Chapter 1
Chapter One
The dead were better company than frost, and far less likely to kill me.
The crypt yawned before me, darker than a starless void, and colder than a frostwolf’s howl. Every breath I exhaled turned to mist, swallowed whole by the freezing air, as if the tomb itself resented the heat of the living. My fingers ached from the cold, and I had the distinct misfortune of being trapped down here with nothing but the faint, humiliating hope of catching something remotely edible.
I’d like to say I was on some grand quest, hunting a beast worthy of a feast.
But no.
I was hunting a rat.
Yes, a rat.
How the mighty have fallen.
“Come on, you little morsel,” I grumbled, creeping along the narrow path between the tombs. The crypt seemed endless, with rows of sarcophagi lining the walls, each one cradling some long-forgotten noble. The faint blue glow of enchanted flames flickered in sconces, casting just enough light to keep the shadows at bay—not that it did anything for the chill.
I spotted the rat skittering just out of reach, its tiny form slipping into the shadows like it knew it had already won. The proud Elara—handmaiden to a princess whose name history had all but buried—now reduced to stalking vermin through the frozen depths of the Crypt of Silence, hands raw, knees aching, dignity long since abandoned.
At this rate, hunger wouldn’t kill me. The shame would get me first.
My stomach growled, the sound echoing far too loudly against the stillness of the stone, like a beast clawing its way out of me. I froze, half-expecting the dead nobles to stir in their icy coffins, their empty skulls turning to judge me with the weight of centuries. Not that they needed food. Or warmth. Or anything at all.
The dead didn’t starve.
The dead didn’t love.
The dead didn’t hate.
But by the ancestors, I did. Hunger gnawed at my ribs, sharper than any blade. Love ached in my chest, heavy and unspoken. And hate? Hate burned hot enough to melt the frost, curling through me like smoke from a dying fire, too stubborn to fade.
I edged closer, the tombs fading into the background as I focused on the rat. Small, scruffy—not exactly a brag-worthy prey. Still, down here, even a rat was worth the chase.
Food was food.
Aeliana was counting on me.
I shoved my tangled raven hair out of my eyes and dropped into a crouch, the air biting at my skin as I zeroed in on the rat. It paused, twitching its nose like it was mocking me, daring me to make a move.
The second it bolted, so did I—lunging forward and promptly smacking my shoulder into the edge of a tomb. “Ow!” I hissed, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me. I scrambled after it, squeezing behind a scarcofogi, feeling my knees scrape the stone as I half crawled, half stumbled.
The rat darted ahead, and I shoved myself forward with all the grace of a flailing fish. My fingers snatched at the ground, skimming over the icy stone, and just as the rat thought it had made its escape, I lunged one last time, barely grabbing its tail.
“Ha! Gotcha!” I boasted, twisting onto my back and holding the squirming creature up in triumph.
For a single, glorious heartbeat, I basked in victory—until the rat twisted around, fixing me with a beady-eyed glare so full of offense, it was as if I’d personally insulted the king of this crypt. We froze, locked in a silent standoff of mutual disbelief: me, panting and triumphant, and the rat, utterly unimpressed to have been bested by a half-starved fool who had just face-planted into a tomb.
I held the rat up, squinting at it in disbelief. “Stop being so cute,” I mumbled, half to myself. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
The rat twitched its whiskers, its tiny, dark eyes glinting with something that could only be described as pity—a soft, unnerving kind of understanding that made me hesitate. For a moment, I just stared, thrown off by the strange gentleness in its gaze. Survival was rarely dignified, and somehow, this rat seemed to know it as intimately as I did, two creatures scraping by in a world that never stopped taking.
“Well, congratulations,” I muttered, a reluctant grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I can’t even feed myself properly, and now I’m being guilt-tripped by a rodent.”
The rat twitched again, its tiny body wriggling in my grip as if it was about to apologize for its entire existence. “Look, I get it. You’re just trying to survive, like me. Maybe I don’t have to?—”
Just as the words left my mouth, the pest showed its true colors. Without warning, it bared its teeth and sank them into my finger.
