After fitfully lying awake until she could fight her eyelids no longer, sleep overcame her. She dreamed vividly of Thalia and the forest, of her muse's black claws and Ann's face screaming in the dark.

Elodie awoke the next day and informed Emerys of the fey visitor she'd had the night prior, and although she did not divulge the contents of their conversation, she did speak honestly that while the wardens' iron defenses would likely keep more minor fey at bay during Yule, it seemed Thalia was too powerful to be held at bay by such a trick. This unsettled the wardens a great deal, but seeing as there was nothing to be done except stay vigilant, none complained. Braum seemed particularly irked by the news, like it was a personal failing, and she couldn't blame him for his foul mood when she knew the lengths he had gone to secure the castle in the first place.

She asked Emerys in private if he had ever heard the names "Clio" or "Erato" before (as those were the only two she could remember through the fog of sleep, and her muse had remained completely silent and unhelpful on the subject), but he mournfully informed her had not. None of the other advisors had either, though they encouraged her to search Asrun's libraries for traces and promised they would tell her if any mention of the names crossed their paths.

So the winter trudged on: reading in the library, practicing her speech, learning etiquette for interacting with dignitaries from other countries, and looking over her shoulder every once in a while, just in case.

Presently, Luta was saying to her, "That should do it," as she hefted the last of the crates of supplies through the ancient doorway of a sturdy stone and wood building in the center of town. Daylight was still gleaming on the edges brass plate out front that signified this building as one of the town's infirmaries. During Winter's Fête, Sheridan had told her, it became a small base of operations for the castle's herbalists and doctors. First aid, emergency services; whatever the townsfolk needed would be administered from several hospitals and infirmaries throughout town, all having their commanding orders from this building where the court herbalists and doctors themselves would administer aid.

The chief advisor wiped her hands on her skirts and pulled out a taskbook from her briefcase, and began rattling off instructions to those gathered. As she moved around the space, her robes billowed behind her like a ship's sails filling with wind. Although Elodie knew full well the carefully laid plans that had been set out by the court physicians, she was still impressed with the alacrity in their movements, and the deftness which Luta utilized them.

Sheridan, a slight, androgynously set woman with long black hair that she had been assigned to shadow leaned over in the din of conversation and asked, "Are you sure you want to be here this morning? I'd much rather have a mug of mulled wine in each fist today... No? Your funeral." She was a dour sort of woman like that, and one that always seemed to prefer drinking to working.

Luta and Sheridan both pulled her into a myriad of tasks, some of which she needed a great deal of help with and others that she was quite good at immediately. Hours went by, moving furniture, laying out bedsheets, creating isolation stations and setting out paperwork so that it could all be accessed quickly and efficiently. Each task, she had been informed days prior, was critical to ensure that they could see to as many patients as possible, and keep them from suffering for much longer after they'd walked in the front door.

It seemed to Elodie that every time she'd finished one task, they would find another for her to tarry on. Once when the medicine vials were alphabetized, Luta had sent her up to the castle for one they'd supposedly missed in the shuffle. When Elodie was very displeased to report she'd been unable to find the requested material, Luta coincidentally found it moments later in one of the storage crates, and then moved on to dispensing the next task. She would have felt they were stalling her, were it not for Sheridan's repeated insistence that all things need be in their right places. "One mistake could cost us time that could save a life," she chimed throughout the day.

When it seemed they could wring no more tasks from the aether for her, Luta finally said, "We should be set, Lady Elodie. Only court-certified from here out."

When Elodie seemed reticent to go, she added, "Tell your family I said to hello. While you're out, I heard they're setting up the effigy in the main square. Why don't you go see if some lout has already burned it down?"

"I should hope not ..." Elodie said quietly, and the seriousness of it made Luta burst into laughter. Several more aides came to ask Luta questions about processes around patient filing procedures, and Elodie took this as her excuse to leave.

