A warning.
Distance was the answer. It had to be.
But as I stepped back into the corridor, the ash continued to fall, and the warmth in my veins refused to die. A part of me wondered whether distance would be enough to stop … whatever this was … that stirred in both of us when the mortal entered my world.
The frostlight that once burned steady along the floor of the throne room now flickered like a dying pulse, the veins of magic brightening and dimming with no rhythm. Even the walls had started to weep—the ice thin enough that I could see liquid crawling beneath it, slow as blood.
The Frostfather sat slouched upon the throne, the weight of his crown crooked on his head. He wasn’t old—not by fae measure—but madness aged faster than time. Frost had crept up the side of his face like ivy, threading through the whites of his eyes until the irises shimmered silver-white, almost opaque.
I bowed low, waiting for acknowledgment. It came in the form of a laugh—thin and cracked, like glass splitting in water.
“My dutiful son,” he said. “The one who watches but never sees.”
I straightened. “The strange ash is spreading. The Veil grows weaker. I need scholars, more power diverted from the northern runes—”
“Power?” he interrupted. “You think I’ve not given power? The frost runs in every stone! And still, the walls whisper of dreams!”
Dreams. He spat the word like a curse. Frostlight flared, then dimmed again. I said nothing. Madness loved an audience.
“The Dreamstone,” he hissed suddenly, his eyes darting to the mirrored ceiling. “It sings. I hear it in my sleep. It calls for what’s lost. Calls for her.”
My pulse stumbled. “Her?”
He smiled faintly, too many teeth showing. “The song doesn’t name her. But you will. You will find her meaning.”
I knew what he meant before he spoke the next words.
“The mortal.”
I forced my voice steady. “She doesn’t seem to know anything about the Veil or the Dreamstone.”
“Then make her remember,” he snapped. “I want the truth before the next moonrise. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He leaned forward, fingers digging into the arms of the throne. Frost cracked beneath his grip. “If you fail, Kaelith, the frost will break you as it broke me.”
“The frost doesn’t break,” I said carefully.
He smiled again, slow and terrible. “Everything breaks. Even ice. Even sons.”
Silence filled the hall, thick as smoke. I started to bow again, to take the dismissal for what it was, but his voice stopped me. “Do you know what the frost said to me last night?”
There was no safe answer, but he didn’t wait for one. His tone softened, almost dreamy. “It said,the warmth is coming.”
A pause. Then laughter, sharp and hollow. “Find your warmth, my son. Burn it out before it burns you.”
He waved me away, already lost to whatever visions haunted him.
I turned, my boots echoing across the frostlight floor. As I passed the last pillar, I looked back once. He was speaking to the ice now, whispering something I couldn’t hear, his crown half-melted under the light that pulsed erratic and weak.
Outside the hall, I let the cold close around me again like armor.The frost was breaking.And if my father was right, I might already be the crack.
They brought her to me at dusk.
The chamber had been prepared for questioning—walls of mirrored frost, ceiling veined with rune-light. Cold light scattered through the room like broken glass, catching her reflection a dozen times over. Each version of her looked a little different: one frightened, one defiant, one almost serene. I wasn’t sure which one I wanted to believe.
She stood between two guards, chin lifted. No trembling. Her hands were clasped before her, the skin flushed from the cold. A mortal pulse among still hearts.
