Chapter 1: Banished

The cold suited me, so when the snow began falling, I threw my windows open and let the flurries in. A few snowflakes, the intrepid ones, drifted over those dusting the floor and floated toward my bed. I followed them, entranced, until my knees hit the bedside. I pitched forward, rolling onto the mattress and wrapping myself in a thin muslin sheet. Above me, the canopy rustled in the breeze. I lay that way for a long time.

There was a click from my door and a creak from its hinges, and it opened to show flickering candlelight. Buuca entered. The cracked door let a draft cross the chamber. His candle sputtered, making shadows dance across his deformed face. With a jerky motion, he covered the candle and its flame survived. With his shoulder, he closed the door and its latch clicked. He hobbled toward me on short, twisty legs.

"My lady, you must awake."

"What is it, Buuca, and what is the hour?"

"'Tis the witching hour, ma'am, and the queen requires your presence."

I sat up, holding the sheet over my bare breasts.

"This late? What does her majesty want?"

What indignity does she have in store?

He came beside my bed, still cupping his hand over the candle's quivering flame.

"I know not, but the royal wing is in an uproar, and she's in a state, shouting and panicked. From the great windows I saw three bodies hanging from gibbets who were not there at sunset. She waits in her hall, ma'am."

"I see. Please close the windows and light the candles by my dressing table. I would make myself ready."

Buuca bowed. His hair hung in knotted clumps.

"Oh, and Buuca..."

"Yes ma'am?"

"When you finish, send for Darra."

He bowed again and set his candle on my bureau. Using a long hooked staff, he closed the tall windows. Then, with no wind and his flame steady, he lit each of my slender candles. He bowed one last time and left the room. The door remained open for Darra.

When Darra flitted in, she found me sitting before my mirror, gazing at my blank face, looking at nothing in particular. She alighted on my shoulder and gave me the tiniest kiss. Then, by stretching and holding a few strands of my hair, she balanced gracefully. She too looked into my mirror.

"You're beautiful, my lady."

Her voice was such a small thing. I didn't move.

"I must go before the queen. Please dress me and apply my makeup."

My voice was flat.

She was no larger than three hands stacked, and her wings were the lightest gossamer, but my gown was an even lighter silk, barely a thing at all. It fluttered as she carried it from my wardrobe. From above me, she released it, and it floated around me and clung to me. I slipped my arms through its sleeves and closed its single clasp over my breasts. Then I looked back into the mirror. Through the sheer fabric, my pale flesh remained visible, an empty vessel holding nothing but the cold.

Next the makeup. Her wings beat the air as she carried up the creams and dusts, a bit of red for the cheeks and mouth, a bit of green above the eyes, some color for the colorless.

"I would give much to see you smile, my lady."

I didn't smile. I went to see the queen.

When I passed the great windows, I saw the bodies hanging lit by the mocking smile of the crescent moon. I knew those men, their faces now frozen in a grimace – frozen forever in that white, sunless sweep of the north.

I prayed that the sun might rise again, someday, for the north. I was born there a hundred years ago, before the reign of this queen. Let the sun rise, I prayed. Bring my people warmth. Let our bodies finally turn to dust.

I turned to the south windows. The sun would rise there in a few hours and bring abundance and joy.

I proceeded on to the great hall.

The queen raged. "Fie! Fie and fie! Curses and fie!"

Pages scurried about, first bringing her a footstool, and then dodging when she kicked it aside. She strutted in front of the throne. With a sweeping flourish of her gown, she hopped up and sat on its velvet cushion. I curtsied as I arrived before her.

"What vexes you, your majesty?"

"Vex? She uses the word vex? Vexed and the veriest vexed! As if it were a gadfly in my chamber, or a blemish on my countenance. Nay, nay! Wrathful and enraged! Vexed, the very thought!"

"What then, my queen? What angers you?"

She grabbed the arms of her throne and leaned forward. "Murder, girl. Murder in my own halls." Her voice was like a screech.

"Murder? Of whom?" I stepped forward, peering up at her.

"Ha! As if she knows not!"

She looked around at the courtiers. They shuffled forward, a mob of fearful men who muttered their vapid agreement and cast me nervous glances. Was it but chance that I stood beneath her wrath and not they?

Pulling my eyes from the courtiers, but not daring to look directly at the queen, I muttered, "Who?"

"What was that! Speak up!" She held her hand to her ear.

"Who?"