author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or business establishments, organizations or locales is completely coincidental.
Castle Ordnung came into view as the dragon dropped beneath the thick cloud cover. From Rhyian’s perspective on dragonback, the white towers and high walls looked only slightly less white than the snowy landscape. The high queen’s crimson banner flapped furiously on the heights, all the pennants of the subsidiary thirteen kingdoms arranged below. Though it was still afternoon, the thick snowfall dimmed the light to a grim gray, so gloomy the thousands of burning torches lining the parapets shone clearly.
Rhy snorted to himself. So much for mossback’s much-anticipated viewing of the crystalline full moon. With that overcast, no one would even see it. To think that he could be at home in tropical Annfwn, celebrating the Feast of Moranu in the traditional way—on the beach, shapeshifting, dancing, and drinking in the warm night.
But no. His mother had issued a royal command that Rhy absolutely would attend the ball celebrating the quarter-century anniversary of High Queen Ursula’s prosperous reign. Nothing less could’ve forced him to attend. Not that Rhy didn’t love and respect his Auntie Essla. But it seemed likely Salena would also attend. And he’d rather be anywhere than in the same place as Salena.
Not something he could or would confess to anyone. And even the queen’s son must obey royal commands—particularly when his father, the king of Annfwn, did nothing to save him. So there Rhy was, tricked out in the fancy dress outfit his mother had forced him to wear via yet another royal command—the silver-trimmed black velvet making him look like a mossback—plunging into bitter winter, and counting the minutes until the following dawn when he would be free again.
The longest night of the year had a lot of minutes.
Hopefully Salena would just ignore him tonight. It would be a big event in a huge castle. They should be able to avoid each other. After all, they’d managed to avoid each other for seven years since the incident. And she’d been the one to flee Annfwn, clearly to avoid seeing him ever again. He couldn’t imagine she’d want to see him now any more than he wanted to see her.
Zynda landed in the cleared field set aside for the dragons. The cold wind whipped them cruelly as soon as Rhy’s sorceress mother released her magic bubble that had kept them warm on the journey. Zynda waited only long enough for them to scramble down the rope-harness ladder before shifting into an elegant ballgown and furred cape. “Brr,” she declared, joining them. “I always forget how cold it is here in winter.”
“I don’t,” Rhy replied caustically, but subsided when his mother glared at him. They rushed up the cleared walkway, the torches lining it providing some warmth, though the flames whipped and guttered with the wind.
Guards saluted, shouting hails for Queen Andromeda of Annfwn, some giving Zynda’s husband, Marskal, the Hawks’ salute, though he was long since retired from the high queen’s elite guard. Finally, they made it inside the castle, and for once, Rhy appreciated the thick walls. The stone edifices mossbacks favored might be as confining as a cage, but they did cut the brutal winter winds.
It was like stepping into a different world—and a different Ordnung than he’d ever seen before. To honor the goddess Moranu’s rule over shadows and the dark of night, the rugs, table coverings, and other hangings were all in deepest black. They created a somber backdrop for the remaining decorations, which all celebrated the return of light. Silver and gold threads wove through all of the black fabrics, catching the candlelight. Crystal plates and goblets sparkled with fire, everything in silver and gold. White gems of all shapes and sizes studded everything, like thousands of stars, and garlands of evergreen boughs sporting white moonflowers that gleamed like sweetly scented living pearls festooned the walls, windows, mantels, and every other possible surface.
The elaborate crystal candelabras—some suspended by silver wires, others perched in clusters on every surface—held white candles blazing with light. More moonflower garlands dripping with flashing crystals, and possibly diamonds, hung in graceful swoops from the high ceilings.
Scribes sat at black-draped tables scattered throughout the busy reception hall, using flashing crystal implements to take notes for fancily dressed folks speaking earnestly to them. In other places, hammered gold bins held countless rolled scrolls of paper, with empty tables beside