Prince River had promised a warmer welcome from King Alder. While the Ician had been right—the King had shaken hands with him and asked him about the journey up north—Nick found the dark chamber to be on the chilly side. A crisp wind blew through his hair. From where the draft originated, he couldn't tell. The walls were equally grey, no change in colour or blurriness that indicated a window.

 A sharper, muskier, slightly sweet scent lingered in the room. While the King and the Prince discussed the death of King Ariel, Nick slowly turned his head towards his armpit. He inhaled sharply. Stale, stinking sweat. But not the penetrating smell he was looking for.

He shuffled forwards. Could it be the King?

"Yick," barked Bear.

"Is something the matter?" the King said in a hoarse voice.

"No." Nick stopped and clasped his hands behind his back. "No, I was just.... wanted to have a good look at you, Sire. It's not every day one gets to meet the King of Ice."

"Sure." The outline of a bony hand beckoned him to come closer. 

The pungent smell got stronger as he moved towards the King's bed. Nick squeezed one eye shut and narrowed the other. A round face with a large nose in the middle. Spikey hair. A lot of hair for someone his age. The contours of a forked beard.

"My Greenlander granddaughter is far finer to look at, isn't she?" the King remarked.

"It's different," Nick said. He had to think for a heartbeat to envision the playful spark in her sapphire eyes instead of the gruff old lady he had met in the hall. Once more, he was struck with the thought that he didn't miss her that much.

Bear slipped in front of him, his paws scurrying. He sat by the King. Flick-flick went his tail. "Yap-yerr."

"Hello there, pup. Didn't expect to see you there?"

"Yep yowl Reawr Yick Reawr Yow," Bear explained. Seb had loved him, but Nick needed him more.

"Is that so?" King Alder said. "So your name is Bear. That's a fine name. Did Nick give it to you?"

"Njarf, Yep."

"So Seb did."

Nick cocked his head. "Sire, how is it you can understand him?"

"A mountain dog only obeys their current master, but never forgets the old," King Alder said as though that was something obvious. His blurry arm reached for Bear. "You're growing up well. Glad I picked you to gift to Sebastian."

"I hope you don't see as an insult that Seb... Prince Sebastian gave Bear to me instead. He had to go where he couldn't take the dog."

"And the dog received a fine master in return," King Alder said. Nick could tell the man was looking at him. "Anything else is Greenlander niceties. Throw those away—you're in Ice now."

"I didn't mean to... Bear is the best thing that happened to me."

"Better than my granddaughter?" The King chuckled, afer which the snigger turned into a nasty, slimy cough.

"Father, here." Prince River offered him something to drink.

The King drank hastily in between coughs and wheezes, closer to choking than anything else.

Nick knew why Alana and King Thomas had asked to kill the King of Ice. A civil war between the brothers would shift the attention of magicians away from the other half of the continent. He had had his doubts before, but now that he stood in front of the odd though friendly bedridden man, he grew more convinced that he wouldn't do it. 

Bless the Gods that Prince Storm was a thousand miles more south, hanging around Moonstone Castle, awaiting the moment he could take the Silvermark throne. Nick wouldn't commit treason by denying his King's wish. Let King Alder live the remaining weeks, moons, or years of the late autumn of his life before the forever-winter would take him.

His conscious would be clear.

"Can... you... fetch more." King Alder breathed heavily. 

"Sure, father," Prince River said. He touched Nick's shoulder. "Are alright keeping him company?"

"Of course." Nick nodded. "Bear and I will look after him, won't we, Bear?"

"Arr," Bear confirmed.

The King's cough continued. He inhaled, snorted, then spat. Lumps of spit clinked against a copper plate.

"Yap-yerr." Bear whined.

"It's alright," the King said with great difficulty.

"Is there anything I can do?" Nick asked.

"Sit."

Nick plopped down on the bed. The blanket was rough wool, very old and coarse on his skin. As more coughing and more spitting followed, the sweet acidic smell wafted over him once more. Overripe fruit—that was what he smelled.