I yelped and dropped it like a hot coal. The rodent menace hit the stone floor and bolted. I called after it, nursing my throbbing hand. “We were having a perfectly pleasant moment, and you just had to ruin it!”
The rat dashed ahead, vanishing behind another stone. I wedged myself between the next crypt. “Lord Kellen, apologies,” I added, glancing at the engraved name on the tomb as I squirmed through. “You don’t mind me crawling through here, right? You’re probably bored anyway.”
I wriggled deeper, fingers scraping the unfriendly stone. Finally, I spotted the rat. I growled, frustration mingling with hunger. “You think you’re safe behind Lord Kellen? Think again.”
With one last, desperate lunge, I grabbed its tail and yanked it free from the gap. The rat writhed furiously, its tiny limbs clawing at nothing, but I only shook my head. “I crawled through tombs for you,” I muttered darkly. “We’re way past dignity now.”
We locked eyes again—me, victorious but panting, and the rat, squirming in my grip, looking utterly offended by my persistence.
I glanced at another tomb. “You get it, right, Lord Joseph? You would chase a rat if you were in my shoes. Well, if you weren’t, you know… dead.” For a beat, the crypt settled into silence—just me, the rat, and the weight of my own absurdity pressing down. My smirk faltered, giving way to something like dread. “Sweet ancestors,” I whispered, staring at the tomb like it might judge me back. “I’m talking to dead people again.”
I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. “This is how it starts, isn’t it? First, you’re talking to rats. Next thing you know, you’re swapping childhood trauma with skeletons over a cup of imaginary tea.”
My gaze drifted to the nearest tomb, its icy surface worn and cracked, the name barely legible. “Isn’t that right, Lord Gerrick?” I said, deadpan, as though he might suddenly sit up and weigh in on the matter. “What’s that? You think I’ve completely lost it? Appreciate the input, Gerrick. Very helpful.”
With a squeak of what I could only interpret as resignation, the rat went limp, hanging in my hand like a soggy cloth. I stuffed it into the makeshift sack at my side and let out a heavy sigh.
I couldn’t help but laugh at myself, half-crazed from the isolation and starvation.
At least we had food.
Princess Aeliana would be grateful, I told myself. She always was. Somehow, she could take a sack full of rodent and turn it into something resembling hope. I wasn’t sure how she managed that, especially given that today’s feast was shameful at best. But if she could find a silver lining in this deadforsaken place, I wouldn’t be the one to tear it down. Someone had to keep the light alive, however faint it flickered—and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me.
It was my job to take care of her. Not just because I was her handmaiden, but because, deep down, she was all I had left. And in a place like this, you protected the people who mattered. Even if protecting meant dragging a half-frozen rat back to the kitchen and pretending it was something worth eating.
I whined, shaking the rat at no one in particular. “You better taste like a feast,” I said. “She needs to eat.”
As I trudged back through the winding corridors of the crypt, my boots crunched on the frost-covered stone. The eerie silence no longer bothered me; I had long since grown used to it. The centuries of death hanging over us, pressing down like the glaze above, had become just another part of life. The dead didn’t haunt me. It was the living who got under my skin. Specifically, the ones who had sent Aeliana and me here to rot alongside the corpses, out of sight, out of mind.
I reached the ritual chamber and hesitated at the door. My only companion here—Princess Aeliana—spent more time with the dead than the living, and though I’d watched her perform her rites more times than I cared to count, the sight still made my skin crawl.
I pushed open the heavy door. The chill inside was even sharper, biting through my layers. For a moment, all I could see was the dim blue glow of the enchanted flames along the walls.
Then, as my eyes adjusted, I spotted her.
Aeliana, the ever-dutiful Princess of Death, moved through the crypt like she belonged to it, her pale hands tracing the edges of eternity with a reverence I couldn’t begin to understand. She tended to the dead with grace and whispered prayers; I hunted vermin to keep us from joining them. Teamwork at its bleakest.
I cleared my throat, unsure whether I was interrupting something important—or whether the dead were too polite to complain. “So,” I said, holding up the sack, “I come bearing… sustenance. Kind of. Don’t ask what it is, and I won’t have to tell you.”