At the doorway, Elodie took a deep breath as though she was preparing to plunge into cold water. Outside, the air was frigid and stung her nose almost immediately, but the scent of cinnamon and the excited electricity in the air carried her forward. The edges of shops were dappled with small, colorful hellebores that bloomed even during the coldest winters in Orsin. People chattered. Birds scattered. If the buildings of the Audric castle town were like sparrow's nests, winter's fête was the one day the birds poked their heads of their nests. What was normally a quiet town came alive with laughter, hushed expectations, and the crisp sound of crunching snow beneath boots. It would only get livelier still as the day turned into night when the streets would be filled with old friends reuniting and families reliving stories from old battles, all moving towards the center of town to witness the candle-lighting ceremony.

And the speech ... Elodie thought. Her head itched with the reminder, and turned some of the more frigid snowflakes into biting stings. The thought of speaking publicly still chilled her to the bone. She looked at each person that went by with a stony expression on her face, remembering that each and every one of them would be in the crowd tonight. Disappointing them would be a grievous wound on her already blemished track record as a court advisor.

Ann caught her eye and waved from in front of a frosted glass windowfront where a local shop had set up a winter's fête display. Little winter fairies made out of wood played in a decorative scene that added a nice pop of color to the street. Elodie couldn't help but note a few mistakes had been made in some of the fairies' countenances, but she was happy to see a small carved wolf among the mixture.

While Elodie had been working, Ann had taken the time to scout out some of the nearby shops and enjoy some well-deserved time off. Presently, she handed Elodie her fuzzy white winter ushanka, and slipped a tied package into the lining of her coat as she did so.

"What are you hiding there?" Elodie asked.

"Small things. Did Lady Luta say you were dismissed?"

Elodie nodded and took the arm that Ann offered. It immediately cheered her, and she felt less like a dragging beast when Ann was nearby.

"What would you like to do, miss?" Ann inquired.

"Do you know if the others have made it into town already?"

"I saw Simona earlier, but she was with some of her friends and did not seem to care for my company."

"Oh dear. Well, it's her loss. I should be very glad of it!"

They meandered through stores with their doors flung open. They stopped at some to purchase small trinkets or try their hand at rigged games of luck, only to burst out in laughter when they bitterly lost. The streets were loud, and colorful. Garish, even. As they walked past stands with delicious foods, traveling merchants hawking seasonal ornamentals and signs advertising elk sleigh rides, Elodie couldn't help but notice eyes following her. Once a passerby even pointed, though they thought they were being covert.

At first, she thought to ask Ann, "Do I have something on me?" to which Ann replied after careful inspection, "No miss," and kept moving. When she still couldn't shake the sensation, she pulled them both under a shadowy pine tree, laden with snow and asked, "Why is everyone looking at me? Don't pretend you haven't noticed."

Ann stared at her blankly, as though she'd just asked the dumbest question. When she realized Elodie was serious, she composed herself, coughed slightly into one hand, and said, "Miss, you're an orator and court advisor both. One whom people have recently heard stories about doing battle with the queen of the fairies."

"Oh."

"Shall I find you a cloak at one of the stalls to hide?"

A familiar voice caught Elodie's attention, raised in laughter. She shook her head at Ann and responded, "I'll know better for next year."

"Elodie!" her father called from the street behind her in a loud-yet-respectful tone with one hand cupped around the side of his cheek. Tildun was already scrambling past him, knocking into Elodie's side. Her little brother pulled on the outer layers of her clothing, which had been newly made by the castle seamsters out of warm hides and soft, springy furs. His appearance was that of a marshmallow swaddled in coats, with a tuft of blue hair sprouting out of the top. Tildun had always been a menace when it came to the cold, and she suspected the boy would complain even after he'd cozied up by the fire that night and shrugged off all of his wet layers.

"Tilly, you'll tug the fur out!" Elodie complained, stepping back a few steps. "Pet softly," she guided him, and with a smile, too, because she could never really stay mad at him for very long. Even when he did go to tug at it a second and third time.