There came a big wheeze. The King sniffed. He scratched his throat, then a small cough followed.

"Yap-yerr?" Bear asked.

"Ah, Mountain dogs—there's no friendship purer than that of a dog. They never stab you in the back."

Nick smiled. Humans did. That was why he preferred Bear to any friend he ever had. Including Seb. Bear would never leave, and he would never leave Bear.

"Don't get me wrong, boy. I enjoy being King." A brief cough, then a groan. "I've watched this country grow—change. Our identity is less clear now, but people have more circles to spend. The world knows who the Icians are."

"The mines are doing well," Nick said. Soon magicians from The Greenlands, the Jade Islands, and Scoria would be offered to work in the Ician mines. It was better than death.

"Aye, the mines," King Alder said. "But you... why are you here?"

"I want to go to the school of The Four Other Senses and regain my sight," Nick answered. What a strange question—surely someone must have briefed King Alder on why he had come to Ice.

"That is what my daughter has concocted. But what do you want?"

"Wow," Nick said. "I don't know when someone last asked me that question."

Bear tiptoed towards him. His furry friend brushed against his legs and laid his head on Nick's lap. What did he want? He had been involved in other people's plans and wishes for so long that he wasn't sure what he truly desired.

A return to Laneby. Mother and Father bickering over Sunday roast as he and George held a burping competition. Abby tugging at his sleeve, her eyes all big, begging for a story. Billy trotting as close as the meadow allowed him too, neighing, as if to tell Nick to speak louder. Alex, Fox, and Seb making fun of him for being the son of Sloth reborn, but joining him anyway. He was the storyteller. They were his audience. That was what made him happy.

"I had a book. Back in Laneby," Nick began. "Ician History and Fables. My father bought it in Sundale while he was away on business—speaking to King Thomas on Lord Brandon's behalf. My brother was jealous because Father didn't get him any present. I only managed to get halfway before..." He shook his head. "The book burnt. Not that I would have any use for it anyway—my eyes are worthless."

"Not entirely." The King waved. "You see some things."

"Not enough to read. I want my sight back, Sire. That's why I've come to Ice."

The King hummed. "But what if I were to tell you that stories are an oral matter in this country?"

Nick frowned. Was this King Alder's infamous miserliness? "Erm... I don't know. Queen Crystal said there was a magician who could..."

"You're a Greenlander, boy. I know what happened to your eyes—I know more about you." A fresh, rasping cough attacked the King. Several groans later, the man continued, "Quiet, little Nicky. Notices what others fail to notice."

"Rwree, Yick," Bear urged Nick to speak his mind, to throw away Greenlander niceties like the King of Ice had advised him earlier.

"You're dying," Nick said.

"Yes, boy. I feel the energy of life leaving me. I ache in places..." A deep cough. The King's voice was now grating... "in places I never knew existed."

"Yap-yerr," Bear whimpered.

"Why are you telling me this, Sire?"

"Easier to tell a stranger than to spook my family. They're not ready. I'm not ready."

Nick fumbled with his fingers. Lies and excuses—he was good at coming up with those. Now, he found himself baffled, dumbstruck even. In the Greenlands, he would tell the person they're as fit as a butcher's dog, or that they had nothing to fear—that they had lived a life virtue. But this was Ice. 

"I can leave Bear with you, if you wish. He likes you."

"Yes, my winter bear taking me down to his cave," the man mused. "Like it was destined to be. You too, boy. Stay. Tell me a story."

Thinking, Nick nudged Bear to keep the King comfortable. The dog turned around his tail a couple of times before settling by King Alder's side. "Yaw yow Yick."

"Once upon a time there lived a horse named Rupert in the village of Claywood. Ruper was—"

"No-no," King Alder said, hacking his way into a fresh cough. "Not... that."

"I also know Lewis and the Pastrymaker's daughter really well," Nick tried. "Or the tale of the first Queen of Scoria."

"No, I wanna hear stories about... Nick... about Laneby."

"I think you'll find those stories to be boring, Sire. I lived a very ordinary life in Laneby... there was nothing special about it."

