Liv lingered in the stairwell until the two footmen’s voices were cut off by a closing door. Down in the kitchens, her mother and Grettel and all the other servants would be gathering around the table for breakfast. There was an empty chair waiting for her, but right now Liv felt sick, and the scent of fried bacon wafting up from below nearly made her run back to the privy.

It wasn’t the first time she’d overheard someone saying something so mean about her mother - or about her. That word, bastard, she’d been hearing it for as long as she could remember. Often, Liv wondered if her mother would have been happier if she had never been born. Maybe she would have gotten married, and had children that everyone loved, that weren’t a constant problem and embarrassment. Liv realized her eyes were wet, and used her apron to wipe them before dropping her hands back to her side and clenching her fists.

She was sunk so deep into her own head that Liv didn’t notice the door at the bottom of the stairs open until Mama poked her head through and called up some time later. “Livy, dove, come and get your food.”

Liv swallowed, realized that her hands hurt, and looked down to find that she’d squeezed her fists so tight that her nails were nearly cutting into her palms. “Coming, Mama,” she said, and ran down the stairs.

“Don’t run,” her mother chided her. “Remember when you fell and broke your finger?”

“I won’t fall,” Liv promised, and scurried across the kitchen to the empty place left for her at the table.

“Eat up, dear,” Gretta urged her, piling Liv’s plate with eggs, potatoes and bacon. “You’re too thin. I can count your ribs.”

“Big day, Liv,” Bill called across the table, his mouth half full. “Going to skate at the fair?”

If she hadn’t heard him in the stairwell, she would have thought the footman was being friendly, but now Liv knew that he was a two-faced liar, and cruel. “No,” she said, biting back words that would only get her in trouble.

“Leave off, William,” Archibald warned. “You know Master Cushing won’t allow the girl to do anything that risks a fall.”

“We’re going to go shopping, though,” Liv’s mother broke in. “There’s sure to be plenty of mulled cider and good things to eat. And I thought we might take a sleigh ride, my dove.”

Liv perked up at that; she loved going up into the mountains. She allowed the adults to talk past her while she chewed her food. Aldo Cushing, the baron’s master chirurgeon, had warned her that if she wanted to grow more, she had to eat everything she could, and that it would help her bones, too. She hoped that if she grew enough, by next winter he might tell her mother that she was allowed to ice skate or ski.

After breakfast was finished, all of the servants followed First Footman Archibald out of the kitchen and up the great hall, where everyone who lived in Castle Whitehill met for morning prayers. Liv stayed next to her mother’s side when the servants lined up, and did her best to be still so as not to attract Baron Henry’s notice. He’d never liked her, and as his gaze skimmed down the line, she again wished that she could hide her ears.

“This morning,” Baron Henry began, his voice filling the hall easily, “We give thanks to Arvatis, for bringing the dawn. May he keep us all healthy, and free of disease.” Now that the Baron was talking, Liv figured he wouldn’t be paying attention to her, so she snuck her eyes up to get a glance at his small court.

Henry himself looked every inch the lord of Whitehill. He was still young, with sandy hair and a well-trimmed beard - not at all like Liv’s memories of his ailing father. His doublet was a fine brocade, and he stood straight and proud as he spoke.

At the baron’s side was his new wife, Lady Julianne. Liv thought that Julianne was just about the most beautiful woman that she had ever seen, with pale skin that looked as if she’d never been touched by the sun. Whenever Liv saw the baron’s wife, she wore dresses in colors that no servant would ever be permitted, even if they had the coin to afford it. In the months since the noblewoman had come to Castle Whitehill from the capital, her belly had swollen until it had the look of a melon fit to burst, and Liv knew from talk in the kitchen that a child was expected before the winter was out.

With the lord and lady of the castle stood Court Mage Grenfell, roused from his work in the Room of Curiosities, and Master Chirurgeon Aldo Cushing. Liv was more familiar with the chirurgeon than anyone else who ate at the high table, on account of having spent so much time being examined by him. She hated those visits, when the old man would measure and weigh her, and then make notes while he shook his head. Every time, the verdict was the same: she was not growing like she should.

“...and we thank also Lord Tamiris,” Baron Henry continued. Liv realized that she had missed the prayer to Sitia, and resolved to make her own plea to the goddess soon. If she needed anyone’s help, it was the Lady of Changes. “We give thanks for our freedom, and for the Gift; and we will be forever grateful.”

Everyone in the hall bowed their heads, for a long moment, and then straightened when the baron spoke again. “It is a market day, as you all know,” Henry said, returning his gaze to the row of castle servants. “And more than that, it is a Frost Fair, the first we have had in several years. Therefore, you are all relieved from your normal duties. The Baroness and I will find our meals at the fair today. We do expect that you will all have returned for the ninth hour of the evening, and that you will be prepared to resume your normal duties tomorrow morning. With that, you are dismissed.” The baron smiled. “Enjoy the fair.”