When she looked away from him, the entire gaggle of Auclairs had gathered, boisterous and bright as ever. They complained about how difficult it had been to find her in the throng and each took their turn commenting on how glorious the weather was holding. They asked her questions about Luta, and about the castle, and Tildun informed her that he'd had a sweet bun laced with saffron threads while Simona babbled about the stench of this year's yule goats.

The conversation quickly moved away from Elodie, as it always did, and she was content to listen, as she always did. All the while something niggled at the back of her mind. It twitched and it pinched, until she realized what it was.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Where is Nadya?"

"We thought she was with you," her mother told her innocently, in a practiced tone that indicated she was trying to hide a secret and failing terribly at it. Ann and Elodie shook their heads, and her mother chirped, "I'm sure we'll come across her, the same as we did you."

Elodie was pleased to walk the festival grounds with her family but found each of her steps growing more sluggish than the last. After they bought a series of round pork hand pies to devour and offered their family's branches to the cornerstone bonfire, they settled in to watch a minstrel's show by the fire.

Her family wasn't discouraged by her lack of enthusiasm but chattered on mindlessly about the costumes and the diligence of the performers. She learned that Simona was furious she had yet to receive a yule crown from a suitor and that Tildun was working on a wooden model house with their father for the holiday. Her mother was just happy to have a little peace after her business out at the beach that summer.

Despite winter's fête being usually a cheerful event, she found herself listening to their stories with a lump in her throat, retreating into her cloak. She would have liked to share stories about Thalia and her time in the woods, but felt instinctively that they couldn't possibly understand or even wish to. She stewed over her impending speech, and thought repeatedly that she missed Nadya terribly. Nadya would have had some words of encouragement that would fit the occasion exactly and cheer her up immensely.

She had never attended a winter's fête before where she'd had to worry about anything other than how tired she'd be the next day, and it weighed on her to the point that she was relieved when Emerys came to escort her to the castle's pavilion garden, where she and her family were to be welcomed as honored guests. He introduced himself cordially and was immediately liked by her family for his politeness and stature.

Elodie felt a twinge of embarrassment as they all fawned over him, but it quickly passed as Emerys lagged behind the rest of them a little to speak to her. "I have a special request from the Prince," he told her, "One that I must obey." He said the last sentence with his chest puffed out, in a deeper tone as he imitated Braum with an eerie uncannyness. Returning back to his usual self, he blustered, "I'm to escort you quite slowly and with much conversation, so that Lady Elodie enjoys herself to the fullest." The corner of Emery's mouth upturned in a smile. "I believe it's his way of giving me some time to enjoy the festivities outside of my duties as Warden-Commander. Do you mind?"

At the moment, Tildun and her mother were both begging their father with glassy, teary eyes to make another run for saffron buns.

"No, I don't mind," she responded softly. "And without our rudder, you can lead my family on any route you like, and they will probably be none the wiser." She covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers to hide the teeth she showed at their expense.

Emerys offered her his arm as a response, and she shyly hooked her arm with his. She was grateful that he was quite the gentleman and could keep conversation with her family even when she herself could not. She was doubly grateful that whenever someone stopped to ask them a question or thank them or badger them in their role as advisors, Emerys was all too happy to take the lead and left each person feeling quite pleased.

By the time they had wandered the central festival hoop a second time, visiting some stalls they had missed before and watching a small performance of Old Man Winter, Elodie's feet had begun to ache. As the titular old man character presented his crown of light to the maiden of snow as a profession of his love, Elodie leaned from foot to foot, wincing at the pain. She longed to pull Fen from her shadow and ride on his back but knew the mere sight of him would cause too big a stir and that the many traps laid out for fey during the evening would ensnare him or worse. She had already promised to bring him snacks, and she could feel his longing as he stared out the window of her study.

Arriving at the pavilion garden, which was littered with benches and tables, was a blessing for her split heels.

"If that will be all," Emerys said, giving her family every courtesy with a full bow despite their statuses being equal.

