Chapter 3

A fter I dressed into an ankle-length grey shift, I twisted my hair into a neat low bun at the base of my neck and pinned it in place with a black pearl comb. It was the one piece of my old self I held on to. My mother, Queen Signe, wore her hair in the same manner with the same comb. When she died, I snuck into her chambers and took the comb before my older sister could steal it away. I didn't get the chance to really know my mother. Adria and I weren't old enough yet to understand the concept of death when she was taken from us.

Her travel party was attacked, returning from a council meeting with our allies in Aquilae. Although the attacks outside our walls were few and infrequent back then, monsters from the north ambushed the party only a few miles from the city gates. The lone survivor returned, my mother in pieces trailing behind him on a rickety wooden cart.

The black pearl comb was the only piece of jewelry I ever wore, and all the shifts hanging in my armoire were various shades of grey. Color was forbidden for prisoners of Ursae. They deemed us unworthy of the rich violets and blues of the realm. When I first came to the tower, I clung to the memory of those colors. I forced myself to imagine the satins and tulle textures of the gowns I left behind. It grew too painful to hold on, though, and I eventually allowed the memories to vanish from my mind.

Now the only colors I saw were fading shades of grey, black, and blinding white reflecting off the fallen snow outside my window. I barely could remember the interior of the castle, save for the library and that hideous portrait of my sister. Occasionally, when my shields were down, a memory would boil up unexpectedly. Sometimes it was the scent of weathered, aging books. Other times, it was the flicker of a sconce mounted neatly to a row of shelves. Or it was as simple as the sound of a page turning, its sharp edge slicing against my fingertip. Total, unyielding grief would surge through me with a flash of one of these memories, and I'd take weeks to lock it back into its ugly cage within the depths of my stomach. I'd refuse to speak or eat until I transformed back into my comfortably numb armor.

There was a light knock on the door. I pulled the cast iron handle open, expecting Hela with a tray of tasteless porridge ready for another round of lashings. It wasn't Hela, however. The abrupt swing of the oak door startled the guard standing in front of me. He took a step back, the sharp muscle of his jaw contracting with unease. The tunic and matching trousers he wore fit a little too comfortably against his rigid body. Large silver buttons lined the quilted tunic and neat, tight seams ran snugly down each leg of his trousers.

A small leather holster with a sheathed silver dagger hung loosely at the hips. I imagined myself lunging for that dagger and slitting the guard's throat before he'd even make a sound. With a weapon like that, I could cause a lot of pain to a certain chambermaid. He shifted uncomfortably in his black leather boots as I realized I was staring, my eyes gone menacing with the darkness of my thoughts.

"Uh, sorry…" I lowered my gaze to the floor, trying to suppress the violence now erupting within me. He peered around the hallway, his short blonde hair whipping side to side with the motion of his neck. Ensuring no one was within earshot, he said, "Erm.. Lady Elpis, this is for you."

His voice was practically a whisper in the silent hallway as he passed a small, lavender box to me. My eyes widened. The painted wooden box, only slightly bigger than my palm, was wrapped in a silk ribbon of the same shade.

"What is this?" I questioned, trailing off in suspicion. What if this was a trap? A test of obedience? If I accepted this gift, Hela would surely appear at the end of the corridor and punish me for breaking another of the rules in my sentencing.

"I.. um.. I was only told to deliver this package," the guard stuttered. I plucked the box from his hand as if it were searing hot. He took a shallow breath, gave me a rigid bow and hurried down the hall, disappearing through the entrance of the stone stairwell. My eyes trailed back down to the box that still rested on my outstretched palm.

Was I dreaming? Panic punched me in the gut and I frantically searched around the corridor, reassuring myself that no one had seen this strange interaction. I was alone for now; however, I expected Hela to return any minute with breakfast.

Slamming the door of my chamber, I clicked the lock behind me and set the box down on my bed. Wearily kneeling before it with delicate, shaking hands, I untied the smooth ribbon, letting it fall limply off the painted wooden box. The paint on its sides was slightly granular under my touch.

As I lifted the lid, I realized I hadn't exhaled since the guard had disappeared into the dark shadow of the stairwell. My lungs burned for release, and I forced myself to let go of the tension now building in my throat. Inside was a roll of parchment, only an inch long. I straightened the scroll and read the contents of the note. Its lettering was plain and each curve of the words was sharp and concise. It said:

Happy birthday Elpis.

