Vaelis Frostforge needed coal, and the shed wanted to keep him out. Blue claw marks glowed across its dark wood like fresh scars. He had built that shed himself, six winters back, to hold the black coal he needed for the blade. The blade was the work of his life. A weapon of living frost, the old stories said, would buy its maker a seat among the old powers. His father had spent fifty years chasing that same seat and died kneeling. Vaelis meant to finish what his father started, or force the old powers to look at him when they refused. He pulled a strip of oil-soaked cloth from his belt and wound it around his left hand. The wrap smelled of pine resin and tallow. He had been making fresh ones every three days. The bites on his knuckles had started to weep, and the cold ointment was the only thing that kept the skin from splitting when he gripped the tongs. He lifted the latch. The door swung in on a breath of air so cold it hurt his teeth. Inside, the coal pile glittered with new frost. Six small shapes lifted their heads from the black heap. Horns like bent nails. Skin the color of deep ice. One of them grinned at him and let out a curl of pale smoke. Vaelis reached. The nearest demon sprang and clamped its teeth through the wrap into the meat of his thumb. He swore and shook it loose. Two more leapt for his wrist. He stumbled back into the snow and slammed the door. Blood spotted the cloth. He stood there breathing hard. Word of the blade had already traveled further than he liked. If he could not feed his forge, every rumor would arrive before the steel did. He went back to the smithy and stoked the fire until the stone walls ticked. Then he carried out a shovel of live embers and threw them through the shed door. The demons shrieked. He waited. When he looked in, five of them had fled into the snow, hissing, their feet smoking. The sixth had not run. It sat on the coal pile and stared at him. Its body was a cracked black coal, lit from inside with orange veins. Pale crystals had grown up its back like a row of teeth. It had been born in there, half coal, half frost. It was not a demon anymore. It was something his fire had made. Vaelis crouched in the doorway. The small thing watched him without blinking. He could kill it and have his coal back tonight. He could also keep it, and learn what a creature that was both ember and ice might be worth to a man forging a blade of living frost. He pulled off his wrap and held out his bare, bitten hand. The little thing stepped onto his palm. It was warm. He carried it back toward the forge.