The King coughed.

"Reawr eawr Yick... Rawrawai," said Bear.

"What he says..." King Alder managed to utter.

"You really wanna hear about Laneby. Are you sure?" Nick asked in disbelief. Easier to question Bear than the King of Ice.

"Arr," Bear confirmed.

Nick scratched his greasy head. "Alright... well... in Laneby, when a boy turns eleven, there's a test he needs to take. Or... when your name is Alex, and you're the best archer in the entire region, then you get to take the test too. But that's a story for another time. A test of manhood that determined whether they are worthy of becoming a warrior. It's the biggest thing you'll ever do. Bigger than marriage. Bigger than becoming a father..."

King Alder chuckled.

"It's true," Nick defended himself. "It's all everyone ever takes about from the moment you're about five, and you realise what it is that those boys do when they turn eleven. The entire village comes to watch. And Lord Brandon made sure every test was slightly different... you never knew what to expect. My brother was tied upside down in a tree, with only a sharp kitchen knife to cut himself loose. He wasn't allowed to return to the village unless he brought meat. He fell down into a rose bush—thorns everywhere. He made a trap and laid in waiting for four hours. Then he caught a curious robin. My own test was two years later—I had memorised all tricks I had seen in the past years. Told my parents every evening for two moons what I would do in what situation. No pretend monster or one of the warriors disguising as a bandit would fool me."

The door creaked open.

Nick paused.

Prince River padded towards the bed. He poured liquid into a cup, which he handed to his father, then the jug in his hands landed with a thud on the nightstand.

"Go on, boy," the King urged. Immediately he added, "Stay, River."

"So the day I turned eleven, the God of Pride in me was strong. I thought I could take over the world." Nick sniggered, a warm fuzzy feeling tingling in his stomach. "I waited all day for something to do. Every movement Lord Brandon or the warriors made—I practically jumped up. I was more ready than ready. They didn't do anything. We had a bonfire, ate roast and pie. I played with my friends. Eventually, when I figured it was too late to do anything, and I was dozing off on the beach, wearing nothing but my damp pants. The sun was setting. Then they grabbed me... I screamed like a little girl."

Bear forcefully exhaled a shrill whiny noise that sounded like a giggle.

Nick patted him. Bear licked his hand.

"They put me in a bag and dragged me to the Forest of Lane. I wasn't scared... except maybe a little. I had to scratch my way out of the bag. There was nobody to be seen, even though I knew a lot of people were watching me from the bushes or from high up in the trees. I was told to make a fire. The one thing I've never been good at. And then it started to rain. I build a shelter instead, keeping myself safe. Then I just waited.... the others were getting wet. I wasn't. I slept a little... I find rain to be comforting. I could hear people leaving, sighing, bickering even." Nick sniggered. "In the end, only my father and Lord Brandon were left. I waited until morning until the sun dried the forest. All I did was create some smoke—it was enough for Lord Brandon. He shook my hand and accepted me into his band of warriors, mostly because I out-tricked him. He called me the son of Sloth reborn. Alex and Seb still called me that. Alana liked the name too—said it fit me."

When neither Prince River nor King Alder said anything, Nick shrugged. "I'm sorry—it was a stupid story."

"You're persistent," King Alder said. "And you have a lot of patience. Tell me more."

Nick wetted his lips, unsure of why the King was asking him this. He enjoyed remembering his good life in Laneby, but for every happy tingle, there came a wave of sadness that told him that he would never get it back.

The next story he told was of him sneaking a fox kit into his home one day when he was six years old. It wasn't a particularly happy story, but there were good memories attached to it. Seb and Fox—then still named Harry at the time—helping him sneak out of the house after Grandmother Bessie had ordered him to clean the entire house. He and his friends then brought pebbles back to the river because Fox was convinced they were pebble monsters. Later, they played hide-and-seek. The game ended abruptly when they could no longer find Fox. The Muttonhead had gone after the fox kit that his mother had put back into the wild. The creature had taken him so deep into the forest, he got lost. Lord Brandon had to rescue him. It had been the story of Fox's namesake, though King Alder and Prince River didn't seem to understand why that was important.