Princess Aeliana stood over the still form of a young man, her hands moving with quiet precision, fingers tracing the practiced motions of a ritual she had performed countless times. The boy—he couldn’t have been much older than me—had the kind of face that might’ve been handsome if not for the unmistakable pallor of death. “Another one?” I asked, breaking the heavy silence.
Without a word, Aeliana lifted a finger, silencing me with a gentle yet unmistakable command. Her eyes never left the boy.
I leaned against the stone wall, watching as she placed a delicate wreath of frostflowers around his head. The flowers, enchanted to never wilt, sparkled in the dim light, as frigid and unyielding as the bodies she tended to. Once sealed in their icy tombs, the magic of the dead would be slowly siphoned to power Icespire’s defenses—nobles serving the kingdom even in death.
“The son of a minor noble,” Aeliana said finally, her voice distant, as if she were talking more to the dead boy than to me. “A Pyrosculpter . Barely more than a boy. He’ll find peace here.”
I watched Aeliana as she moved through the ritual, her touch delicate but certain, as though she could soothe the very air around the dead. The faint glow of the frostflowers caught in her hair, turning it silver-white, almost ethereal.
I hesitated, the question gnawing at the edges of my mind like an itch I couldn’t ignore. “Does it ever get to you?” I asked softly. “Living down here like this—like they’ve already buried you, too?”
She paused, the faintest hitch in her movements—a flicker so brief, I might’ve imagined it. Her fingers hovered above the boy’s still chest before she gently closed his eyes, her touch softer than snowfall.
I swallowed hard, my words pressing forward, unbidden. “We’re twenty-three, Aeliana. You should be… anywhere else. Dancing at balls. Laughing with nobles who’ll stumble over themselves for your hand. Not…” I gestured faintly at the icy tombs, the cold pressing in on us from all sides. “Not here.”
For a long moment, she didn’t speak. When she did, her voice was quiet but resolute, a truth carved from ice.
“No,” she whispered, her tone as final as the frost creeping across the crypt walls. “The dead don’t betray you. They don’t scheme or lie. They just… rest.”
I blinked, surprised by the simplicity of her answer. Aeliana always made her exile sound like something noble, something chosen. I wasn’t sure whether to admire that or feel sorry for her.
I swallowed hard, that familiar pang of sadness creeping into my chest as I glanced at Aeliana. She’d never known the warmth of a mother’s hug or the joy of a family who truly cared for her. It didn’t seem fair. I knew loss, too—I was an orphan—but Aeliana? She was different. She had a family. They just wanted nothing to do with her. She was born into duty, expected to serve, even in exile. And she did it with a grace I couldn’t fathom.
We shared the same pale blue eyes, though mine burned with frustration and stubbornness, while hers held a quiet sadness. She was all I had, really. The only family I could claim.
She stepped back from the boy’s body, her slender hands hovering just above him, fingertips trembling like they could feel the air itself give way. The temperature dropped—not a sudden gust, but a deep, bone-sinking chill that prickled across my skin. Cryomancy . That’s what they called it—the ancient magic of the royal bloodline, a power that commanded the cold itself, molding it into something beautiful and merciless.
A breath of frost curled outward from her palms, spreading in veins of pale blue light that danced and twisted, delicate and deadly. The ice responded as though it had been waiting for her command, creeping over the boy’s chest, curling like a lover’s touch before hardening into jagged crystals. His lashes glistened, a thin sheen of frost tracing his closed eyelids as if death itself had kissed him goodnight. The boy’s expression softened, the stillness of his form no longer harsh but eerily serene—like he had always belonged to the cold.
I swallowed against the silence, the weight of it pressing down on me as the light dimmed, the last slivers of warmth swallowed whole.
“Another one for eternity,” I murmured, my breath ghosting in the frigid air, too faint to matter.
Aeliana turned to face me then, her pale eyes locking onto mine. It was strange, staring into her gaze—like looking into a reflection distorted by the cold. The same eyes but such different lives.
Aeliana tilted her head slightly, her gaze drifting to the sack in my hand, as calm and unbothered as ever. “So, you found food?” she asked.
