“Now, this feels like the Winter I remember. The High Prince arriving back in town has lifted the people’s spirits,” Marigold exclaims.
It’s a nice change of pace to be out here instead of inside Keep Wolfhelm, discussing battle plans and strategies. Even if Keldarion refuses to believe it, his proximity is affecting his citizens for the better.
With solstice tomorrow, Keldarion suggested I partake in some of the merriment throughout the city. Astrid and Marigold, along with Eldy, have agreed to stay in Wolfhelm for solstice, which makes my heart feel so full. Thankfully, they reported that nothing as severe as what happened to Konreth has occurred again, though I get the feeling that things still aren’t exactly jollyat Castletree. I think my friends need this day out as much as I do.
The market is alive with color and warmth. Vendors, wrapped in thick cloaks and fur-lined hoods, call out their wares with voices as bright as the silver bells tied to their stalls. To my left, a craftsman carves an intricate wooden ornament, the shape of a swirling snowflake. His stall overflows with carvings—tiny reindeer, pine trees, and stars.
Farther ahead, a woman stirs a great black cauldron, the rich scent of hot cocoa curling into the frigid air. Her breath clouds as she hums, ladling thick, steaming liquid into carved wooden cups. Another stall glows with golden light, where a weaver displays woolen shawls dyed in deep blues and icy silvers. I brush my fingers along the fabric, marveling at its softness.
Everywhere I turn, Frostfang thrums with life—merchants bartering, children laughing as they chase each other through the snow, the sound of fiddles and flutes weaving through the air.It’s so different from behind the walls of Keep Wolfhelm.
Astrid and Marigold find me near a stall selling blown glass ornaments, their reflections dancing in the icy sheen of the decorations. “You almost got lost in the crowd,” Astrid teases.
Marigold points to an ornament shaped like a crescent moon. “Tomorrow is solstice,” she says. “Have you picked out your gifts yet?”
“Not a single one,” I admit. “But I would like to get a little something for everyone.”
“The changing of the seasons is one of the biggest events in the Enchanted Vale, especially within the realm associated with the holiday,” Astrid says.
“Before the curse, often the holiday’s realm would host the other high rulers,” Marigold explains. “It would be followed by a grand celebration at Castletree, where we could witness the changing of the seasons.”
That’s right. Castletree is the only place in the Enchanted Vale where the seasons change. Somewhere deep inside, I feel the importance of it. And for a moment, it’s like I can hear my mother’s voice:It’s more than a celebration. It’s a sacred passing, the balance of magic restoring.
“You’ve never seen it without the briars,” Marigold continues, “but Castletree would bloom or wither depending on the season’s will—petals unfurling like dawn in spring, verdant grass in summer, leaves blazing crimson and gold in autumn, ice and snow overtaking its spires in winter.”
I think of Castletree now, Caspian’s briars barely holding the structure up, all the seasonal wings in disarray…
I take their hands in mine. “We’ll see it like that again.”
“Of course we will, Rosalina,” Astrid says. “And I am so thrilled we get to celebrate solstice with you! I might be biased, but I consider it the best holiday of all.”
“I used to always travel to the Frostfang markets to purchase solstice gifts for my dear Eldor,” Marigold says. “What do you think, Astrid? Shall we visit a few of our old haunts?”
“Yes, it’s been a while, but I still remember these alleys like the back of my hand. Or more like the back of my paw these days. They were the best places to pick pockets.”
“Hold up.” I stop in place and turn to her. “You used to pick pockets?”
Astrid’s red eyes gleam as she looks both ways before leaning in. “I was notorious. No one suspected such a small girl could cause so much trouble. You see there?” Astrid points back to the stall we just left, adorned with beautiful glass ornaments. Each one is tethered with twine to the wooden beams. “That’s because of me.”
“Didn’t they call you the Ruby-Eyed Bandit?” Marigold asks.
“Wait—you knew about this?” I gasp.
“Of course.” Marigold smiles smugly. “Everyone knew.”
“It was a long time ago,” Astrid says. “I could have kept it going forever if I hadn’t picked the wrong pocket. Perth Quellos’s pocket.”
“Oh no,” I say.
“As the guards dragged me to a cell in Wolfhelm, he was muttering on about putting me away for good,” Astrid says.
We stop in front of a vendor, and Marigold grabs us three cups of hot cocoa. I take mine, blowing the steam away as we continue through the crowded streets, eagerly listening to Astrid’s—or the Ruby-Eyed Bandit’s—story.
“What happened next?” I ask.
“Well, I actually have Keldarion—and Caspian, in a way—to thank. The Prince of Thorns was living at Wolfhelm at the time, and everyone whispered he had the heir to Winter under his dark spell. So when I learned I’d be going on trial before Keldarion instead of High Prince Erivor, I was terrified.” Astrid chews on her bottom lip. “When I got to the throne room, I nearly threw up. There was Keldarion, and he was huge, even seated. But sitting on the armrest, his arm around Keldarion’s shoulder, was Caspian.
“I approached the throne, and someone announced my crime: picking pockets. On Keldarion’s other side was Perth Quellos, staring me down. But it was the Prince of Thorns who spoke first. He asked me why I stole.”
