The knock came softly this time, almost apologetic. Fenrir’s ears twitched, but he didn’t rise.
When I opened the door, the girl waiting on the other side wasn’t armored. She carried a tray of silver dishes and a thin, flickering light cupped in her palm.
“Lady Katria?”
Her voice was light, almost musical, the edges of each word faintly strange. I nodded. “That’s me.”
She curtsied—quick, practiced. “I am Maeryn. His Highness assigned me to your service.”
“Service,” I repeated. “That sounds formal.”
“Everything here is.” She crossed the room and set the tray down on a small table near the unlit hearth. The food steamed faintly, though when I touched the edge of the plate, it was cold.
Fenrir lifted his head, watching her. She smiled at him, the expression quick and genuine. “He likes you. That’s rare.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
Maeryn hesitated before speaking again. “You should know how things work here, at least enough to keep you from offending anyone important.”
“Such as?”
“The Frostfather rules through the Frostbound Heir, though it’s said the crown still speaks to him directly. Every word carries the weight of the Veil. The courtiers repeat those words whether they understand them or not.” She looked down, lowering her voice. “You should never contradict him in public. Or the heir.”
I folded my arms. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“And if they say nothing,” she added softly, “that is when you should worry most.”
Her gaze flicked to the mirror, still faintly misted from earlier. “The palace sees more than it shows. Try not to speak secrets aloud.”
I followed her eyes. “You mean it listens.”
She gave a small, careful smile. “Everything in Winter listens, my lady. We’ve simply grown used to it.”
Maeryn set the small vessel of frostlight on the table. The flame inside wasn’t blue so much as translucent, like breath captured in glass. It gave off no warmth, but its glow softened the edges of the room, as though it meant to make the cold easier to look at.
“You said everything listens,” I said. “Does it ever answer?”
Her hands paused over the tray. “Sometimes,” she murmured. “But not to everyone.”
I caught the caution in her tone and leaned against the table. “Then maybe you could tell me who it favors.”
Maeryn smiled faintly. “If I knew that, I’d be wearing silver instead of linen.”
She began to unpack the tray: translucent bread that cracked instead of tearing, pale fruit that glittered like frostbitten jewels, a cup of something clear as water but thicker, leaving a faint shimmer on the rim.
“The Courts each have their own language,” she said while she worked. “Spring sings, Summer shouts, and Autumn bargains. Winter listens. That’s why silence matters here. You can speak your mind in any season but this one.”
I tasted the liquid. It was cold, flavorless, and left my tongue tingling. “So listening is power?”
“It’s safety,” she corrected. “Our rulers understand patience. The Frostfather has ruled longer than the river has frozen. He’s seen what noise can destroy.”
There was reverence in her voice, but something else underneath—carefully folded fear.
“And the Frostbound Heir?” I asked. “Does he listen, too?”
Maeryn hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the mirror before returning to me. “He listens when it suits him. He learned the art of silence early, but he doesn’t always trust what it says.”
“That sounds almost … human.”
