Slay them, master! The staff suggested. They are in your way. The artifact is stolen! It belongs to you, and it rests in the heart of the castle.

“Get down, Rendy!” Anilla said with much more force than Orenda had ever heard her speak. It was so forceful, and so unexpected, that she dropped out of instinct.

The snow around them became less like little soft fluttering things, and more like crystals of ice as the winds changed. The storm above them raged like an angry god, and a gale so fierce it shook the wall where Orenda lay, but she was flat on her stomach, and though her traveling cloak traveled with the winds, she did not.

The guards had not been so fortunate. They had not expected it, could not expect it, and Orenda watched the gale knock them off balance, into the stonework, and one by one off the side of the wall and tumbling down into the moat below. In a moment, it was over, and Anilla was panting above her.

“The winds of change are blowing!” Anilla giggled, and grabbed Orenda by the hand in an attempt to tug her to her feet, “But we have to go! I know that as soon as they can, they’ll scream!”

“Right,” Orenda agreed. The soldiers had apparently come out of a very thin tower on the top of the fence- there were many situated around the top, much more visible from her current vantage than they had been below.

Orenda shoved herself to her feet, and Anilla followed her as she ran into it. There was nothing in there but a staircase and a few drinks sitting on the banister, so Orenda took the winding, spiraling wooden staircase, praying that the Brigaddons were alive and had the good sense to stay out of the castle.

“Where are we going?” Anilla asked as she followed behind.

“The artifact is in the heart of the castle,” Orenda explained to Anilla, “Once I have it, I’ll have nothing to fear. I’ll have all the power of the Chosen One, the avatar of a god.”

“Rendy,” Anilla said seriously, “I think my dragon may be in the castle.”

“Why do you think that?” Orenda whispered as she paused. The staircase terminated in another thin room with nothing in it but a door.

“It’s a timeless tale,” Anilla said, “the beautiful dragon held captive by the evil princess.”

“One can only hope,” Orenda said, hoping the sarcasm she felt did not come out in her voice. “Prepare yourself, darling. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I open this door.”

“I am prepared!” Anilla promised. “When I decided to travel, I promised myself I would always be prepared for anything!”

“Is that how you stay so optimistic?” Orenda asked with a chuckle.

“Yes!” Anilla said, “When you’re prepared for anything, you can have confidence! And when you have confidence you don’t panic. And when you don’t panic, you can survive anything.”

“That’s… actually quite sound advice, darling,” Orenda said- but she could not stop thinking about the scry Anilla had sent, when she thought no one had been listening. Orenda considered asking her about it now.

The halfling will betray you, master.

But overall, Anilla had been nothing but helpful. She had healed her, moments ago, and disposed of the soldiers. It was entirely possible that she was just a private person, who didn’t scry her family in front of others. There was a huge difference, one that Orenda knew well, between something that was a secret, and something that was simply none of your business.

So she took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Whatever Anilla had done to make the storm rage more fiercely had not ended as Orenda had thought it had. She didn’t remember fighting through the howling winds and blinding snow when they were running across the top of the wall, but down here she couldn’t see an inch in front of her face. The world was a sheet of white, and the wind blew so fiercely it jerked the door from her hand, and it snapped with a loud CRACK on its hinges.

“Stick to the wall,” Orenda said, “And maybe they won’t see us.”

“No,” Anilla shook her head, “They’ll huddle against the walls for warmth and shelter. We have to just make a run for it.”

Do not trust the halfling, master!

“Shut up!” Orenda snapped at the staff.

“I’m sorry,” Anilla said.

“Not you, darling, the staff is annoying me. As if now is the time for trivial nonsense. Staff, love, I need you to get me to that door. I can’t see anything in this snow and it gives me a terrible headache. Without the mask I’m not sure I can see. It’s like being on a ship or in a bathhouse.”

I will guide you, master. The staff promised.

“Hold my hand!” Anilla suggested, so Orenda took it.

She retreated for only a moment to the relative safety of the small room, steeled her courage, and said, “Let’s go!”

Then she ran, tugging Anilla with her, into the blinding storm.

Her head began to ache, and her vision swam- but it wasn’t particularly important, because all she would have seen, had she been able to see, would have been the storm, the pure white sheet of nothingness, the blinding light of it all. Orenda tried not to think of the home she had never known, of the pure white death upon the Sacred Mountain. That was ash, not snow. It was not the biting cold she saw now, not the living storm that she fought through.

She tried not to think of the many, many soldiers she had seen from the top of the wall, and hoped that they were as blinded as she was. Elves could see in the dark, but they could do nothing in the blinding light, the white expanse that reflected too much from the diffused rays of the sun behind the clouds. They could not see her, she told herself, they could not see anything.

She tried not to think of the legends, of the blinding light that radiated from the Emerald Knight. She tried not to think of her father on the battlefield, of how that light was the last thing he ever saw. She tried not to think of anything but moving forward, following the directions of the staff. She didn’t know if Anilla was speaking or not; the winds howled as loudly as Bella.

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She tried not to think of Bella, of how she may never return to her, never see her again.

And then Orenda saw a wooden door, standing out against the blank white canvas, and she jerked it open. She knew to expect the wind this time, and she fought it as Anilla rushed past her and into the castle. Orenda stepped over the threshold and fought the storm, tugging the door closed.

They were inside.

Orenda was inside a castle.

It was painfully ordinary.

