Greta polished off her muffin, and decided to go for a walk to see if it might help untangle the pain in her chest. She left the forest, waving to the morning guards as she arced around the grand palace, exploring the sprawling grounds as the sun rose over the Fovarr Mountains. As she strolled, Greta’s mind drifted back to Carrig. She wondered what her sisters were doing right now, and if the blizzards there were still ravaging their forests and chasing their fish away.
It wasn’t long before she reached the front lawn. It was a quiet, silvered morning, and mist draped like a veil over the mountains. Greta searched for their peaks in the fog. The wind whipped up, carrying a distant groan, and her anxiety sharpened into a painful spike.
She surged forward without meaning to, her steps quickening as she moved away from the palace. The mountains were calling to her. Or rather, the beast within. She felt its panic in her throat, the hum of its fear rattling under her feet. How could she go on ignoring it while it was suffering like this? Perhaps she could find a way to soothe it, to call out to it with a song, to let the creature know it was not alone here.
The guards scowled down at her from their watchtowers.
‘Where is your sled?’ said a stern-faced woman in a tall, fur hat.
‘What is your business?’ asked a red-faced man with greying teeth.
‘I’m the king’s wrangler.’ Greta gestured at her uniform, which matched their own. ‘I need to see about a beast in the mountain.’
They exchanged a wary look.
‘Unless you want it to come out and eat you,’ she added, with a bland smile.
‘As you were,’ grunted the first.
‘Move along,’ added the second.
The gates groaned open, and Greta bolted through them before she could second-guess herself. She shouldn’t be alone out here, but she couldn’t ignore her wrangler’s heart. It had never once failed her.
She tipped her head back, cowed by the towering grey mountains. They seemed to go on forever, like frothing waves. She trailed her fingers along the mountainside until she came, at last, to a crevice in the rock. It seemed the rubble had recently been moved away, creating a narrow opening. It must be one of the old mining tunnels the king spoke of. She slipped inside, following the stony path. Darkness enveloped her, the air turning damp and stagnant. She clung to the wall as she wound her way into the mountain, the slow shuffle of her footsteps echoing around her.
Shrouded in blackness, she closed her eyes, listening for the beast. There was a low keening, coming from somewhere deep in the mountain. She shuffled towards it.
It’s all right, wild one. I’m coming.
Before long, the path forked, the wall falling away and leaving her grasping at nothing. She tried to swallow her fear, but panic thickened her throat. This time, it was her own. In the dark, reality crept in. She shouldn’t have come here by herself. Without light and rope. Without supplies and a weapon. What could she do for the frightened beast without the tools to help it? Without a flame to show herself? If she did manage to free it, the king would never forgive her for going against his orders.She’d be sent back to Carrig on the first sled out of Grinstad.
She scrunched her fists, cursing her recklessness. She should go back and talk to Alarik. But as she twisted in the dark, her hands grasping at nothing, she realized she had lost her bearings. She didn’t know the way out.
Her heart galloped, her breath punching out of her. The beast moaned, and a faint smell of burning filled the tunnel. Smoke stung her eyes and she winced, hating her own helplessness.
Calm down, Greta.
Breathe.
She startled at a faraway flash of amber, and then the sound of hurried footsteps coming towards her. She yelped as she was shoved backwards, the rock biting into her shoulder blades as a blazing torch appeared before her. A face flickered behind it, pale and seething.
Greta blinked furiously, trying to adjust to the sudden flare of light. Her assailant was much taller than her, with broad shoulders and strong arms. One pinned her to the wall, while the other brandished the flame high enough to illuminate sharp canines and a familiar sweep of blonde hair.
‘Your M-majesty,’ Greta stammered, in surprise.
‘Close.’ The voice was lower, softer. ‘Try again.’
Greta shoved him away, heaving as she took in the rest of him. Dark blue eyes and slender brows, his sleek hair silver rather than gold. ‘You’re his spymaster. Elias.’
‘And you’re his wrangler,’ said Elias, with a delayed huff of recognition. ‘What are you doing all the way down here?’
‘Uh … exploring?’ said Greta, awkwardly.
He eyed her carefully. ‘I think you’re keeping something from me,Iversen.’
It occurred to her that his presence here was just as strange as her own. ‘What are you doing here, Elias?’
He blinked, taken aback by her question. Or perhaps it was her accusatory tone which likely struck him as hypocritical. ‘I’m keeping a wary eye on these tunnels … Seeing what kind of secrets there are to be found down here. Or indeed people.’ He gave her a meaningful look. ‘Does the king know you’re here?’