"Thank you," Elodie said, touching a hand to the bracers on his arm. She suddenly felt guilty that with the threat of a fey attack still viable, the poor Warden-Commander had to work this evening, and was unable to enjoy the festivities properly. Emerys likely wouldn't be able to sit at all today, and here she was complaining about a fair bit of walking.

He beamed at the gesture and, somehow understanding her pity, said, "Go, enjoy." Conspiratorily, he leaned closer and said, "The mulled wine is divine, even if Alden tells you otherwise."

Elodie returned his expression, saying, "Ah, wait, um, before you go."

He tilted his head in her direction and swiveled on his feet to lean closer to her, like a cat curious of a moving bauble. "Yes?"

"Have you seen my sister?" she asked, and added, "Lady Nadya Auclair?" in case he'd forgotten, or thought she was referring to Simona.

"Lady Nadya? I ... no." He seemed resolute in his answer, but then a flash of light crossed his eyes as though remembering a chore, or recognizing an old friend. "Ah, but why don't we go get some mulled wine together? I think I have a few more minutes in fact."

She blinked, baffled by his sudden change in tone, but said, "C-Certainly, Lord Emerys." She turned to her family and said, "I'm going ..." but the sound fizzled out, as they had already scuttled away, marveling at the crystalline ice statues that decorated the garden and squawking like birds about it. Ann waved to her as if to say, Go on, I'll watch over them. She was always so grateful for Ann.

"Your family is lively," Emerys commented to clear the awkwardness.

"They are," Elodie responded, taking it as a compliment.

"It makes me wish I had more siblings. Just the one, unfortunately."

At the food tables, Elodie was delighted to see spiced gingersnaps in an elaborate display across the velvet-red table. Little ginger elk pranced amongst a ginger forest, all covered in a layer of powdered sugar snow. Fairies danced in the center of the woods, surrounded by a procession of elk in concentric circles. Above the scene, decorative cookies shaped like stars and moons rotated lazily on bits of strings tied to the dovetails of the pavilion. The entire effect was a work of artistry and paled any edible arrangement Elodie had ever seen, excepting maybe the ones from Braum's naming day.

"How incredible," she complimented earnestly. "Did the chefs make all of these?"

"Yes," a dour voice said from over the table, "And it cost a fortune for the imported sugar at this time of year."

Alden stood with his arms crossed, bundled in a dark-colored jacket. He had one of the ginger snaps in hand, and was looking at Emerys sourly as he bit off its head.

"Minister Alden," Emerys said sweetly.

"Lord Emerys," Alden responded monotonously.

Elodie looked between the two of them and said nothing, watching instead the fireworks and electricity that seemed to zap the air between their eyes. She wondered if perhaps they'd gotten into a fight in the last few days, maybe due to the stresses of the festival.

After swallowing the cookie fully, Alden said, "Please stay here for a moment, Lady Elodie, I'd like to confer with Lord Emerys about ... our current inventory."

His tone trailed off in a vague way that Elodie wouldn't normally associate with Alden. She nodded obediently and took to selecting a cookie for herself instead. The chefs had even been thoughtful enough to set out a bundle of waxed paper and string, so Elodie took time to select cookies for her family and Ann and Fen as well.

Emerys and Alden stepped aside and began talking in hushed tones. Whatever it was, they were quite concerned about it. Alden even gave Emerys' chest a pointed finger, and that would have been par for the course had he not then dragged the finger and stuck it in Elodie's direction. Her stomach dropped as Emerys slapped Alden's hand down, and both men gave her a furtive, nervous glance.

Had she done something wrong? A terrible guilt paled her face as she looked down at the cookie in her hand. Were they not for public consumption as she'd originally thought? Oh no, perhaps it was for display only. She took inventory of her surroundings, her head bobbing frantically left and right, and discerned that none of the other nobles milling about the garden had cookies in hand, save for the one in Alden's possession. Panicked, she tried to put the cookie back into the display, only to crack it and the tree behind it in half from the fidgeting and the fussing. Her mouth flopped open, and somewhere in the distance, a death toll sounded.