After that, Prince River urged him to leave his father to rest. There would be a small banquet in the evening to celebrate the Prince's return to Bigtown. Nick was still dirty from the road. He needed a bath, fresh clothes, and if there was still time, a short nap.

"Stay with King Alder," he told Bear.

"Arf," confirmed the dog. His shadow rose. "Yick, Yoow Rawrawai yo Yap-yerr Reawr."

"Agreed," the King said. "I also want to hear more about Laneby."

Nick bowed. "Then I shall tell you more."

That night, he laid content in his small bedroom in a dark corner of the castle. The welcome feast had been little compared to the giant portions Queen Crystal arranged in Sunstone Castle, but he had filled his belly with strong sauteed meat, dried mushrooms, and salted potatoes. He had drunk his weight in cloudberry juice—a drink sweeter than any of Princess Alana's kisses. 

He turned around, lacking his Bear-shaped blanket to keep him warm and safe. The thought was still lingering in the back of his mind when retracted paws resounded through the hall.

A shadow moved through the room.

Then licked his face.

"I told you to stay with the King," Nick mumbled.

"Yap-yerr yeerf. Yick yoow."

Now that King Alder was sleeping, Bear was going to help him fall asleep too. Touched by his dog's ability to keep surprising him, Nick pressed himself against the thick fur that now carried a hint of the same smell that dominated in the King's chamber. 

How much time did the King have? Hours, days, weeks? And why waste that time listening to a Muttonhead of a Greenlander telling stories about—to a King of Ice—an insignificant village that no longer existed?

The break of dawn came with a loud cock-a-doodle-doo and a full bladder. No mountain dog snores or dreamy growls greeted him. Bear's scent had faded.

After relieving himself in what he hoped was a chamber bowl, he roamed through the castle. 

There were no guards. The people he passed all belonged to the royal family. Children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren or their partners. There was no rush of anything. He could go where he wanted to. Eat whatever he found in the kitchen (and take some dried meat for Bear). Drink some more cloudberry juice.

He strolled into the King's chamber as though he had done that all his life. Bear arfed him a good morning, then went straight for the snack in his hand.

King Alder wasn't alone. There was a second shape standing over him with a cloth. A feminine voice greeted him.

"Is this a bad time?" Nick asked.

"No, grandfather's expecting you," she said. "He's keen to hear more stories. It's all he has been talking about."

"Yes," croaked the King. His croak closer to a rough whisper.

Nick sat down next to Bear on the bed. First, he recounted one of the many tales he could tell about him and his brother's eating competition. The woman—Willow, he learnt—laughed along with Bear. She brought them a breakfast of crisp flatbread and cloudberry jam. After that, he told the story of how Alex became the first female warrior of Laneby. 

Whoever wandered into the King's chamber ended up staying. While Nick still didn't understand the fascination of the Icians for Laneby life. But they enjoyed learning about Billy, the harvest parties, the Feast of the Death celebrations.

By the third day, the coldness in the room had completely disappeared. Cakes were passed around. Mountain dogs joined Bear on the bed or on their master's lap. Still, Nick managed to smell that stench of death that came in waves.

The mountain dogs sensed it too. They grew more restless... howled at each other in a language Nick didn't understand. It was their own tongue.

"... war of the garden gnomes," Nick said as he spooned out a pot of cowberry jam. "The toughest war ever fought in Laneby—crosses entire generations."

"An actual garden gnome?" Queen Feline said with a tone of disdain in her voice. Of all the Ician royals, she was his least favourite person.

"No, a figure," Nick answered proudly. He placed his hands so they were a foot apart. "This tall. A fat wart on his nose. A smirk like he was up to something. The clothes that had been painted on over a century ago had been repainted, washed off by the rain, and changed until everything blurred. Half of the beard had broken off, and botched when trying to mend it. My grandmother Bessie and Lady Helen—they were sisters—started the war. One morning the garden gnome would be in our garden, the next, grandma Bessie woke before daybreak to place the ugly creature back into her sister's flowerbeds. Everybody hated the gnome, but nobody had the heart to throw it away for good. Even suggesting it was considered blasphemous."

