Glaciana Frostcall's Arc

Chapter 1 of 10

The seventh suitor of the season reached the gate of Glaciana Frostcall's ice castle before her song broke him. He carried a bundle of frost crystal flowers and a written vow. Glaciana watched him from a spiral tower, her breath fogging the pane. She wanted this one to stay. She had practiced silence for a week. She was a siren, and sirens sang whether they meant to or not. The ice-song lived in her throat like a second pulse. When mortals came close, it woke on its own and told them the truth of what she was: a voice that pulls ships onto rocks. Every suitor heard it. Every suitor ran. Her heart had frozen a little more with each retreat. She wanted, badly, to thaw it. She wanted one mortal brave enough to stand in front of her while she spoke a plain word. Glaciana descended the twisting stair with her hands pressed to her collarbone, holding the song down. The suitor waited in the entry hall. He was young, dressed in wool, sweat on his lip despite the cold. She opened her mouth to say welcome. A thin note slipped out instead. It rang off the ice walls and doubled back, sharper. The suitor's face went white. He dropped the flowers. He turned and ran across the frozen shallows, and a sleek dolphin with a crystal sheen surfaced beside his path and dove again, startled by his splashing. Glaciana pressed her hand to the door and did not follow. The note kept ringing in the walls after he was gone. She sank to the floor. Seven suitors. Seven failures. Her chest felt colder than the tile under her palm. She understood, finally, that silence would never be her tool. The song was not a habit she could break. It was part of her, and any mortal who wanted her would have to hear it first and stay anyway. A sound came from the far end of the hall. Not an echo. Footsteps on ice, steady, unhurried. Glaciana lifted her head. A man stood in the open doorway she had not heard open. His hair was pale as her towers. A thin crown of ice sat on his brow, and frost patterned his coat like her own walls. He had walked in during her song. He had not flinched. "You sing louder than the stories," said Kristian Frostborne. His voice did not shake. "I heard you from three valleys off. I came to see if you were as cold as they claim." Glaciana stood slowly. The song was still humming in her throat, and he was still there, watching her mouth as if it were an ordinary mouth. "I am," she said. The word came out clear, without the note. "Good," he said. "So am I." He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.