Winter in Gristol was nothing like in Olwick.

The Edbrian rooms were warm and the bright yellow of the wallpaper seemed to make the room brighter, as did the light coming through the enormous glass windows. They weren't all one sheet of glass, but small squares that filled a frame made of wood in a checker pattern.

I felt that I had managed to make some progress as I remembered what arrays were.

Sam had been a specialist in arrays and something called virtual arrays.

Runes all had specific and limited effects, the sun-like rune I had drawn before, for instance, made something glow, or the hourglass in the tetragonal prism that stopped time in a small area, the stasis rune from my dreams.

Arrays were a bit like runes, but more complicated. Instead of a single icon and a set of tethers, arrays were often incredibly complex and seemingly jumbled and chaotic madness if you didn't know why they were shaped the ways they were.

Arrays unlike runes, however, could be made to do anything. In theory.

In practice, they were the realm of mad wizards, rich kings and historians, far too dangerous to make without a lot of planning and research, and usually the interest of historians who studied the ancient arrays that still inspired Lucia even so long after the Treaty of Azar.

At least, that's what I imagined, but I was only half certain I was myself, my thoughts all a jumble of wonder and new ideas that I could hardly sift through the truths and the fantasies.

For all my scribbles and drawings, I realised as I moved my hand to write down 'Treaty of Azar' that I didn't actually know how to write. Sam had a whole alphabet that it seemed I should know but none of the symbols actually came to mind as I thought of the very different squiggles in the books that mother had shown me.

I wanted to keep track of that treaty, since Sam seemed to think it was significant somehow, but I would just have to figure out how to write it down later.

Fortunately, mother was trying to teach me all these noble things, which, although tedious, gave me an opportunity.

"What does it say under here?" I asked her when she brought the heavy book over later on.

"This list, you mean? These are the different knights of Count Jerstein's army when he charged the flaming sword in the foothills. It has already been 37 years since the Scaled Prince retreated though. Most of them are not even alive now."

"Can you read them for me?" I said, curious to see what the letters sounded like.

"The names of the knights?" Mother asked, amused, "I think not. You should be learning the families right now. Perhaps, if you're curious, you could ask Sir Barker to tell you about the war. He was there, fighting under your grandfather's banner, before he was decided as the duke. There are many stories he could tell you of the occupation of the Leslie duchy and the sudden retreat."

"Is Sir Barker a knight?" I asked, distracted by another topic.

"Hmm? You didn't know? Sir Barker was your father's instructor when he was young. It's from him that he learned the sword."

I had always thought of Sir Barker as the old man who did odd things in the yard. But it seemed he was an accomplished warrior in his own time, a knight who fought in a war to protect Farand and Efeles before himself becoming the instructor of the duke's heir.

I wonder what happened that he would abandon that position and prestige to follow father into voluntary exile in the farmlands of Olwick?

"Here, this says 'Cond Kris Jerstein got Overhill, the commander in chief of the Farand army met with King Verston Merhunt II on the eve of the battle..."

It felt like yet another boring story, but at least in those letters, I had something to focus on.

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As the winter went on, I got better at letters, though the result of that was that mother had me start writing random things and people's names down.

I didn't really want to write or draw much during the rest of the day.

In fact, I spent more and more of my time spinning the top with the shiny sapphires or looking out the window at the snow covered garden.

It seemed that once it was cold enough, the gardeners who had been carving trees in the summer started carving blocks of ice instead. At all times of the year, the palace gardens were filled with beauty to show off to visiting dignitaries and rivals.

I didn't really have a good angle from my room and had to push my head up against the cold glass in the corner where the window met the wall. The whole window was set in a sconce, and with the curtain blocking the last of the warmth from the fire on the opposite end of the room, I got the full chill seeping through the wall.

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Lilting notes reached me, seeming to hang in the air.

The sound of the flute was both soft and heavy, airy and solid. Mother's vibrato on the long notes gave the sounds a sad feeling, as if the winter affected even the air inside.

I left the window and crept across the room. Fortunately, I was now just tall enough to just hop a bit and turn the key and handle, unlike a couple months before.

She lifted her eyes as she saw me enter the room, and then she changed what she was playing.

Suddenly, there were trills and skips and mother was dancing a bit while coming towards me.

I giggled as she stopped in front of me.

"Happy birthday Tilly," she said while I clapped at her performance. "Shh, don't tell your father about that one, okay? I thought you would like it though. The lower town jigs have so much energy."

"It's my birthday?" I asked, a bit surprised.

I recognised that term from Sam's memories but it was the first time I heard it here.

I spent most of the morning humming the tune mother played and dancing in my room.

Simila was there watching, but I had grown used to ignoring her. She wasn't exactly the funnest sort, but she didn't have any problem with me having fun.

Mother didn't have me look at family crests or anything else tedious today, so until lunchtime I just let myself go.

Then Simila brought me to my parents' drawing room. Father was there and Saul and Sir Barker, who was holding a light coloured saddle. Byl and Vis were there too, dressed in valet's attire. I hadn't seen them much since the journey from Olwick, but they were helping mother and Simila bring in plates from the door to the servants' quarters.

