Cymbra had finished and was just getting up again when a shadow fell over the little group. She looked up to see the dour face of her half-sister frowning down at her.
    “What
do you think you are doing?” Daria demanded.
    Reluctantly, Cymbra got to her feet. Although she gave the children a reassuring smile, they scattered like so many flakes before the wind. She frowned to see them go but contained her annoyance and addressed the older woman. As always when confronted with her half-sister, she found it hard to conceal her distaste. Daria roiled with emotions—anger, resentment, bitterness—and beneath them all, something else, something Cymbra instinctively shied from as from a chasm. Even now, her half-sister radiatedtension, every inch of her too-thin form proclaiming rage.
    “Just playing,” she said quietly. “There's no harm in that, surely?”
    Daria stared at her scornfully. Her long, narrow face twisted in a sneer of derision. “No harm? Of course there's harm. What sort of example do you think you set by cavorting like a hoyden? I have a hard enough time as it is getting these people to respect authority. When they see someone like you completely forgetting her position, what do you imagine they think?”
    “That I'm human?” Cymbra suggested softly. She truly did not want to dislike Daria; they were family, after all, and she realized that her own presence at Hawkforte was upsetting to the woman, who seemed to have a frantic need to control every aspect of her own life and anyone else's who was foolish enough to accept her interference. Yet even as she strove for patience and tolerance, Cymbra had to admit that her half-sister made it extremely difficult to find either.
    “Don't you be glib with me,” Daria snapped. “Save that for our brother, who believes you can do no wrong. What he was thinking of bringing you here I can't imagine. We'll be lucky if we don't all end up murdered in our beds.”
    Cymbra repressed a sigh. Ever since her arrival at Hawkforte, Daria had been