As far as she could see, snow blanketed the valley. She was grateful for Fen's thick fur beneath her, warding off some of the cold that settled in with the morning. The wispy ends of fur on his limbs and tail stretched and elongated with impatience as they approached the castle gate. She gave him a pat of sympathy; it couldn't have been easy traveling at a horse's trot for two days when he had covered the distance before in mere hours. Still, if he was bothered, he was very good at seeming patient with the process.

Like most structures in the castle yard, the barbican was built with a sloping roof to slough off the snow and rain. It was composed of a tower with four rising spires, one at each compass point. Though the stones were chipped and some supported vines, it was as sturdy as any mountain and felt twice as old. Just beyond its gates, she could see the sleepy buildings of the town beyond, still huddled together against the cold.

Minister Alden's hair was a flame against the creams and browns of the castle, his eyes a fiery blaze of emotion. Though he allowed them the courtesy of dismount, he quickly descended with claws extended.

Elodie and Braum braced themselves but were shocked when Alden marched past them and shoved a finger in Emerys' face. He got so close he had Emerys on the backfoot, and Elodie could almost see the fire fuming from his snarled lips.

"What were you thinking?"

Emerys took a deep breath. Moments ago, he'd been focused on the road ahead with the calm commonly found in leaders. Now, a different kind of calm washed over him, one that twisted his mouth into a secretive, wry smile. Elodie could almost believe he was pleased to see Alden's scrunched-up fury. "I believe it's customary to greet the prince before the warden-commander," he quipped, "Unless you're saying my station now outranks his."

Braum couldn't ignore the chance to insert his own blithe jab, "I leave for a few days, and this is how you tell me you're starting a coup?"

Elodie was shocked to learn the minister could turn a color as pink as his hair. He huffed, hurriedly gave Braum a salute, a sarcastic, "Welcome home, Your Highness," and then swiveled to accuse Emerys again, "Would it have killed you to leave a message?" A hurt note in his voice tinged the sting out of his lash.

"I couldn't. Someone ordered us to leave in a hurry."

Emerys shot the prince a look, begging for an intervention. In the same motion, he waved a gesture that dismissed the wardens, who wearily and eagerly took their opportunity to depart from the impending storm brewing between advisors.

"Minister Alden," Braum said in a cool, practiced tone, "It was my order. My error in judgment is to blame." Alden opened his mouth to reply, and Braum cut him off, his tone sharp enough to slice through stone, "And you may have noticed we've returned with two fewer wardens."

The dark intonation rippled between them like a pebble dropping into water. Alden's jaw loosened. Emerys awkwardly nudged his glasses up the ridge of his nose. Elodie felt each silent breath like a stab to the ribs.

"Then," Alden finally uttered, "All the more reason you shouldn't have left without warning." He stuck the final jab in as a comfort to himself, and as a result, the pierce was blunted. Elodie could see he was nursing unsaid words but felt it wasn't her place to interrupt. Alden stood straighter and pulled his coat closer to himself, chilled news that seemed reinforced by the brisk snow falling around them. "The Ministers and Lady Luta will seek a full report from the Warden-Commander, as well as a fiscal report of damages expended." He spoke rigidly, like each word tasted vile. "You will also need to make several house calls to the bereaved. And will someone please explain the dog?"

Fen took that opportunity to shift. Several unpleasant bone-cracking noises later, he reformed as a man next to Elodie. With a face of impassive porcelain and a voice so soft they could barely hear it, he said, "Gelert."

None looked more surprised to see a man than Braum, but he clumsily offered, "He is Lady Elodie's ... second aide. A fey, but one given clemency by my order."

The minister looked like he was going to explode. Emerys slung an arm around Alden and gently guided him away from the proceedings. The two murmured to each other, sharp stacatto notes from Alden and soothing, low notes from Emerys. Emerys sunk into Alden's side as they rounded the corner, finally letting exhaustion take him once he was out of sight of the prince.

Braum looked at Elodie apologetically and said, "Give my regards to Ann and your family. I suspect the Ministers will also want to hear from you, but we'll tell them you need time to rest from your travel." He held his chest back, head high, even through the wounds on his face and arms still had yet to heal. "Wish me luck with the real wolves."

Elodie felt a pang of sympathy dig into her chest. For just a moment, she could see the weight hefted on his shoulders, the mountain of work he now had to do. Surely there would be reports to file, and other kingdoms would need to be alerted of the potential threat from Thalia. He would have to tell fathers, sisters, and spouses that their wardens weren't returning.

She could see the guilt in the lines that drew shadows on his face as he took his leave. His cloak seemed like a dark, billowy shadow dragging him down the hall. The royal jewel on his chest gleamed as a burning, weighty lump of responsibility.

"Your Highness." Her mouth moved without her control, but now that she'd spoken the words, she wasn't sure what she actually wanted to say.

He turned back to look at her over his shoulder.

"Good luck."