It was all Liv could do not to dash out of the hall - an entire day at the Fair! As soon as they’d left the hall, she let herself grin and bounce up and down, then grabbed her mother’s hands. “Let’s go, let’s go!” Liv pleaded.

“Not until you have your winter cloak on,” Mama said, though she smiled. “And a second skirt, to keep you warm. I expect you’ll want to leave your apron here, and take along your coin purse, as well. Now back to our room, dove.” Liv skipped ahead, rushed down the servants’ stairs, and was ready to go before her mother had even reached the room. She took a moment to count her coins while her mother fastened a heavy cloak around her own shoulders.

Liv poured her purse out on the floor, set the single silver sun aside, and counted the copper pennies into stacks of ten. “How much do you have?” her mother asked.

“One crown, seventy pennies,” Liv answered, carefully scooping it all back into her purse, which she hung at her waist, before tucking it into the pocket of her overskirt. “I wish I hadn’t bought so many pairs of wool hose.”

“You’ll be grateful for them before the day is done,” Mama said. “Come along, now.”

The morning was perfect. Overhead, a cloudless blue sky spread endless and deep, divided above by the great shining ring that encircled the world. The footmen had cleared a path through the snow to the castle gates, and from there they took the streets down The Hill toward the market before cutting east to the bank of the Aspen River.

The cobbled roads of The Hill, Whitehill’s wealthy district, were coated in frozen mud and new fallen powder, and far less crowded than Liv was used to. There was an occasional carriage, rolling and shaking east behind a team of horses and spraying snow up around the wheels, all headed for the river. On most market days, the shops here would be open: the local bookseller, for instance, or the cobbler, who Liv had visited during harvest to re-sole her shoes. The Temple of the Trinity was in The Hill, just a bit lower than the castle, as well as The Old Oak, the town’s oldest inn, which almost always hosted a crowd of merchants, drovers and travelers.

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Today, however, everyone in Whitehill was making their way down to the frozen river, and as Liv and her mother neared the shore, the crowd grew thicker. She grabbed her mother by the hand and tugged her forward impatiently until they had reached the ice.

The broad Aspen River had completely frozen over, save for one place just at the foot of Whitehill, with the castle looming above. There, steaming water from the sulfurous hot springs ran down the rock, and prevented ice from forming, no matter how cold the winter became. The town guards had strung a rope all around the great hole in the ice, and hung it with colored flags, so that no one could miss where the ice grew thin and dangerous.

Everywhere else, the ice was full of people, tents, and animals. A small crowd surrounded a makeshift ring of rope strung on wooden posts, cheering Big Whit Cotter on as he beat a challenger into submission with his bare hands. Upriver, children were skating across the ice on blades of carved wood or horn. Near the opposite bank, three sleighs hitched to teams of draft horses waited for customers, and while Liv watched, one took off. The sleigh, full of laughing people bundled in warm cloaks, slid easily across the snow on the riverbank, and set off for the mountains, which cradled all of the Aspen Valley in every direction.

Mama bought them each a wooden mug of mulled cider, steaming hot and spiced, which they cradled as they shopped from tent to tent. Even those who might not come out for a normal market day had put their wares on display for the Frost Fair: there was dried meat, smoked and spiced, from venison to beef or pork, as well as dried and hung herbs. Liv skipped past craftsmen selling pottery, bolts of cloth, skates and skis, and jewelry of all sorts; ignoring it all, she headed for the sound of music. She dropped a copper penny into a wooden bowl for the players, dropped her mother’s hand, and ran into a crowd of children dancing to the sound of flutes and drums. Someone’s dog ran through the crowd, leaping up to lick her in the face, and Liv ruffled the fur around its ears with a giggle.

For their midday meal, Liv and her mother found a tent where wooden benches had been dragged into rows, and brisket was being being served hot from the smoker. They got a trencher full of tender slices, and drenched it in sauce.

“You won’t find this in the lowlands,” Liv’s mother told her, in between bites. “Only up here in the mountains. The spices come all the way from Lendh ka Dakruim.” Liv had never left Whitehill, and she didn’t think her mother had either, but the day was too wonderful to say that out loud.

Instead, she asked, “Can we go ride in a sleigh, now?”

“Of course,” her mother answered, and they brought their trenchers and mugs back to be washed. There were long lines stretching out from where the sleighs waited, and Liv bounced up and down impatiently. “Watch yourself,” Mama warned her. “Mind you don’t bump into anyone.”

“I will,” Liv told her, rolling her eyes. As they waited, she looked upriver, to where a dozen or more children were skating on the ice. Her feet itched to join them, and if not for her stupid bones she would have already spent her wages on a pair of skates.

“Next year,” her mother said, gently. “When the master chirurgeon says it’s alright.”

