It explains why the knife in his gut didn’t kill him. Only a god-touched weapon has the power to end an immortal life. There is the spear he wields, its strange, alien power. The dagger sheathed at his hip.
He cannot know of the serpent he has released from its nest. For years I have suffered, my people have suffered, but now I am in the unique position to strike. If the Frost King dies, so does his eternal cold. So do the darkwalkers. So, too, does the Shade.
Only then will I be free.
Hours later, there is a tentative knock on the door. “My lady, are you decent?”
I’m sprawled across the massive bed. It’s large enough to fit a family of four and is the most comfortable thing I’ve laid on in my life.
I hate it.
Pushing up onto my elbows, I observe my dirty coat sullying the clean sheets and pillows. At least I had the decency to remove my boots before climbing into bed. Despite my exhaustion from the journey, I wasn’t able to sleep.
“Yes,” I call out, adjusting the scarf around my face.
The lock tumbles. A pleasantly plump woman steps into the room, dressed in a stained apron atop a simple woolen dress the color of heavy storm clouds. It’s been years since I’ve seen anyone with extra padding on their frame. The body of one who does not know hunger. I can’t help but stare.
Her eyes immediately lower in my presence, and she curtsies. Round face, wan skin, washed-out eyes, an upturned nose, and graying hair pulled into a bun.
“Hello, my lady. I’m Orla, your maid.” She bustles to the fireplace to start a fire. Light chases back the insufferable darkness.
I scoot to the edge of the mattress and plant my feet on the ground. At least the rugs are warm. “What time is it?” My throat is parched, crying out for a drink. I fumble for the flask inside my coat pocket and take a fortifying swallow.
“It’s almost noon. I must get you dressed and ready for the ceremony.”
Dread, my old acquaintance, returns.
Moving to the window, I glance at the courtyard below, the curtains I removed earlier piled at my feet. It’s a long way down, with nothing to break my fall except the stone.
“How did you come to work for the Frost King?” I ask, turning around.
“My lady. The ceremony.”
Damn the ceremony. The king has an eternity. He can wait a few extra minutes. “While I understand we hardly know one another, I’ve just been stolen away from my home, forced to live out my life in the Deadlands and marry the man whose cursed winter killed my parents, and I want answers. Now sit.” With a little needling, I manage to maneuver her toward a vacant armchair, then take the opposite seat so we can converse properly.
Orla fiddles with the dirty apron tied around her waist. “Forgive me for saying so, but you are quite insistent.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She sighs. “It was a long time ago. The Frost King made a deal with my town, Neumovos. Some of us were given the option to live in his fortress and work for him.”
Option? Seems to me like she never had a choice in the matter. “Have you ever tried to escape?”
She struggles to neutralize her expression, as though not wanting to offend me. “Escape? N-no, my lady. Where would I go?”
Anywhere but here, is my thought.
Orla glances at the dirt-smeared sheets atop the bed. “May I?” she asks.
I don’t need someone cleaning up after me, but since she appears pained by the sight, I shrug. As the woman passes through a patch of weak sunlight lightening the floor, her figure fades. I’m staringthroughher body. She’s completely transparent. Like a layer of fog.
“By the gods!” I shriek, leaping to my feet so quickly my foot catches on the leg of the chair and I crash into the floor. “You’re…”
“Dead, my lady?” Orla’s kind face wrinkles in resignation.
Perhaps that was a little insensitive. The woman can’t help it if she’s dead. “Sorry. You startled me, is all.” Pushing to my feet, I perch on the edge of the cushion, back straight, hands clenched around my knees. “I assumed—” No, that sounds insensitive as well. I will not make unnecessary enemies if I can help it, especially when I may need her help later on. She’ll never speak freely if she believes my motives to be nefarious.
“It’s all right, my lady. The light shows what I am.”