"Greenlanders are weird," said one of Prince River's sons.

"And Lanebyers more so. Lord Brandon was a joker... he did the wildest things with that garden gnome. A request for eggs turned into the gnome getting glued to the eggs. Swords got replaced by that ugly thing. One summer, he even adjourned all the warriors of Laneby only to hand over the gnome back to my family. Father didn't—"

A light flashed before his eyes. Shattering. Stunning. Eye-opening... literally.

He could see.

The pale porcelain faces of the Icians in their simple though graceful clothes. Fifteen people in the room. Seven mountain dogs. Saliva dripping from their humongous mouths.

"Yick?" Bear jumped up. His Bear... his white belly and face. Grey to even black paws and back.

Mouth wide open, he shot his gaze towards King Alder. The man's skin ash-grey, gasping for breath like a fish in its final moments on shore. Old eyes stared back at him with the little life they had left in them.

Don't panic. Keep telling the tale.

Nick darted a look into the pot of red jam. What had been in them?

He made the mistake of blinking. A heartbeat later, his world toned back down to shapes and shadows.

"So my father took his revenge," Nick said, unable to hide his confusion. "He kept the gnome in a box for three moons. Then out of the blue, he alarmed Lord Brandon in the middle of the night, warning him for..."

Two days ago, I asked you what you wanted. I cannot give you the book you lost.

"warning him for a monster that roamed the forest," Nick continued. King Alder's voice was in his head—the King was a magician—it was the only logical explanation. "So, Lord Brandon took all the warriors."

But I love your stories. They brought my family to me. They're all here at the end.

"They went deep into the forest. Very deep—Father gave them instructions of tracks that weren't really there. He needed Lord Brandon to go to a specific spot," Nick said. Can you give me my eyes back?  he thought.

The voice in his head answered, No

But I saw you. I saw Bear. "There, on top of the Belching Hell, the warrior of Laneby saw the shadow of a great beast standing there. Father had sneaked behind it, meaning to growl, but he could only snigger."

Strange things happen when the veil between the living and the dead is as thin as it is today. You don't need to be able to see that your audience is clinging to every word you're saying. You gather people. They listen to you. All the signs of a true leader, Nicolas.

"Lord Brandon approached and found the beast to be made of branches and old rags." I don't wanna be a leader. I want peace. Live happily. Play with Bear. Tell stories. I'm the son of Sloth. I wanna be the son of Sloth. "My father handed him the real trophy: the gnome."

You'll find in Ice what you seek, Nicolas. Be the voice of the dreamer who distracts the world from worry . Thank you. I'm ready.

"The end," Nick said. They're not ready

Then you must aid my family like you aided me. Make them see.

While male and female voices mingled in laughter, King Alder exhaling a long final breath that sounded like a sigh of relief. Instantly, the mountain dogs started howling. It was a loud grieving song that went straight to the bone.

Members of the Ician royal family pushed him to the side as they trooped together. Father. Grandfather. Papi. Alder. Neither name would wake the King, nor would the patting noises of despair. King Alder would never wake again. His soul had left his body.

"Fetch water," Ruby said.

"No, salt," a male voice argued. "He has just fainted."

"Go for something stronger. There's cloudberry liquor in the kitchen," the Queen ordered. "Get it now. Now!"

The mountain dogs in the stable replied to the lament with more howling. Donkeys brayed. The roosters crowed along with the cawing ravens. Cows mooed, and sheep bleated. 

The animals' final salute to a great man.

"I can't feel his heartbeat," Willow panicked. "I don't feel it. What do we do? What do we do?"

"You can't do anything. The King is dead," Nick said the words nobody in the chamber had dared to utter. The room fell silent, including the dogs and the animals outside as he kneeled in front of the shadow that could only be Prince River and lowered his head. "Long live the King."