Sometime later, a hissing sound woke me. My whole body felt stiff. I realized I had fallen asleep still wearing my armor. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head on the pillow. Shadows were easing under the door of my room in wispy, smokelike tendrils, dancing in a kaleidoscope pattern before joining and pouring together, as if black water filled a transparent vessel. It formed from the legs up, finally standing before me, a dark, solid-looking creature, and yet I felt that if I tried to touch it, I would fall into an endless void. It was larger than a man, with pointed shoulders and an ever-changing pattern of horns on its head, sometimes mimicking the look of a crown.
I lay on the bed, frozen in fear. It moved forward, each step swishing with a strange resonance, like the lowest note played on a flute. When it reached the bed, it stopped and bent over me.
“True vessel,” it said in the voice of a thousand chimes. “You and I will join when your heart is bled of color, when perfect darkness inhabits your soul. You will feel freedom as you’ve never felt it.”
It reached for me, and I tried to scream, only to jerk upright at the sound of a knock on my door. I clutched the bedding, eyes wide. The room was empty.
The door opened and Doreena entered with small steps, her soft brown shoes making no sound. “Can I help my lady remove her armor?” She sucked in a breath when she saw the dried blood, muttering about the lax habits of the court healer who should have arrived by now. She quickly but carefully unfastened the breastplate. I sat stiffly, unable to shake the image of the creature reaching out to touch me. Had it been real or just a dream?
“Is something wrong, my lady?” Doreena asked.
Realizing I must have a look of horror on my face, I smoothed my expression and assured her I was just tired. Already, her gentle presence was chasing some of the shadows from my mind.
The grim-faced court healer eventually came, examining the wound at my side with consternation. “This cut is fairly deep,” she said in a tone that implied I’d injured myself on purpose. “You need stitches.”
The drink she gave me to ease the pain tasted vile and wasn’t nearly as effective as Brother Gamut’s tea, but it did take the edge off. When she was done stitching and wrapping the wounds, she glared at my ankle. “At least a week of rest. And ice for your ankle.”
“No shortage of that around here,” I muttered.
I didn’t expect to be allowed to rest as the healer has prescribed. But the days passed full of boredom and mounting frustration. I wanted to explore the castle, learn more about the throne, and strategize what to do next. Instead, I was on my back in bed, trying not to split my stitches.
The healer came every day to change my bandages, and Doreena brought my meals, lingering to keep me company if she had time. Sometimes she brought clothes that needed mending and worked on them while she related the news of the day. Gossip traveled fast in the castle, spreading like disease among courtiers and servants alike.
Apparently, the king had been visited by dignitaries from Safra who had all but begged him to consider a peace treaty. Within hours, the ambassadors were seen riding from the castle, their shoulders stooped in defeat. Some witnesses said that only one dignitary made it to the foot of the mountain, that the king had disposed of the others as punishment for their temerity, leaving one alive to take the Frost King’s message to King Remus in the east.
Brother Thistle had told me during one of our lessons that the Safran army was sizable and well-trained, or had been before the war started. But by all accounts, the king seemed unconcerned that they were a threat. His army, led by Frostblood generals, had taken control of the kingdom’s most valuable assets—mines and mineral deposits in the northwest—and only had to hold that ground.
What did seem to bother the king were reports of rebellion. Word around the castle was that he’d sent out more spies, and had started spending more time in the war room with his advisors. But Doreena said the rumors were based in hope, not fact. Because, she pointed out, who would dare rebel against the Frost King?
Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell me any more about the throne than what I already knew. When I found out she could read, I tried to persuade her to search the royal library for books about the throne, but she shivered at the very suggestion. I contented myself with reading the heavy volumes brought by a servant, with compliments from the king: histories of the military glory of Frost Kings for the past thousand years. If nothing else, they helped me to fall asleep.