They’d had little choice, but Redrought was different, and anyway, times had changed. No one was interested in an alliance with the little icebound kingdom far to the north. For centuries the Icemark’s survival had depended on the power of its armies and the cunning of its kings and queens. And in Redrought the country had a happy combination of foxlike guile and the fighting power of a wild boar.
The fact that Thirrin knew he was also one of the softest fathers any headstrong girl could want was a secret she was happy to keep. He might be King Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, Defender of the Realm, Descendant of Thor, but to Thirrin he was just Dad, a man with a fondness for cats, a taste for comfy slippers, and a huge laugh that could dent pewter at fifty paces.
A movement in the garden below her window drew her eye, and she watched as one of the massively cloaked housecarls guarding the gate stamped to attention, then marched up and down to keep warm, his breath pluming in the freezing air of the Icemark winter. She felt a slight sense of disappointment welling up under the excitement caused by the nearness of Yule and her Coming of Age. Everything was almost perfect: candles, holly, music, but the garden was a dull, boring gray. At this time of year it should have been bright and crisp with the crystal clarity of fresh snow. But there was none. There was a thick layer of dirty frost over everything, the rivers had frozen as usual, and massive icicles hung like crystal swords and daggers from every roof. But there was no snow. For the first time in her life it looked as though Thirrin was going to celebrate Yule and her birthday without the usual blizzard howling in the darkness beyond the warm, smoky coziness of the Great Hall. It was a bit unsettling that her Coming of Age should fall on the year that the snows were late. Perhaps she should ignore her modern education and see some message in this; after all, the Icemark was surrounded by enemies. Perhaps it was a portent of some sort.
Only the oldest folk in the city of Frostmarris could remember the snows ever being so late, and they muttered darkly about bad omens. The last time such a thing had happened, they said, a great illness had come and thousands had died throughout the country. And the time before that, their grandparents had told them, war had laid the land to waste. Many had started to mutter about Scipio Bellorum and his invincible army just waiting for a chance to invade. But Thirrin sniffed disdainfully at this, as Maggiore Totus, her tutor, had done. She finally decided that such superstition was for peasants. As an educated young woman, she knew that weather patterns and wind directions caused the lateness of the snows. But all the same, deep down she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable.
She cheered herself up by thinking of the preparations for the great feast. There was a constant stream of traders from the city into the castle, and servants bustled to and fro carrying baskets full of every kind of foodstuff, from cheeses and dried fruit to eggs and even oranges imported from the Southern Continent. Some of the housecarls had been excused guard duty to help and could be seen stumping along with huge flitches of bacon or entire sides of beef on their shoulders. Delicious smells of roasting and baking wafted along every corridor, and the ghostly sounds of distant musicians practicing Yuletide carols in the towers and basements stole into the ear whenever there was a lull in the noise.
But even above the Yuletide preparations and her birthday, Thirrin felt an added spice of secret excitement, though she wouldn’t admit the cause of it, even to herself. She’d invited Oskan to the Yule Feast. Or rather, she’d sent a royal command ordering his presence on the twenty-first day of Icemas. At least the lack of snow meant that the roads would be clear and he could get there from his cave in the forest with no problems. Even so, she’d decided to send an escort of cavalry to fetch him. The wolves were always hungry at this time of year. She’d also have to make sure that he and the surgeon didn’t cross each other’s path. Ever since she’d brought the stable hand home from Oskan’s cave, and