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A racking cough some distance away startled her, and she sat up.

Eshkeshken leaned over with one hand pressed to his chest, breathing heavily. He coughed again, and it seemed the force of it would tear him apart. He groaned and knelt with none of his usual grace, one thin hand pressed to his chest.

“A gift,” whispered the wind.

“Thank you.” The goblin prince bowed his head and gave another convulsive cough.

The wind disappeared, leaving them in a strange, expectant silence.

The ice beneath Gytha creaked, and she stood in alarm. “Where are we?”

Eshkeshken groaned something that she could not understand. The prince took several labored breaths before he looked up. Gytha clambered to her feet, and her eyes widened. The higher vantage point made it clear that they were not merely on a hill of ice, but on one of many enormous icebergs floating in a vast black sea. The starlight was too dim for her to see much detail, but the shifting colors of the northern lights gleamed on the ragged edges of the icebergs and luminesced overhead.

The iceberg’s movement was so slight that Gytha could barely perceive it at all. Instead, she felt the movement as a sense of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. To look out upon the vast, jagged, moving plain was to feel that the entire world was unsteady.

Eshkeshken still knelt in the snow with one hand pressed hard to his chest. His breaths sounded harsh in the immense stillness. Gytha stepped closer to the goblin prince and offered her hand. He stared up at her with his gray eyes as if he did not understand for a moment, and then, with a strange twist of his lips, he took her hand and let her pull him to his feet.

He swayed and then straightened and looked around. “Where is Dakjudr?”

Her voice came from behind an icy mound. “I am here.” A moment later, she appeared a short distance away, brushing snow from her hair. “I did not think the West Wind would bring us this far.”

“It was a harsh kindness, but I am grateful for it.” Eshkeshken put his hands on his knees and took several rasping breaths.

Gytha’s gloved hand hovered at his shoulder, not sure whether he would want the help or comfort. “Are you all right?” she asked cautiously.

He coughed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Do not worry about me, human child,” he said. His voice was as harsh as ice crystals, but when she caught his eye, she thought his expression was not entirely unappreciative. “Are you injured?” He looked between her and Dakjudr, his cold, beautiful eyes sweeping over them in turn.

“I am well,” Dakjudr said, but her steps were a little unsteady as she joined them.

Gytha concurred.

The starlight glinted on the tops and the edges of the ice peaks against the velvet sky. A great distance away, one of the enormous icebergs shifted and rolled, shedding ice and snow in a cloud like an avalanche. The roar of it hitting the water reached them several seconds later, and the great, smooth peaks that had previously been under the water glittered under the northern lights. The motion settled, and the roar faded slowly as the waves subsided.

The air was so still and quiet that the groaning of the ice was like unearthly singing. Far below, she could hear the soft lapping of the water against the ice.

They did not walk far before Eshkeshken stopped and pressed a trembling hand to his chest. He stumbled forward a few more steps and then fell to his knees with a groan.

Dakjudr darted to him. “What is it?”

“Ice.” He hissed through his teeth and bit back another groan. “North Wind, please hear me.”

The answering gust of wind actually knocked Gytha off her feet, and she began sliding down the slick ice toward the water far below. Eshkeshken lunged at her and caught her by one wrist. He steadied her while she regained her footing, and then he slowly, painfully, stood upright.

“North Wind,” he said hoarsely. “I am Prince Eshkeshken of the ice goblins, and I go to challenge Queen Javethai the Usurper who sits on my throne. Will you take my companions and me to the palace at the end of the world, east of the sun and west of the moon, where only the winds can go?”

The wind hissed and howled in a maelstrom of snow around them. “What will you give me in exchange for my help?” The words were a sibilant whisper that shivered Gytha’s bones.

“My gratitude as the rightful king of the ice goblins.” Eshkeshken stood straighter, though his face contorted for an instant with emotion or pain. “Also you will receive the satisfaction of knowing that justice was done in the north lands, as befits the greatest of the Four Winds.”

“Flatterer,” the wind murmured.

“It is true.” Eshkeshken raised his sharp face to the sky, as if he studied the stars. “Pettiness and selfishness have ruled for too long in my kingdom. Will you aid me or not?”

“What will the human give me in return for my help?” The wind flicked a sudden burst of snow into Gytha’s face, as if to startle her into some confession.

The girl bit her lip and looked at the goblin prince. “What would you like?” she asked.

“What does a Wind want?” the North Wind mused. “How should I know what I lack? Tell me something interesting, human child, and tell me why it interests me.”