I held up the sack, forcing a smile that I was pretty sure was more for my own entertainment than hers. “Only the finest, most elusive wild boar in all of Icespire, Your Highness,” I declared, puffing out my chest in mock pride. “You wouldn’t believe the battle it took to claim this prize. There I was, knee-deep in snowdrifts, boots frozen solid, the wind howling. Then— boom —it emerged from the shadows, tusks gleaming, eyes blazing with fury. A beast of legend, Aeliana. And me? Just a lone warrior with nothing but my wits and desperation to see me through.”
Aeliana raised an eyebrow, clearly seeing through my nonsense but allowing it to play out, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Massive,” I continued, gesturing dramatically with one hand while still clutching the sack in the other. “I knew right then and there—this would be a hunt for the ages. So I crouched low, blending seamlessly into the sleet, like the seasoned predator I am. Silent. Deadly. The beast had no idea I was there.”
Aeliana’s lips curved into a smile, the kind she rarely gave and which never quite reached her eyes, but it was enough to keep me going.
“And then,” I said, pausing for effect, “with the speed of lightning and the stealth of a shadow, I struck! Thrashing, bellowing—it fought with all its might, but in the end, the great Elara, master of the wilds, emerged victorious!” I shook the sack for emphasis, as if presenting some grand trophy. “Behold, my prize!”
I cracked open the sack just a little, revealing the squirming, unimpressive contents. “Feast your eyes, Aeliana, on the wild boar of Icespire! The most fearsome creature this land has to offer.”
Aeliana let out a soft laugh, a rare sound that was as delicate as it was brief, her head shaking ever so slightly. “I’m sure it will be a feast to remember.”
I beamed, feeling a warmth I rarely experienced in the crypt. “Oh, it’ll be legendary. People will sing songs about this meal. Trust me. Only the finest for my princess,” I said. “Perhaps I’ll even serve it on the best cracked plates we can find, with a side of… well, whatever side of nothing we’ve got left in the pantry.”
Aeliana giggled, and the sound made my epic hunt worth it.
I wasn’t elegant or refined, but I could make an exiled princess smile.
I’d never been the palace’s idea of a perfect servant. Tripping over my own feet, spilling wine on Lady Helayna’s gown, and knocking over a candelabra during a state banquet. By the time they assigned me to Princess Aeliana when we were both just ten years old, the whispers had started. The third princess, daughter of a concubine, exiled to the crypt to perform death rites no one else wanted. And me, the orphan who couldn’t stay out of trouble, sent to serve her. Everyone thought it was punishment for both of us.
“Hopefully, the storms ease up so the provisions can arrive,” Aeliana said, pulling me from my thoughts. She always spoke gently when she mentioned the outside world, as if it were some distant memory.
I snorted. “They always forget the food, but they never forget to send the dead. Priorities, right?”
Aeliana shot me a look. “The dead are our duty, Elara. We can’t begrudge them that.”
“Yeah, but it’s ridiculous,” I said, waving a hand. “They’ve got that magic altar that can transport bodies straight to our doorstep, no problem. But food? Not so much. We’re literally left out in the cold.”
The altar stood at the heart of the crypt, etched with runes that pulsed faintly with old magic. Bodies of dead nobles appeared instantly, perfectly preserved, ready to be entombed so their magic could be siphoned to protect the kingdom. Useful, if you’re into eternal servitude. Me? I was grateful to have been born a nobody without magic. I wanted to die in peace, not be frozen for eternity, feeding magic to a kingdom that didn’t care if I starved.
“It’s how the magic was designed,” Aeliana said quietly. “The dead must be honored and preserved. Their magic keeps the kingdom safe. That’s why the bodies come even when food can’t.”
Her calm acceptance of our situation only made me angrier. “It’s not right,” I muttered. “Queen Marisella cares more about the dead than the living. What about us? We’re out here freezing and starving, and they can’t even be bothered to send us a decent meal.”
“Elara…” Aeliana’s tone was gentle, but there was a note of caution in it. “You know better than to speak against the queen.”
I rolled my eyes. “What’s she going to do, send me somewhere worse than this? She’s the reason we’re stuck here in the first place. She couldn’t stand that your mother was King Aldric’s favorite, so she sent you away. And me? I’m just a nobody.”
