The stairs into the Frostlands dungeon were not meant for queens.

The stairs were skinny and bumpy, made from old stone, twisting that even tall people had to bend. Blue torches lit the way, giving a cold glow. Every step made a loud echo, like the stone was shouting, “Someone’s coming!”

Lyra walked down the stairs without hesitating

She wore no crown or any ceremonial cloak. Just dark wool, boots that had seen snow and blood . The necklace cool and steady against her throat, humming ...