GIRL’S POV The meeting with Ashteryn yesterday wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. He’s rough around the edges—Evander’s words, not mine—but the longer I lingered in his forge, the less he felt like a monster. There was something quiet about him, something I recognized. Evander said Ashteryn doesn’t like people much. But I’m not so sure if that’s true. I think, like me, he just prefers to stay hidden from them. I noticed it when he spoke to me and Evander. How he never met our eyes, kept his distance, and either hunched his shoulders or turned his face away. His examination of my bracelet hadn’t yielded much. He couldn’t identify the metal either. But he didn’t seem disappointed. If anything, he looked more determined than ever to figure it out. “You can come back tomorrow,” he said before Evander and I left his workshop. “I’ll try a few more experiments.” So now I’m waiting for Evander to take me back to him. But I can’t help wondering what’s taking him so long. The sun already sits high above the castle walls. That’s how I know he’s late. I waited a few more moments, listening to the distant chatter of servants as they went about their morning cleaning in this wing of the castle. Still, no sign of Evander. Maybe he forgot. A man like him probably had more important things to do. Maybe he lost track of time, buried in tasks far more pressing than escorting me anywhere. With a quiet sigh, I rose from the chair by the window. My fingers lingered at the hem of my sleeve for a moment before I drew myself upright. Ashteryn would be waiting. I didn’t want to disappoint him. The thought unsettled me. I hadn’t gone anywhere outside my room without Evander or someone guiding me. But I remembered the path well enough. Steeling myself, I pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor. My heart quickened with every step, but I pressed on without looking back. I’m going to find Ashteryn on my own. I hadn’t gone far, just a few steps beyond the back exit of the castle, when a voice stopped me cold. “Hello there, girl.” I froze. It was a woman’s voice, but not Grace’s warm chirp or Emma’s crisp tone. This one was smooth, overly sweet, almost sounded amused. Mirael stood a few steps behind me, her chocolate-colored hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, a faint smile on her lips. “Well, look at you. Stepping out all on your own. How brave,” she said, her voice light, almost playful. “Where are you off to?” I hesitated. “I’m going to Ashteryn,” I said quietly. “He told me I could return today.” Her smile deepened. “Ashteryn isn’t going anywhere. You’ll have plenty of time with him.” A pause, slight and strategic. “Why don’t you come with me instead? That way, we can get to know each other better.” My hands curled at my sides. I remember the last time I saw her at that dinner. It was anything but pleasant. She’s being kind today, but there’s something in her eyes, in that smile, that unsettles me. She tilted her head slightly, as if reading my mind. “I wanted to make it up to you,” she said softly. “For last time. I felt terrible about what happened. I never meant to hurt you.” I hesitated, torn between not wanting to disappoint Ashteryn, and not wanting to let Mirael down. “Come on, girl,” she coaxed. “I’ll take you to Ashteryn myself afterward.” “Alright,” I said finally. She smiled again, this time showing a hint of teeth. “Perfect,” she exclaimed, clapping his hand once. “Come. There’s something I think you’ll enjoy.” And just like that, I let her lead me away, even though every step made my skin prickle. The path she took was unfamiliar. Stone gave way to packed earth, the cold sharpening with every stride. I could tell we were moving away from the heart of the castle. There was no more salt or swept stone, just snow that crunched under our boots and clung stubbornly to the folds of my dress. I turned to her. “Where are we going?” I asked. She smiled again. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can be alone.” I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that, but I followed anyway. After a while, we reached a fallen tree, half-buried in snow, its trunk worn smooth by time. Mirael gestured toward it. “Come, sit.” I obeyed, though the bark was cold and damp beneath me. She joined me with ease, her cloak fanning out as she sat gracefully beside me. “You ought to have a proper name,” she said suddenly. “It doesn’t feel right calling you just ‘girl’ anymore.” I thought of Evander and Orryx’s conversation yesterday, how they’d mentioned giving me a name. I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap. “Kierygan said he wants to name me himself.” For a moment, I thought her eyes darkened, but maybe it was just the light. When I blinked, they glinted again, cheerful, with a touch of amusement. “Well, the king can still do that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But I could give you a different name. A secret one. Just between the two of us.” I looked up. “A secret?” She nodded, smiling. “Something soft. Something lovely,” she said. “Just for you and me. A name only a friend would know.” Friend. The word felt unfamiliar—yet strangely warm. I nodded slowly. “Alright.” Mirael tapped her lips with one long finger, as if pondering something important. Then she said, “I think I’ll call you… Mothwit.” “Mothwit?” I echoed, testing the unfamiliar word. “What does that mean?” “It’s a tiny, pretty flying thing,” she said vaguely. “Light-loving. Curious.” She lifted her hand and conjured a flicker of light. A shimmer of silver wings appeared in the air—delicate, glowing, and soft. It circled lazily before landing on my knee. I stared at it, mesmerized by its fragile beauty. “Is that a mothwit?” She gave a low, musical laugh. “No, darling. This one’s called a butterfly,” she said. “But it’s very close.” I looked up at her, meeting her gaze. “It’s… beautiful,” I said softly. “I like it.” Her smile widened, sugar-sweet. “Aren’t you a darling little illiterate thing.” I blinked. “What’s… illiterate?” Her smile only deepened. “Nothing to trouble your sweet little head about, Mothwit.” The butterfly lifted from my knee with a gentle flick of its wings. I watched it hover for a moment, then rise higher, weaving through the pale air. “Don’t let it get away, Mothwit,” Mirael said behind me, her tone light and sing-song, almost teasing. “Follow the pretty butterfly. I’ll wait right here for you to come back.” I hesitated, just for a breath, and glanced over my shoulder. She smiled and gave a small nod, as if encouraging me. So I followed. The butterfly shimmered ahead, flitting between branches heavy with snow. I stepped after it, boots crunching in the frost, heart light with wonder. It felt like a dream, chasing that soft glow through the forest. The trees grew quieter. Thinner. And then… they were gone. I blinked, stepping out into a clearing I didn’t recognize. The world around me was stark and silent, all white and silver. The butterfly was nowhere to be seen. “Mirael?” I called, my voice cracking. No answer. I turned to go back the way I’d come, but the forest wasn’t there. Just a wide, endless sheet of ice, smooth and faintly glowing under the sun. “Mirael?” I tried again, louder this time. But the only reply was the echo of my own voice. Then I heard a crack. A sound like splintering glass. I looked down. Thin, webbed lines were spreading beneath my boots. My breath caught. I staggered back, but that only made it worse. The cracks multiplied quickly, spreading outward across the ice. Panic surged up my throat. I took one slow, trembling step. Another crack. Louder this time. Then the ice gave way with a shattering screech, and the world dropped out from under me. The water swallowed me whole. The cold was cruel, biting deep, but I didn’t mind. I had lived in that cold tower for so long that, though I felt the chill, it couldn’t claim me. It was the water filling my lungs that scared me. I kicked. I fought. I clawed my way upward. The surface was just above. It was so close. Just there. But it had already frozen over again. I pounded on it with trembling fists. My cries turned to bubbles. No one could hear me. No one was coming. My lungs burned, and my vision blurred. Just before I surrendered to the cold, I looked up—past the glassy sheet of ice, toward the sky. At least I wouldn’t die in that dark tower. For that, I was grateful. Then, a fiery light split the blue heavens, streaking across with an angry, red glow. Terrifying yet beautiful. And then… darkness.