Aeliana’s face remained calm, though her eyes held a hint of sadness. “The queen has her reasons,” she said, the words sounding like a hollow echo.
I sighed, dropping it for her sake. Everyone knew Queen Marisella had hated Aeliana’s mother, the king’s concubine—hated how the king had never been the same after she died. Aeliana’s very existence had been a reminder of the love he lost.
Aeliana knelt beside the dead noble, her fingers hovering over the icy surface. With a murmur, she whispered a prayer, her words forming delicate clouds. Slowly, the frost that covered the boy’s body shimmered and lifted. The body began to rise, suspended in mid-air by invisible threads of magic.
I watched, both in awe and unease, as Aeliana guided the body through the crypt’s narrow corridors, her hands moving with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times.
The crypt was sprawling and massive. Thousands of nobles entombed in frost-covered stone filled the soaring chambers, their grandeur lost in the shadows above. Icicles as thick as tree trunks suspended from the arches, glittering ominously in the faint light.
We passed row upon row of tombs, all marked by intricately carved headstones, each one a silent reminder of those who once held power in life but now served in death. The tombs stretched on endlessly, disappearing into the distance like a forest. Even after all these years, the size of the crypt never failed to make me feel small—insignificant among the thousands of souls who had come before.
As we reached an ancient tomb at the heart of the crypt, its surface etched with glowing runes, Aeliana stepped forward, using her power to lower the body gently onto the stone slab inside. The runes flared to life, pulsing with a soft blue light in rhythm with the magic she wove. The air grew colder as the tomb sealed itself.
I shivered, pulling my cloak tighter around me.
She stepped back, hands lifted in reverence, her voice low but steady as the prayer began. It was a prayer I’d heard countless times—a chant that hung in the air like frost, binding the dead to their duty.
“Eternal are the dead who serve the crown,
Bound in death as they were in life.
Their sacrifice be our shield,
Their magic, our unbroken wall.
Through their blood, we are guarded,
Through their bones, we are strengthened.
By their hands, the kingdom stands,
By their souls, the throne endures.
May their vigil never end,
And may the darkness never breach.
Long live the king,
And everlasting be the dead.”
The words echoed through the crypt, filling the space with a sense of inevitability. This was no blessing, no prayer for rest—this was duty, eternal and inescapable. The siphoning had already begun, the noble’s magic slowly drawn into the kingdom’s defenses.
Aeliana stood there for a moment longer, her hand resting gently on the icy tomb as if offering one last farewell. Then, with a sigh, she turned to me, her eyes steady and filled with that quiet strength I always admired.
“We do what we must. Let’s head to the kitchens,” Aeliana said. “We need to eat.”
I nodded, biting my tongue, trying to smother the frustration rising in my chest. Aeliana deserved better than this glacial tomb, better than wasting away among the dead. But as our footsteps echoed through the air, down twisting corridors, I knew complaining wouldn’t change a damn thing.
The kitchens were colder than usual, the hearth long dead. I went to the pantry out of habit and found what I expected: empty shelves. Behind me, Aeliana knelt by the hearth, coaxing a fire from the last bits of kindling like she always did, calm and composed.
“Provisions never arrive on time,” I grumbled, pulling the rat from my makeshift sack. It wriggled weakly in my grasp, as if sensing what was coming, but I ignored it.
Aeliana, ever serene, smiled faintly. “The storms make travel difficult,” she said, as though she were reassuring herself as much as me. “We’ve managed so far.”
I nodded, not really feeling the comfort she tried to offer. “We shouldn’t have to just manage ,” I grumbled, more to the fire than to her as I set the rat down on the chopping block, my knife already in hand. Its tiny chest heaved in quick, frightened breaths, but I wasn’t about to let pity cloud my judgment. Not today.
With a quick motion, I slit its throat. The warmth of its blood hit my fingers, a strange contrast to the biting chill that never seemed to leave this place. I exhaled slowly, staring down at the now still creature. “Sorry,” I muttered, though I wasn’t entirely sure if I was talking to the rat or myself.
