hold up the garments. Oskar has brought me a pair of thick, warm stockings, serviceable leather slippers, a shapeless gown made out of the same brown wool as his own tunic, and a kerchief for my hair. The clothing of a peasant. A sharp prickle of anxiety and shame makes me shiver.
It’s not that I think I’m too good for these things. I’m grateful to have them. But I have barely the faintest idea of how to put them on. I’ve never actually dressed myself, and now I have only one good hand to help me accomplish the task. Yes, I have three fingers left on my right hand, but I can barely touch the pad of my thumb to my forefinger because they’re so stiff and sensitive. My middle finger juts out, useless and crooked.
“The more you move and stretch them, the easier it will be,” Raimo says quietly. “You’ll probably never regain full use of them, but that’s no excuse not to try.”
I stare at Raimo’s back. He has a card in his hand, but he’s not playing. He’s waiting, I realize, probably for me to ask for help or whine about my need for a maidservant. And right now, I want Mim more than ever, for so many reasons. But if I say that to Raimo, he’ll only mock me. I press my lips together. Pretty, but not that useful. Like you right now. The words burn as I digest the undeniable truth of them, especially when I think of Oskar waiting outside, loathing the idea of taking me under his protection.
I’m not a jewel. Not a treasure. Not a wonder or a living miracle.
I’m a burden.
Determination forms like a fist behind my breast.
I will not be a burden.
With clenched teeth, I find the top of one of the stockings and shove my foot into it. It gets caught in the narrow tube of fabric. I let out a frustrated little grunt as I wrestle with it. Sweat beads across my brow. Pain gnaws at my right hand, chomping its way up my arm. But I don’t give up.
I refuse to let a stocking defeat me.
“Is she ready yet?” Oskar calls from outside the cavern.
“Not quite,” calls Raimo, who sounds like it’s taking all his will to keep from cackling.
I redouble my efforts, squirming and twisting and groaning when my knee bashes into my cauterized knuckles. I’m nearly limp with exhaustion by the time I get the obnoxious garment pulled up to my thigh.
“Try pointing your toes and sliding them in rather than trying to jam your entire foot straight down into it,” Raimo suggests, his voice trembling with mirth.
My nostrils flare. “It would have been easy enough for you to mention that several minutes ago.”
“True.” He resumes playing cards.
The second stocking goes on much more smoothly, thanks to his sage advice. And the dress is simple enough—I pull it over my head and thrust my left arm through a sleeve.
Raimo gives me a sidelong glance. “If I told you it was backward, would that upset you?”
“Not at all,” I snarl. I yank my arm from the sleeve and turn the dress around. It’s an odd style, with a high neck and a low back, but I won’t complain—I’m lucky the thing doesn’t have buttons, because then I’d be lost. It takes a minute or two to get my right arm through the sleeve because of the bandage on my hand and the odd, stiff position of my exposed fingers, and I sigh with relief when the dress unfurls and falls to my ankles. I slide my feet into the slippers and pick up the kerchief.
“Is she ready now?” calls Oskar, not bothering to conceal his irritation. “I have things to do today.”
“Patience, patience,” Raimo replies. “Greatness takes time.”
My cheeks are burning as I stare at the kerchief. I have no idea how to put this thing on, but my hair is loose and tangled, so I need to do something. I fold the kerchief in half and plaster it over my head, then awkwardly tie the corners beneath my chin.
I step around the fire, to where Raimo is shuffling his cards, which are faded and worn—and completely blank. “Thank you for what you’ve done.”
“I will find you in the spring,” he says, not bothering to look up as he begins to deal them. “I wish it could be sooner, but I won’t be available before then.”
“Why?”
His eyes glint as he raises his head. “I hibernate. Keeps