She dragged her way through the thick, grey, rancid muck. It sucked at her boots with each squelching step. Amara knew she only had twenty minutes, maybe thirty at most before the hypothermia set in.

Courtiers typically had difficult assignments, but this was ridiculous, Amara thought. The Northern wastes were abandoned. Everyone knew that. Still, she felt the creeping tell of eyes rise up her back. At least she wouldn’t die alone. Small mercies from Kith, the Northern goddess of wilds.

“Stop struggling. You’re messing up my fox traps,” A hoarse voice called out.

“There are no foxes up here. Just admit you’re waiting for me to freeze to death before pawing through my pockets.”

“You don’t see snow foxes, but they see you. So stop stomping through my traps and walk towards my voice. The game trail is over here.”

“As well as a sharp dagger I imagine,” Amara muttered. Her numb fingers fumbled for the razor within her tattered jacket. “Do I get a name or do I just call you ‘kind forest spirit?’” That got a rumbling laugh in response.

“You can call me Finnic if you want. But most people call me Finn.” Amara stepped into the small alcove of trees where the voice was coming from to find a tall, lean ranger peering at her from under a heavy coat of furs with amber eyes. They tracked every movement, but crinkled at the edges with humor instead of concern.

“Seems like an uncomfortable spot to set up an ambush.”

“If it were, I’d have brought more layers and less instructions to guide you to the keep. Lord Malton is awaiting your arrival.”

“He knows why I’m here?”

“My lord knows of the ill tidings you carry. He hopes to alleviate them. Maybe even strike a bargain if you’re amenable.”

“Alleviate.. amenable? You’re one of his son’s, aren’t you?” Amara received a bright smile at that. “But you play around in the freezing cold and hunt for lost courtiers. Are you the bastard I’ve heard about?” The smile soured at the edges before returning.

“Esquire Finnic Maltonsin, at your service,” he said with a flourish as he dipped into a deep bow. He stated his dishonored name with pride— Amara wanted to ask more— but needed another layer before her brain froze.

“Let’s get on with it, my lord,” she said pointing towards his barely noticeable game trail.