Abella Danger came to Antarctica to make the ice-sorcerer love her, and now the ice was trying to kill her first. Snow had crushed her tent flat an hour ago. She crawled out into the blizzard on her knees. Wind tore at her hood. She had crossed a frozen sea for one reason: the sorcerer in the marble citadel at the pole, the man no traveler had ever charmed. She meant to be the first. But the pole was still two days north, and she would not live to see one. She dug a hollow in the snow and packed the walls with her mittens. It bought her nothing. Her fingers went white and stiff. Her breath froze on her scarf. She thought of every clever thing she had planned to say to the sorcerer, and none of it would matter to a corpse. A soft light moved through the storm. Abella lifted her head. Her unicorn stepped out of the white, its silver mane whipping, the blue crystals along its flank glowing warm. She had left it three miles back, hobbled and sheltered. It had chewed through the rope and followed her. "You stupid, wonderful thing," she said. Her voice cracked. The unicorn knelt beside her and pressed its glowing horn against her chest. Heat spread through her coat. The crystals on its legs melted a circle in the snow. Abella crawled against its warm body. The unicorn curled around her and the light held the blizzard back. She did not freeze. She slept. Morning came clear and hard. Abella woke stiff but alive, her cheek against warm fur. The storm had passed. She stood and looked north, and there she saw the thing she had come for. It was not the citadel she had imagined. It was a mansion the size of a mountain, all white marble and gold trim, built like a castle but grander than any castle. Its windows caught the low sun and threw it back. The keep stood only a mile off. The blizzard had blown her closer, not farther. But something else stood between her and the gold doors. A white tiger paced the snow at the base of the marble steps. Its dark stripes stood out against the pale field. It turned its head and fixed her with yellow eyes. It did not run. It did not attack. It waited, tense and searching, as if it had been sent to find someone. Abella's unicorn stamped and backed away. The tiger took one slow step toward her across the snow. Abella had survived the night. She had reached the sorcerer's door. Now his guardian had seen her, and there was nowhere left to hide.