Liv was just about to reply when someone bumped into her from behind. She cried out, slipped, and would have fallen if her mother hadn’t reached out an arm to catch her.

“My apologies,” a woman said, half turning to look back at them. She looked like a hunter, wearing a heavy fur cloak instead of wool, and the winter wind tossed a mane of rich, dark hair about.

“No harm done,” Liv’s mother said, keeping a hold of her. “It’s a crowded day. You’re from out of town, then? Come for the fair?”

There was a crinkling about the strangers eyes, and something in the way she moved her head that reminded Liv of an owl. “How could you tell?” she asked. “I brought a few furs in to sell, and now I’m looking for a bit to eat with my coins.”

“Your accent,” Mama explained. “I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It almost reminds me of the Eld of the North, but it's different.”

“I’m surprised to find anyone here who has met one of the Eld,” the huntress commented.

“They came through Whitehill thirteen years ago,” Liv’s mother said. “On their way to the capital. The young lord of the House of Syvä and his retinue.”

Liv’s eyes and attention had been wandering back to the skaters, where one of the girls looked to be rather unsteady on her feet, but now she turned back to the conversation between adults. Thirteen years ago. Was that when her father had come? Was that when her mother had met him? She opened her mouth to ask, but couldn’t find a space to do so without interrupting, and resolved to wait until the stranger had walked away.

“That must have been something to see,” the dark haired woman said, and Liv did not miss the way her eyes flicked down to focus on her for a moment. “Would you mind telling a stranger the best place to get a meal?”

“Four stalls down, then take a left,” Mama said, pointing. “That’s where we ate. They have a smoker going that you can smell once you get near, and if you aren’t from the mountains you have to try the sauce.”

“Thank you.” The woman hesitated a moment, then extended her hand. “Wren Wind-Dancer.”

“Margaret Brodbeck,” Liv’s mother said, taking the hand. “With a name like that, I would have known even without the accent. This is my daughter, Liv. Liv, dove, say hello to Wren.”

But Liv was no longer listening. The girl she’d been watching, dark haired and all bundled up in layers, was trying to skate backwards. Her arms were pinwheeling a bit, but somehow she was keeping her balance as she looped away from the other children, and toward the west bank of the river, into the shadow of Castle Whitehill.

“She doesn’t see the flags,” Liv said.

“What was that, dear?” Mama asked, frowning.

“She doesn’t see the flags!” Liv set off at a run. She was too far away to get to the girl in time, but someone else had to be watching her, surely someone else would see and stop it. As Gretta said, however, wishing didn’t make it so, and none of the other skating children had noticed the little girl headed for where the ice was dangerously thin.

“Hey! Hey you!” Liv yelled as she ran across the ice, and waved her hands above her head. “Stop! Turn back!”

The dark-haired girl finally heard, and looked at her. For just a moment, their eyes met, and Liv thought that she’d been in time. Then, the girl skated through the rope, tumbled, and fell as the ice broke away beneath her. She gave a single scream, and then her voice cut off as she went down into the water.

Liv was still too far away, but she kept running, stretching out her hand as if she could somehow reach the girl and lift her up before she was lost. She was breathing hard while she ran, and her breath fogged in front of her face as a cutting wind lifted her cloak. She could only imagine how cold the dark-haired girl was under the water, as the chill sank into her fingers, her toes, her bones…

Around Liv, the world shook, for just a moment. She felt that cold, sinking deep into her and then spilling out from within. A vision of mountain peaks filled her mind, where the snow never melted and the ground was hard, where it was always winter. Gretta had told her stories of hunters lost up in the high passes, frozen and not found until flood season. Would they find the little girl and her skates when the river melted?

Something hummed in her ears, and her entire world vibrated in time, like a drum. Liv felt it in her chest, deep as a crack of thunder, and it drove the breath from her lungs. She was so cold that she couldn’t move anymore, like the girl under the ice, and she tumbled forward, skidding across the frozen river with her hand still outstretched.

Her lips moved, without thought, and the word that emerged was one that Liv had never once heard in her life.

“Celēvātis!” There was no choice: it welled up from within her and burst out, as if she’d eaten bad meat and her stomach refused to keep it in any longer. Everything but cold fled from the world, and frost cracked over Liv’s eyes.

In front of her, dimly, she saw her fingers first turn red, blister, and then blacken. She was nothing but ice. She saw nothing but ice. She thought nothing but ice.

Around her, the frozen river surged. Snow was flung in every direction in a spray of powder as the ice cracked and groaned, jutting up in sharp crystals that grew waist high. Liv’s hand shook, and an enormous hand of solid ice rose up from where the runoff from the sulfur spring had melted the river.

Clasped in the fingers of the hand was the soaked form of a little girl, her dark hair plastered about her pale face. Liv had just enough vision left to watch the hand deposit the girl in front of her before she passed out.