Daggers of Ice

Chapter 20

1010.

The Tenth Year of the Golden Age.

Arianna.

The air outside the Black Keep shimmered with cold light – the faint veil of the Everwinter stretching across the mountains like a living thing. The snow never melted, yet it did not kill what it touched. It breathed. It sang.

The stream that curved around the fortress walls ran dark and quick beneath its icy skin, the water gleaming with a silvery luminescence. Naiads darted through it like ribbons of light, their laughter carrying through the still air – bright, chiming notes that did not quite belong in a place so stark and quiet.

Arianna stood at the bank, the hem of her fur-lined cloak brushing the snow. The air curled about her skin, cool but never biting. Her winter did not sting the way Jadis's had.

The White Witch's frost had killed everything it touched.
Arianna's frost preserved.

She crouched, letting her fingertips trail through the stream. The current rushed to greet her, the water swirling up her wrist, shimmering faintly as it brushed the edge of her sleeve.

A splash drew her attention.

One of the younger naiads had emerged from the stream – small and slight, barely older than a child. Her hair shimmered like liquid glass, her eyes a soft, sea-foam blue.

The little spirit cradled something in her cupped hands – a pale blue blossom, petals trembling from the cold. "For you, my Queen," she said, her voice lilting and soft as a brook.

Arianna's brows lifted. A flower.

She took it carefully, her fingers brushing against the naiad's damp palms. The touch sent a faint ripple through the stream; the waters stilled, then brightened.

"You've done well," Arianna murmured. Her tone was not warm – warmth was a thing she did not give easily – but it was soft enough to make the young spirit's eyes widen in joy.

The naiad bowed deeply, her voice trembling with devotion. "It bloomed where your frost touched the shallows, my Queen. The water sings your name now."

"Return to your stream, little one," she said at last. "The river waits for you."

The naiad nodded eagerly, her laughter ringing through the air as she dove back into the current, leaving only ripples behind.

Arianna straightened, the flower still cradled in her hand. Its petals glittered faintly with frost, yet it did not wilt. She tucked it carefully into the clasp of her cloak – a flash of blue against black and silver.

The wind whispered through the peaks, carrying with it a distant sound – voices. Steel. Footsteps.

Her gaze drifted toward the edge of the white horizon, where the mountains gave way to the forest.

The Just King.

She could feel the tremor in the air – the pull of his presence like heat against snow.

Jadis whispered at the back of her mind, a silken voice curling through the dark: He comes to bind you, child.

Arianna's lips curved faintly, her fingers brushing the frost-flower once more. "Or perhaps," she murmured, her words for the wind alone, "he comes to see what cannot be bound."

The stream sang softly in answer – and beneath its song, the land trembled.

...

The Far North. The Black Keep.