The courtyard was strangely quiet that morning, usually by dawn, the guards changed shifts and the servants hurried across the stone paths with baskets and buckets, their chatter mixing with the clang of armor and the cries of ravens circling the walls. But today the silence was heavy, almost waiting.

Anthea stepped out from the east wing, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. The air bit sharp against her cheeks, frost glittering across the steps like tiny shards of glass. She was halfway ...