I wish I could give you your freedom back,

but a breath of fresh air will have to suffice.

There was no signature at the bottom. I didn't need a signature to know who had sent me such a gift. How could I forget the lavender packaging? It had been over five years since I'd seen my nephew and I swallowed those feelings down the best I could. With each passing birthday, he'd leave a small wooden box outside my bedchamber with a trinket crafted from scavenged buttons, thread, and twigs. It had been two years since I'd thought of his gifts. How much had he grown? Did he outgrow those awkwardly monstrous feet? Had the features of his face deflated from that rounded juvenile shape? Did he ever get to smile and laugh and enjoy being a child? Or had he permanently become the grim and serious king the North demanded he be? No news of the realm ever reached within these tower walls. Everything could be entirely different or entirely the same. All I knew was that the snow still fell, and the ground stayed frozen beneath an endless sheet of thick ice.

Now, as I brushed a fingertip against his ink words, I hoped, for the first time in an incredibly long time, that he was well. I rolled the note back into its tiny scroll and slid it beneath my pillow. What could he have meant? A breath of fresh air will have to suffice. I tilted the box and peered inside. Beneath where the parchment scroll had been rested a small silver key atop a purple velvet cushion. Its bow webbed into an intricate, bulbous shape.

The rich color of the cushion brought back a rush of memories from my home: the heavy drapery in my old bedchambers, the stifling tunics that decorated the royal guards, even the velvet cushions of my father's study. I looked away, flushing the images before they broke me.

I took the key in both hands and examined its surface. The metal was cool to the touch as I rubbed it beneath my fingertips. What could this possibly unlock? Bringing it up to my face, its long stem nearly touching the tip of my nose, I inspected it as closely as physically possible. There was an almost microscopic word engraved into the bit of the key. Squinting, I struggled to sound out the letters: vincio.

Even more mystified, I sat back on my heels. I'm not sure how long I stared at the small silver key. However, the midmorning sun soon faded to a lazy afternoon. My mind raced with questions I likely could not answer. What was Vikar trying to tell me? Where did this key lead? The words of his note repeated over and over in my mind. Frantic, I stood from my knees. The bones of my kneecaps creaked as I stretched the joints upright.

I had expected Hela hours ago for breakfast; however, she didn't return. Placing an ear on the bedchamber door, I listened for the heavy clip of her slippers down the corridor. There was nothing but silence.

With a click from the lock, I pulled the door open. A dirty footprint in the hall was the only sign that the guard had been there earlier in the morning. Hela never missed a meal. Panic strung through me with the chime of the tower's bell. What if she somehow had discovered my gift and was heading straight to the Elders? Pacing the room, thoughts of Hela's conversations with the Elders and her suggested punishments raced through me. My heart pounded beneath my chest, banging against my bones with such force I had to place a hand there in order to keep it from breaking free. Minutes drew by at a snail's pace. With each tick of the clock mounted above the doorway, I grew more restless.

Outside my chamber, there was utter silence. Not even the footsteps of the guard on duty echoed through the corridor. Something strange was happening. Suddenly, the furthest sconce down the hallway extinguished. Then the next. Then the next. Each sconce down the narrow corridor extinguished one by one until a thick, dark fog consumed the space.

I slammed my door shut, locking it behind me. Leaning against the entryway for support, my legs quaked. I scrambled for the key and my nephew's note, tucking both away within the internal pocket of my shift. In attempts to hide from whatever invisible force blew out those torches, I shrouded my head beneath the throw and plopped into the rocking chair.

Sliding down the back of the chair, I looked out at the lazy afternoon light. The tower was tall enough to see the skyline of my city's uniform stone buildings encircling the snowy peak of our sacred mountain. Not a single cloud floated in the piercing blue sky and sunshine beamed down on the barren white flatlands that separated the tower from the city. A faint shiver ran through me. I inhaled and closed my eyes. I had to be dreaming. This wasn't real. I had to be dreaming. Clamping my eyes shut and focusing on my breath, I counted down from fifty. At some point, around thirty-eight, a restless, unforgiving sleep found me .