My pulse stumbled. “You are trespassing in a sovereign court.”
“I am the Dreamkeeper. Trespass is my design.”
The name settled over the room like snow. Dream Court legends whispered of him-her-it as the warden of boundaries between waking and sleep, the only being that could cross them without cost. We had not seen the Dreamkeeper in centuries.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“To warn you. The mortal is not the fracture you seek. The Veil shudders because something inyoustrains against it.”
“That is impossible.” The words came too fast, too hard. “I am bound to Winter. Nothing within me moves without its consent.”
“And yet you burn.”
The frostlight along my wrist blazed bright; the temperature spiked and fell. I clenched my hand until the light dimmed, until I could breathe again.
“This is manipulation,” I said. “Some dream trick meant to divide the Courts.”
The Dreamkeeper’s tone didn’t change. “Every storm needs warmth to end it. Every heir learns what he fears to feel.”
“Speak plainly.”
“I just did.”
The mirror darkened, distorting the figure until only the crack remained—a single glowing line, pulsing like a heartbeat. My reflection returned, pale and shaken, frostlight flickering under the skin of my palm. When I looked down, I saw the faint imprint again: the ghost of smaller fingers across my glove. Her touch, remembered or imagined, shining softly as the rest of the light faded.
I closed my hand around it, hard enough for the leather to creak.
“Attention is not favor,” I whispered. But the line of frostlight brightened anyway, steady and sure, betraying me with its warmth.
Outside, somewhere deep in the palace, the Veil tremored once more—just enough to make the mirrors ring.
Chapter nine
Katria
The knock came before the light. Three measured taps—polite, inevitable. Maeryn entered without waiting for leave, her usual calm frayed. “The Frostfather commands your presence,” she said, her voice higher than usual. Was that fear in it?
Those words should have meant nothing, but they rooted cold in my chest all the same.
She carried a bundle of white and silver cloth. “Wear this. The court values presentation.”
“The court values cruelty,” I said, though I took the gown anyway. The fabric was heavier than it looked, threaded with something that hummed faintly when it touched my skin. Not silk—something living once, now frozen still.
Fenrir whined low from his corner. I knelt to steady him, my fingers tangling in his thick fur. “Stay here,” I whispered. He pressed his nose to my wrist, refusing.
Maeryn’s eyes flicked toward the door. “If he follows, no one will stop him. But if he growls, half the hall will draw blades. Keep him silent if you can.”
“Asif that’s possible.”
She almost smiled. “Then keep yourself silent instead.”
The walk to the Hall of Frost felt longer than the corridors allowed. Guards fell into step behind me—two, then four, until their boots beat a rhythm like a drum for the condemned. Frostlight burned in the sconces above, each flame locked inside its crystal cage.
The doors at the end of the hall opened with a sound like ice cracking across a lake.
The chamber beyond doused most light, and the Frostfather’s throne rose from the floor itself, carved out of the same black ice as the walls. Around him, nobles stood in concentric arcs, their eyes glittering and faces smooth as masks. No one spoke. The silence had already rendered its verdict.
Kaelith stood to the right of the throne, clothed in armor, polished black veined with frostlight. A ribbon of steam coiled where his breath met the air. When our gazes met, he didn’t move—but the light tracing his glove brightened once before settling back to its disciplined pulse.
