“And I’m his diplomat.”
“You are a healer,” he said. “The fae respect those who tend life. His Majesty believes your presence will appease them.”
Appease. Another elegant word. It sounded better thansacrifice.
“I suppose it’s flattering,” I said lightly. “All these years they called me cursed, and now I’m an instrument of peace.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Your service honors the crown.”
I smiled thinly. “That’s one way to describe it.”
By the time the sun began to sink, the wind carried the scent of snow—clean, sharp, inevitable. We made camp in a hollow between two ridges. The soldiers built a fire, its light flickering against the rocks. I sat apart, unrolling my blanket, pretending not to notice the way they avoided meeting my eyes.
The envoy ate in silence. The flames painted him in copper and shadow.
“Do you believe in the Light?” he asked suddenly.
I blinked. “Is that an order or a question?”
“A question.”
I considered the stars above us, cold pinpricks between torn clouds. “I believe the Light is what people make of it. Sometimes it’s a candle. Sometimes it’s a lie they tell themselves to feel safe.”
He studied me over the fire. “You speak boldly for someone traveling to plead mercy from immortals.”
“I’ve spent most of my life earning the mercy of mortals,” I said. “They’re far more terrifying.”
For a moment, I thought he might smile. He didn’t. “Rest,” he said instead. “We reach the Frostgate by midday tomorrow.”
I tried to do as he said, but sleep came fitfully again. I dreamed of footsteps crunching through snow, of a voice calling my name from somewhere far ahead. When I turned toward it, I saw only a vast expanse of white and the shimmer of light bending like glass.
I woke just before dawn.
The fire had died, the sky paling at the edges. The soldiers packed quickly, stamping the frost from their boots. As the cart creaked back onto the road, I caught one last glimpse of the southern hills—the faintest line ofdark green where Hollowmere lay hidden.
Then the land turned to silver.
The wind carried a low hum, deep and thrumming, like the world itself was breathing beneath the ice. Ahead, the ridge rose into a sheet of light so bright it made my eyes water.
The envoy lifted his hand. “The Frostgate.”
It wasn’t a gate, not really—more like a wound in the world, frozen mid-healing. The air shimmered, rippling like heat over sand, though the temperature bit through my cloak. The snow around it glittered in unnatural hues—blue, violet, and white so sharp it almost looked alive.
I couldn’t move for a moment. It was beautiful in the way storms are beautiful—danger wrapped in grace.
The envoy dismounted, gesturing for me to follow. “Beyond this point, mortal law ends. You will speak only when addressed. Do not stray from the escort.”
I nodded, though my gaze stayed fixed on the light. It pulsed faintly, like the beat of a heart.
Somewhere beyond it waited the fae—and whatever peace our king thought he could buy with a single life.
The envoy stepped aside. “Katria Vale of Hollowmere,” he said, voice carrying over the wind. “By decree of Aldric Vane, King of Rhaenor, you are presented to the Winter Court.”
The light shifted. The snow at my feet began to hum.
I took a breath, tasting frost on the air—sharp, clean, final—and stepped forward.
The world went silent.