* * *

The castle's retinue had long since replaced the vase in the curved alcove. Now it held dried willow stalks, artfully arranged like fingers poking out of the lip. Ornate crystalline decorations hung from the curtains, and a strong scent of pine hung from needled branches brought inside and woven into intricate garlands for the windowsills. The scent was tinged with cinnamon, as small sticks had been hidden in between the spikes of green. Fey couldn't resist strong, delicious scents; it was meant as a distraction should they try to cause any mischief during Yule.

What should have brought a festive air to the hall made it feel claustrophobic and cramped. Elodie's gaze lingered on the willow decor for a moment too long, the memory of that night seeping back into her mind in dark, rolling waves. She pictured the walls covered in fractaling ice once more and wind howling from split-open windows. Ann's cry echoed in the distance. The memory was softer now, dulled around the edges from time. It hurt, but it caused no harm.

Had she grown at all since then? Had traveling to the woods to meet Thalia been worth it? She looked down to the white birch staff in her travel bag, now shrunk down to a mere branch so she could better carry it.

A pinching presence blossomed in the space left behind in her mind. Like a mole pushing through loamy soil or a chick cracking the edge of an egg, a hungry, rasping voice prowled the emptiness and said, Release me.

She hadn't realized how swiftly the rush of relief would overtake her as she her muse stirred within her mind again. She had been keenly aware of its aloof presence for days, silent and nursing some ache. Even hearing a few notes set her heart alight with a sparkling glow. That glow illuminated a realization: she had come to care for the muse, almost thinking of it as another person within herself. It could talk. It could think. This meant that when it made a choice, when it hid away itself or urged her onwards, it was acting like a person.

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It wasn't the kind of care she'd give a friend or a loved one. She still held onto her wariness and onto the warnings she'd received. The muse still threatened to act on wicked whims if she wasn't careful. But just as the memory had softened, so too had her opinion of the muse. Because when she'd given over possession of her body, the muse had made a choice. It had chosen not to lock her away as Thalia had done to Titania. It had also chosen not to harm herself or any of the wardens. By Braum's account, it had even spared Thalia's life.

Quickly, the rasping voice emphasized, and Elodie's elation was broken. Her head flitted left and right, searching for an idea of something small she could do to release the energy.

The vases. Her vision funneled to a pinhole, and she extended a hand.

"Please make them bloom, but leave the stalks bare." Something small, a tiny flicker of magic that couldn't harm.

Fluffy, silvery catkins expanded on the ends of the branches in the vase in front of her. One by one, they popped open, releasing feathery white specks into the air. Like snow, it gathered around the base of the vases. The magic spread through the hallway like a sigh, each of the willow buds in the brown clay vases puffing into fuzzy tails. The effect was dazzling, until the pine boughs began to grow cones, and even her birch branch sprouted tiny, purple statice flowers.

She surprised herself with quiet affection for the muse's "creative interpretation" of her instructions, as usual. She'd nearly grown used to its tempo.

"Are you back?" Elodie whispered reverently, eyes darting to see if anyone was nearby. She could still sense Fen lingering in the edges of her shadow, hidden from any passersby. Although he had the prince's pardon, neither of them wanted to scare the general nobility into cold stupor.

A muse never leaves, the voice said, heavy like syrup, but even then, it still requires rest and privacy, occasionally.

"And you're ... okay?" She wasn't sure if a muse could be harmed, yet the concern remained.

Yes, little beast.

So, the muse had been listening during that conversation, too. If it was displeased with how much information she'd divulged about magic, it didn't make it a priority to scold her about it now. It seemed like it wanted to slumber and didn't want to be pestered further.

She reached the end of the hall as the oration concluded, and the willow "snow" settled onto the carpets and window sills behind her. Without thinking, her feet had brought her before the door to her castle room, where she thought Ann might be waiting. There was no one else she'd rather talk to in this moment.

Her knuckle brushed against the door's wood, afraid to take the plunge and knock. What if Ann was still as distant and cold as before? What if the instrument didn't work? So much had been risked, all for this.

The door opened before she could work up the courage, and standing in the frame was Ann, puffing breaths of panicked air. The aide had a brown overcoat hastily buttoned incorrectly and she was missing her left slipper. The hand extended to the door had a brown leather glove on, no doubt to hide the blackened, damaged skin underneath. The curtain of Ann's hair parted as she stumbled forward, and their eyes met.

Words choked in Elodie's throat, and her mind nestled into a familiar white blank space. She had so much to say to Ann. Nothing came. From the look of it, Ann was struggling with the same dilemma.

Rather than words, Ann reached forward and snatched Elodie into a hug. The two embraced tightly. Weeks of awkwardness and unspoken words melted away with a single squeeze.

Through a shaky breath, Ann finally said, "I'm so glad you're safe. I was so scared we'd lost you, miss." The sleeve of her overcoat rode upwards, and from Elodie's view, she could see crinkled, damaged skin underneath. Guilt swept through her once more in a sticky tide. How could her aide brush it all aside? It was as though Ann didn't have a single vengeful bone in her body.

"I know, and I'm- I'm sorry too," Elodie blubbered back. Their embrace relented, and Elodie saw the room behind them. There was essentially little change from when she had left. A dress had been laid out on the bed, even without Elodie there to step into it. All was in order. Ann must have been doing all she could to maintain a semblance of normalcy amidst her worry.

