The hall of Snow was quiet now eerily so. Gone was the thunder of boots, the clash of blades being sharpened. Only firelight danced along the stone walls, casting long shadows over those who remained, and over the maps that foretold death.
Nicole lay still upon a velvet-lined settee, her skin ghostly, her breath soft but steady. Blankets cocooned her frail form, and a flask of healing brew rested untouched beside her.
Clarice sat near her feet, wringing her hands, while Ruby leaned against the hearth, keeping a silent watch like a sentry. Neither spoke, but their eyes said everything: please don't leave us again.
Jasper lingered near the far side of the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back. He was still in his dark armor, but the fury had left his face—for now. He watched Nicole the way one watches the sky after a long storm…waiting for it to rain again.
When no one was watching, he crossed the room.