The rat was a sad excuse for food, but it was all we had. I started skinning it, my hands moving briskly, though my irritation simmered just below the surface. Outside the thick walls, miles away, the kingdom carried on, oblivious to the sacrifice being made here. The soldiers stationed outside? They were just watchdogs for the tombs. The real work was happening in these frozen halls as Aeliana tended to the dead, weaving her magic.
“You’re too selfless for your own good,” I grumbled, turning the rat on the spit over the small fire. It would take a while to roast, and I was trying not to think about how small and stringy it looked.
Aeliana’s eyes softened, but she didn’t argue. “The magic we preserve is vital, Elara. Without it, the kingdom would fall. We are surrounded by enemies. That’s why the soldiers are so vigilant.”
I rolled my eyes, shifting the rat so it wouldn’t burn on one side. The flames crackled weakly, barely strong enough to make a dent in the biting frost that lolled over the crypt like a second skin. “And who’s watching out for you, Aeliana? Who’s making sure you don’t fall apart?”
She glanced at me, her expression gentle but resolute, as if she were about to drop some sage older-sister wisdom. “We protect each other, don’t we?”
I groaned, handing her the larger portion of the rat once it was finally done roasting. I didn’t even bother to argue about it this time. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”
She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the larger share, but eventually, she accepted it. “Thank you,” she muttered, though I could see the reluctance in her eyes. The magic drained her.
I chewed on my own smaller portion slowly, trying not to think about how it tasted like charred nothingness.
Aeliana gave me that patient look again, but I could tell she was tired. We both were.
“I’d trade a crypt full of dead nobles for some biscuits right about now,” I complained.
Aeliana laughed. “Or some hot tea with honey.”
I sighed. “It’s been months since I’ve had a good cup of tea. You also really need a new dress. This one’s practically falling off you.”
She looked down at her threadbare dress, patches everywhere, the fabric barely holding together. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, humoring me. “But you need something new too. A warm gown, maybe?”
“Pants,” I said with a huff, crossing my arms. “It’s impossible to hunt when I’m tripping over skirts.”
She raised an eyebrow, that perfectly royal look that only someone with noble blood could master. “Pants? Really, Elara?”
“What?” I shot back. “It’s not like anyone cares. I could be naked, and the dead wouldn’t even blink. They don’t gossip.”
She laughed again, shaking her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Just practical,” I said with a wink. My dark hair, always tangled and windblown, dangled in unruly waves past my shoulders. The only reason I hadn’t cut it all off was because it provided a bit of warmth, though it did little to shield me from the biting cold.
At barely over five feet tall, my body was all sharp angles—too skinny—my ribs and knobby elbows constantly brushing against the fabric of my worn-out tunic. My nose was slightly crooked, the remnant of a long-forgotten scuffle, and dotted with freckles that stood out starkly against my pale skin. Even my lips, the only feature that could be called full, were chapped and cracked from the cold.
Dresses and finery never suited me anyway. Who needed gowns when hunger clung to your bones like a second skin? “Come on, let’s get back. You need to rest.”
After we finished eating, we made our way back to the small chamber we shared, the glacial atmosphere biting deeper as the fire’s warmth faded. At first, we’d had separate rooms—because apparently, propriety still mattered here—but after one freezing night, we’d moved into the same suite, sharing a single bed for warmth.
As we settled in for the night, the crypt swallowed the last of the light, the enchanted flames flickering like distant stars, too faint to warm the heavy dark pressing in around us.
I glanced across the room to where Aeliana sat, her form still and silent, framed by frost-kissed shadows. This place had become our prison and our refuge both, binding us together in ways neither of us could explain. We were like sisters now—two girls forgotten by the rest of the world, though no one would ever understand what we were to each other, not beyond these walls.
“Whatever happens,” I whispered into the darkness, my voice cracking slightly, “we’ll make it through. Together.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. There was a quiet understanding between us, stronger than words—something forged in hunger, loss, and too many nights spent beneath stone and silence.
Today, we’d eaten. Tomorrow, I’d have to search again. And the next day, and the next—until my luck ran out. If the provisions didn’t come soon, there’d be nothing left to chase, nothing left to find. Just us, cold and hollow, waiting to join the dead we tended.