"I could never be mad at you," Ann stated, answering a question that Elodie hadn't even known she possessed. Another weight lifted from her chest. "While you were gone, I had time to reflect." Ann gripped Elodie's hands fiercely, and her brown eyes shone with warmth and kindness. "It was ... improper of me to distance myself from my duty at your side."

"What?" Elodie exclaimed, "You were hurt because of me. I ... I take full responsibility!"

Ann took a deep breath, and maturity graced her features. Her gloved hand slid up to pat Elodie's head. "You're such a good girl." Ann's gaze took on an angel-like quality, sisterly and loving. "I was hurt. It felt hard to talk to you about it because you had so much else stacked on your shoulders, young miss, and I knew you'd blame yourself if I told you." Ann's hands lowered to rest on Elodie's shoulders, holding the more petite girl's face between her thumbs. "But I wasn't hurt because of you. I was hurt by magic. I know the difference."

There was a protest that lingered in Elodie's throat, as even now she felt the tingle of her muse in the back of her mind, laughing mirthfully at the notion that they could ever be thought of separately like that. She shook it away and focused on the person in front of her.

"And look at me," Ann exclaimed, gesturing down to her garb, "One of the Audric aides told me an escort had returned with news from the wardens. I would've run right before the prince into the snow, wet socks and all!" She laughed, and the noise seemed to take her by surprise, so much so that she tried it again and again. Elodie felt the nervousness and the excitement overtake them, and she joined in. The sound was unlike the jingling bells of laughter. It was round and stuttering and good.

"When that fox took you away, I thought we'd seen the last of you." Words tumbled from Ann's mouth. "Most don't survive their encounters with the fey, and Simona and Tilly kept asking when you were coming to visit." A fiery look filled the woman's teary eyes, the zeal and fervor reserved for Vespers. "I swear to you, miss if I ever see that creature again, I'll wring its neck. We put down extra tithes around the Auclair estate just in case and- What is that?"

Elodie followed Ann's gaze down to her shadow, which was quavering with Fen's annoyance. Right. The gelert probably wasn't happy being disparaged without defense.

Without explaining, Elodie looked over both shoulders to see if anyone was in the hallway. When she was satisfied that they were alone, she gestured with a scooting motion for Ann to plunge deeper into her room so that the door could be shut behind them.

Her shadow bulged, and shifty, wispy lines of mist grasped up from the ground like fresh grass sprouts. It bubbled and bellied until Fen stood his full height next to her. His ruddy skin glimmered in the candlelight, and his cold, gray eyes seemed especially bewitching. His mouth was curved down in annoyance, and just the slightest corner of a pointed canine tooth jutted out above his lip.

"Ann," Elodie inserted quickly, sensing the confrontation that might soon break out, "This is Fen."

Ann drank in Fen's form. Other people might have been slower to identify the fox and the man in front of her as the same person, but Ann was sharp. She held the claim to fame as being the only person ever to beat Nadya at cards. Behind the unreadable brown disks of her eyes, she was drawing her conclusions, maybe plotting the assassination she had promised earlier. Despite all sharpness and murderous intent, she was a very good aide. Instead of acting rashly, she turned to Elodie, lips pursed.

She deferred.

It was a slight, deft movement that gave Elodie the space to explain. That was part of why Elodie liked her so much. She knew that no matter how ragged her thoughts were or how unfinished her utterances were, Ann would give her space to grow them.

"It's a long story, but our fates are bound, so he's a friend. I feel what he does, and he feels what I feel. Oh, and he's not a fox. He's a gelert."

Ann gave a courteous half-bow, but her gaze stayed level ahead. "Nice to meet you."

Fen squinted at the gesture, watching the display with crossed arms. "Elodie trusts you," he declared bluntly, "More than the others I've seen her with."

At that, Ann relaxed. "I should be honored that my lady trusts me."

Fen sized her up instantly and then concluded, "Then you know that she's bad at expressing her true feelings. I'll be sure to tell you if she needs anything. Like right now, she's a bit cold."

"Only because we just came in from outside!" Elodie protested, holding up both of her hands. Red snuck into her cheeks as the two stared at her with equally insightful looks. This is painfully embarrassing, she thought.

To Elodie's relief, a knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Ann composed herself and then opened the door a polite distance, hiding behind the wood to disguise her disheveled appearance. Fen hid on the other side of the door, out of sight completely. Not everyone in the valley was so welcoming to fey, pardon or otherwise.

A squirrely-looking woman with purple hair tied up in neat knots waited patiently. She had an impeccable posture and an elegant curve to her face. Elodie recognized her as one of the Audric family aides that typically accompanied the queen. The woman dipped into a full bow, and Elodie returned the gesture.

"Apologies extended, Lady Auclair, for disturbing you when you've only just returned," the woman said with deference as she rose elegantly from the bow. "The queen-mother would like to extend an invitation to tea. She understands you may need time to recover, so please consider this an open invitation." Having delivered her message, the aide bowed again and left Ann and Elodie staring at one another, jaws slack.