“No one ever does.”
The light brightened suddenly, flaring gold. I threw up a hand to shield my eyes—and when I looked again, the figure was closer. I could make out a face now, or almost: eyes that shimmered like starlight through water, a mouth that didn’t quite move when it spoke.
“You carry warmth in a place that forgets it,” the voice said. “Even frost remembers what it hates.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Not want,” it murmured. “Remember.”
The sound cracked, like wind through crystal. The figure stepped forward, and for a heartbeat, the shape of him—ofit—seemed familiar. A tall frame, a glint of dark hair, eyes that could have been Kaelith’s.
I blinked, and the image dissolved.
The field shattered. Light turned to frost, frost to shadow. I fell through it, airless and weightless, until the hum bled into silence.
When I woke, my room was glowing.
The frost around the bed had melted into faint golden veins that pulsed softly beneath the floorboards. The air still hummed—the same tone from the dream, low and distant.
I pressed a hand to the ice and felt warmth under my skin.
It vanished as soon as I realized it was there.
When I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet met not cold, but warmth.
The frost at the floor’s edge had melted, leaving behind a faint gold shimmer that pulsed once, then stilled. I knelt to touch it, and the glow receded into nothing, like a secret closing itself.
A soft knock followed before I could think too hard about it.
“Enter,” I said, though my voice came out rough.
Maeryn slipped through the door, carrying a folded bundle of dark linens and a basin that steamed faintly. Her silver hair was bound high, her expression as calm as the frostlight itself.
“You’re awake early,” she said, setting the basin down.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
Her eyes flicked toward the floor—just for a heartbeat—but she said nothing of the melted frost. Instead, she adjusted the linens on the chair and gave me that practiced, unreadable smile.
“I thought you might want fresh water. And company. Both can do wonders in this place.”
“Thank you,” I said, quieter than I meant to.
She poured the warm water over a cloth and handed it to me. I pressed it to my hands, trying not to look at where the gold shimmer had been.
Maeryn studied me for a moment, then asked, “Tell me something. Mortals have faith, do they not? A belief in higher beings who watch and judge?”
The question was so casual it startled me. “You don’t?”
“We have Courts,” she said simply. “Kings and queens. Power, not prayer. We do not ask favors from what we already serve.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I’d never thought of belief as something strange before.
“Humans pray,” I said at last. “Mostly when they’re desperate. They light candles and whisper to empty air. Sometimes it makes them feel better.”
“But not you?”
I shook my head. “I believe the priests use their religion as a form of their own power.”