I wonder how they got food there? Was there another staircase behind where they slept?

I remembered the previous winter when Ivian had come back to us after spending time away and I had eaten basbusa, that honeyed semolina cake that had opened my eyes to the flavours of the world.

There were no candles this year, with all the natural light in the room, but there were the same honeyed treats and some kind of warm, sweet smelling beer that father and Sir Barker drank but wasn't given to me.

I saw the phantom ice creams again and smoking creme brule in front of me, but this year I wasn't fooled. Those were just fakes. Not real.

Unfortunately, Ivian was also not real, just a memory of a year past.

I wiped my wrist against the corner of my mouth, and shut my eyes. Why were the images so cruel? Whether it was Ivian or the sugary sweets, I wanted them here and now, or else not at all. Better to enjoy what you have than to dream of what you don't have.

"Congratulations, my son, on your second year." My father told me with a hand on my head that sent a tingle through me, somewhat like the sugar did. "May you have many winters to come."

I didn't miss what he and mother said this time. It was my birthday today, the second one.

"And here, this is for you." Sir Barker said, as he came to give me the saddle. "A tad big for ya' right now, but you and Cinder'll grow into it."

It was heavy and almost as big as me, but the leather smelled new and I felt it was my own.

Tiny festivities over for a tiny boy, my parents then ate the rest of their meal in the room while Simila carried the saddle back to my room for me.

I found out later that the saddle wasn't actually the present my parents gave me. It was from Sir Barker himself, something he had made this past year, playing with leather.

Cinder was my horse, still a child, like me.

He snorted and shied away when I reached out a hand. It seemed he didn't like getting pat on the head. But he kept on putting his nose on top of my hand and sniffing at me, so I naturally kept putting my hand on top of his nose to pat at him.

The back and forth over and over again started to make me giggle. He was so funny, couldn't he make up his mind? I think we were off to a great start!

"He's still young and needs to grow, but we'll have you learn to ride on a pony maybe later this year, when we're back in Olwick." Father told me as he held me in the stables, amused at Cinder and my meeting. "You're only this lucky since Sir Barker found out there was this fowling. A lot of training between now and when he grows up but you'll never have a more loyal steed."

I mainly just heard that we were going to go back to Olwick and felt a surge of excitement. I wonder why we even had to come here in the first place.

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I stared at the painting of the boy in armour on the wall beside my crib with blurry eyes.

I had not left the strange place immediately as I looked on the red clouds.

Instead, I saw another spire, on a floating island in the distance. The island looked like a rock, jagged cuts tapering underneath it but it seemed smooth on top, like the place I was on, surrounded by the precipice on all sides.

When I looked at it, instead of the clouds opening up for me, the world blinked and I found myself in front of the other spire instead.

It was small, like the first one was at first, no bigger than the other one that was now slightly below me in the distance.

This one seemed a bit different though. It didn't have the same dust around it, even the few specks like the other one had from the beginning. Instead, it seemed to hum, in a pulsing cadence as if it had a rune.

But the whole spire was solid and black, cold to the touch and weirdly slimy. It didn't leave anything on the hands, but it almost felt like oil.

I hadn't felt like that was a good thing and stopped trying to explore it.

Now, as I woke up shivering in the pre-dawn before Simila relit the fireplace, I wondered what it all meant.

I stretched, and pushed on my stomach and arms, but I didn't feel physically bad. I closed my eyes and tried to go to the strange place, but nothing happened, it wasn't like I could blink to it from my room as I had from one spire to the other.

I went to the door to my parents room and knocked, then tentatively reached for the key.

I waited a moment, slowly creaking the door open, but then I heard footsteps and took a step back.

"Tilvrade?"

I tensed as not mother, but father came to the door.

"What is the matter?" He asked grumpily.

"Father, I-uh," I hadn't expected father to open the door. "I had a bad dream, there was a humming rock, a spire-" I was stuttering a bit, not having thought over what I would say to him.

"You had a bad dream." He interrupted me and I felt my head sink a bit. "Do you know what time it is? I have to meet Viscount Kridley in the morning, why don't you tell your maid, Simila?"

"Father, it's not like other dreams, it's so weird and dark-" I tried again.

"Tilvrade, don't be selfish. It's just a dream.

Bam

He came in the room and shut the door a bit strongly behind him. His words and the slamming sound went around in my head.

Don't be selfish. It's just a dream.

Was it just a dream?

Was I overthinking it?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to slam it like that. Here, let me put you back to bed." Father seemed a bit embarrassed that he was being abrupt and brought me back to my bed.

I felt bad as he put me into bed, and I curled up under the sheets.

I didn't want to be selfish or a hassle to mother.

"Good night, Tilvrade. Talk to Simila about it in the morning."

I didn't want to tell Simila. She wouldn't care.

Perhaps I didn't want to remember that debacle, but the sleep took me despite my beating heart and I just kept it to myself the next day as I was brought again to the stables to play with Fafi and Cinder.