They had emerged into something that was obviously meant for servants, a type of storage room with no door, and beyond was a long hall with a staircase. The walls were stone and damp, but they protected from the wind and snow, and Orenda felt her headache dissipate as her vision began to clear. She waited for this process to complete, for her to come to herself, while Anilla hunted around on the shelves in the storeroom.

“It’s all arrows and plates,” Anilla said.

“Those aren’t plates,” Orenda said, “They’re targets. One throws them into the air and tries to shoot them down. It helps with,” Orenda saw her mother breaking rank and firing on her commanding officer so quickly none of the other archers had expected it, “Bird hunting, I believe. It helps with speed.”

Master, the artifact lies in the heart of the castle. Take this hall until you see a stone staircase leading upward.

“I see it now,” Orenda said.

Not that one, master. Move forward.

“Come on,” Orenda said, and pulled up the hood that had blown off her head in the storm. Then to the staff she said, “How close are we?”

Nearly close enough to touch, master. I feel it so strongly. Soon, we will be whole.

As Orenda moved down the hall one of the stone walls abruptly ended, replaced by green curtains, and she turned to Anilla and put a finger to her lips.

“Alright, who’s running drinks?” a voice said on the other side.

“No one’s skimming off the top,” Came another voice, “Those nobles drink like it’s Eishtar. My shoulder’s fucking killing me.”

“You can tell the prince is back. Somebody run down to the wine cellar and just- just take a dishpan and pretend you’re clearing a table. Fill it as full as you can. That’s all I know to do. They’ll never leave now. Not with that storm blowing in.”

Orenda picked up the pace, forgoing stealth for speed, and rounded a corner, then peeked around it to watch a human man part the curtains and step into the hall carrying an empty dishpan the size of his torso. He was singing as he walked, and the tune surprised Orenda.

“He looked a lightning flash,

They say he seemed so bright,

No mortal would dare to clash,

Against the Emerald Knight.”

When he made to turn, Orenda realized he was coming her way, and jerked back to the wall.

Keep going, master. The staff said, You have no need to fear these mortals. You are better than this. The artifact lies at the heart of the castle. You are the Chosen One. It waits for you.

Orenda began to walk, as quickly and silently as she could, trying to keep ahead of the man. The castle was huge, and she understood the purpose of the catacomb-like halls she was traveling through. They were meant to keep the slaves out of sight. The queen would never have to see the people who kept up her lifestyle, if she didn’t want to. Orenda wondered how many of the rumors about Xandra were true. She wondered if she really could see into people’s minds- if she really already knew they were inside the castle.

That is the staircase, master.

Orenda saw what the staff was talking about, though all the halls and staircases looked the same to her. She was happy to be on a different level, one that may be much more secluded, but those hopes were dashed instantly. There were so many people, so close to her, that she felt the magic burning in them without even opening herself up to look for it. She couldn’t see through the thick curtains, and for a long time they were so silent that she thought perhaps something was wrong with her ability to detect magic.

Then she heard the sound of heavy footfalls, and an authoritarian voice that reminded her of Quorius when he thought he was being intimidating.

“Listen up!” The voice said, “I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about the attacks on the docks outside. The ship is flying the flag of the Burned Roc, so we have to assume it’s Captain Nochdifache. I never thought he would get this bold, but it’s possible that those terrorists will make an attempt on the queen’s life. Most of the visiting nobility have gathered in the great hall- they’re nervous. But we’re going forward with the feast to celebrate the return of our men and women in uniform, and the final artifact. No one except members of the royal family will be allowed in this wing. Turn them away. I don’t care how drunk they are.”

“Yes sir,” a chorus of voices answered.

“Who was on duty up here?” The first voice asked, and Orenda heard no response, so assumed people had raised their hands, because the voice continued, “Alright good. Let’s have Holone and Ayla join you.”

“Sir, this is ridiculous,” A female voice said, “No one is going to come up here! They can’t even get into the castle in this storm.”

“So it should be an easy shift,” the original male voice said.

“But I want to go to the ball!” the female voice argued.

“People in hell want ice water,” The original voice said in such a manner that Orenda could feel the indifferent shrug in it.

Do you feel that, master? The staff asked, that powerful earth magic?

“Yes,” Orenda said in a whisper so low not even Anilla heard her, “But these are mages who protect the empress. I would expect them to be strong.”

It isn’t the mages, master, The staff said, It is the protection magic. Those magical wards protect the artifact.

“We’re that close?” Orenda asked in alarm.

“Sir,” a different female voice said, “Do you feel that?”

The many voices beyond the curtain went silent.

Orenda looked down and thought that the sterilite should block her magic signature. It was covering her heart, and anything leaking from her hands or face should be far too weak to pick up, especially with the magical wards glowing like a beacon.

She thought of the storm raging outside.

And she looked down at Anilla.

Shit.

The curtain flew open in front of her face, and Orenda stared into the dark eyes of an earth elven man in full military regalia. Beyond him she saw a long, exquisitely decorated hall, finer than even the inside of the manion the Order had taken from Tolith’s father. The walls were lined with exquisite tapestries and beautiful paintings, but Orenda was not interested in the opulence and beauty.

She was interested in the hardened soldier staring directly into her eyes.

“Hello,” Orenda said.

“A fire elf!” He said, and Orenda recognized his voice as that of their leader. He seemed momentarily taken aback, shocked by her very existence.

“An earth elf!” Orenda mimicked him exactly, in tone and cadence.