Embarrassed, she thought it best to scoot away while Alden and Emerys continued to bicker in the background. As she limped away, she heard them say things like, "You were supposed to... That was your job!" and "She shouldn't be here!" and "Right, but what was I supposed to do?" Unfortunately, she slipped away too soon to hear one of them say, "Wait, where did she go?"

In one of the darker corners of the garden, she made out two blurry shapes that were too familiar to ignore. They were standing in a ring of rosebushes, now dead with the winter's cold, and guarded by drooping pines. As their shapes clarified, one dark and tall, the other chestnut and inviting, her limp stuttered to a stop. Prince Braum was locked in a conversation with none other than her sister Nadya, and the two looked as solemn as Vesper priestesses bent in prayer. Although many nobles whispered around them, leaning closer in hopes of catching even a small scrap of their conversation, they were separate from the crowd somehow, tunneled in a pall of shadow while everyone else lingered in the warmth of the festival fires.

"I wonder what they're talking about," a woman beside Elodie said to her partner. "They've been over there talking for hours."

"Surely it's obvious," her partner responded, "Look what he's got there."

Elodie looked at where the man was pointing, and saw in Braum's hand a twisting ring of brown branches and horns. Wrapped around the tines and branches were small silvery stones that glinted in the candlelight and gave the effect of icilcles and rime frozen to the wood.

"Love, don't point," the first woman responded, "You don't want to ruin a yule confession by gawking. Oh but they do look beautiful together. Do you know who she is? I can't say I recognize her."

Their conversation turned to reminiscing their first yule together, and they strode away from the scene. Elodie's feet felt frozen in place, and she felt very much like a voyeur observing what must have been a private moment between the prince and her sister.

She did at least agree with the stranger's sentiments. They looked very dignified together, with strong profiles and austere demeanors. Braum had put on formal regalia and looked very kingly, while Nadya was decorated in white and silver like the snow maiden in tales of old.

Nadya would make an excellent queen, thought Elodie, for she knew her sister to be the type of person you could see giving blessings to babies and putting their own ambitions aside for the sake of their people. More than that, she was a good person, with a real heart. She might struggle a little with vanity, but Elodie had hardly known any nobles that were entirely without vanity.

Yes, Prince Braum had made an excellent choice, although she was a little confused by his initiation of it. She hadn't been aware that Braum had ever spoken more than a few polite words to Nadya outside of the expected conversation at court functions. That he would be so enamored was a given, as Nadya was (in Elodie's mind) the pinnacle of grace and beauty and everything one would expect in a queen, but that he had ever harbored feelings for her was a complete surprise. She supposed that was just another indication that she would never understand princes or what truly lurked in their hearts.

Like watching a bird spear a frog in a pond, she felt a great sense of triumph, followed by a great sense of sorrow. Why hadn't they told her? Is that why Luta, Alden and Emerys had spent time with her today- to stall her? From what? A clammy chilld settled over her. Unwiling to examine the feeling closer, she named it disappointment. Neither her sister nor the Prince must have trusted her half as much as she trusted them.

Then Nadya looked up from their conversation, and her eye caught with Elodie's. The world sped up again once more, and she felt a warm splash on her shoulder. Mulled wine dribbled down her front, staining the light colored fabric of her dress as red as geraniums in snow.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there, Miss ..." The man was at a loss for her name, and couldn't find it in the air around them. "Please, allow me to clean it off."

"That's quite alright," Elodie said softly, her lashes lowered. "I needed to change soon anyways, so you've given me a reason to do so." Her feet already carried her from the scene, because for some reason she didn't want to talk to her sister. She persuaded herself that it was because she didn't want Nadya's moment to be overshadowed by her own.

"I insist," came his reply, and before Elodie could protest, a white jacket was placed upon her shoulders, and soft but firm hands were guiding her down the cobblestone path.