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A slight shift in the pallet woke Gytha. She hadn’t slept alone since Sigrid was born, when Gytha had been barely two years old, and her sister’s movements had never kept her awake. Somehow this stranger merely lowering himself to the bed brought her to sudden, wary alertness.

The stranger froze, apparently having perceived that she had woken. The fire had died to low embers, and the room was far too dark to see anything, not even a darker shadow among the shadows. Gytha stared upward, not looking in his direction but not looking away, either.

“Good evening,” Gytha whispered cautiously. She clenched the covers, trying not to tremble.

What had possessed her to do this? Surely there was an easier way to repay Alexander for his kindness! What purpose could this ridiculous bargain serve?

The queen’s words turned over in her mind.

He’ll eat you, of course, but he wants you fattened first.

He could have eaten her earlier.

Gytha did not trust the queen.

But here, in the dark with a strange man, she was not sure if she trusted him, either. Was he handsome prince? If so, was he a silver-tongued liar, deceiving her for his own gain?

After some time, when Gytha said nothing else, the visitor lay down, every movement slow and cautious, at the very far edge of the pallet.

Gytha twisted to face away from him. If she looked toward him, even in darkness too deep to see anything, would that break the bargain? She was not willing to risk it. He probably faced away from her, too.

Without meaning to, she let her eyes close, and she drifted into sleep again.

When she woke again, she was alone, and she felt as though it must be well past dawn, if the sun had dared peek above ground so far north. She dressed and sat in front of the fire.

She needed some sort of schedule for her days, because in the darkness, it was impossible to guess how much time had elapsed. She wanted to know how many days and nights had passed, and how many still had to pass before she could return home.

Moreover, she did not want to drift into some sort of strange, disordered rhythm in which she stayed up or slept too long out of loneliness or boredom.

She would be diligent in some way, even if she didn’t know how yet.

There must be a way to help her family, even from here, and even if her help could not reach them yet.

She stood and strode to the door, picking up the lantern on the way.

The same servant was waiting there, his gray eyes and gray skin blending with the stone walls even with the lantern light on his face.

“Is there a way I can know whether it is night or day? I feel disoriented already.” She smiled at him, hoping he would smile back.

He shook his head.

“There isn’t?”

He shook his head again.

“Does the queen call it a night when I sleep and a day when I wake?”

He pressed his lips together and shrugged one shoulder.

“How will I even know when it has been a year?” Her voice rose with fear.

He turned and began to walk down the hall, motioning for her to follow him. He led her to the room with paints and canvases and pointed at a book on a table near the fireplace.

The book was open. The pages were blank, and a quill and inkwell sat to one side.

“Am I allowed to write in it?” Gytha asked. The very idea of a book to write in was so extravagant that it was difficult to believe.

The servant nodded.

“Do you have a name?” She turned to look at him, holding up the light.

He nodded once, and if she was not mistaken, there was a faint, reluctant light of amusement in his gray eyes.

“Will you tell me what it is?”

He shook his head .

“May I give you a name, just so I have something to use?” He stared at her, and she rushed on, “Magni? It’s a good, strong name. Is that all right?”

He blinked several times, his gaze flicked away and then back, and finally he nodded once, decisively, as if this was some sort of momentous decision.

Gytha smiled, trying to be friendly and cheerful. “Are you sure it is all right if I write in the book?”

The servant nodded once and gestured broadly to the room.

“I’m allowed to use it all?”

He nodded again and gestured yet more broadly, as if to encompass the entire, mysterious palace.

“May I ask for more things?”

He nodded again, apparently satisfied with her understanding.

“May I have cloth and thread for sewing? I would like to do some embroidery.” She frowned. “I would need more light, though.”

He nodded and strode away, leaving the lamp with her as if the utter darkness of the halls did not trouble him at all.

Gytha set the lamp on the table and examined the book more closely.

The cover was leather, and the pages were smooth, creamy paper, bound together with waxed thread.

She had never seen such an expensive thing; even the few books Torvald undoubtedly owned were not like this.

Certainly they were not intended for poor peasant girls to write in!

With steps as soft as a whisper, the bear stepped into the room and came up beside her.

“Hello.” Gytha looked at him thoughtfully. “Do not look. Do not touch. Do not be afraid. I haven’t forgotten.”

Even down on all fours, the bear was tall enough that his eyes were level with hers.

He ought to have been terrifying, with his enormous shoulders and long teeth and claws.

It was strange to see him here, inside, where the scale of him was more obvious.

The table looked small, and the quill pen ridiculously delicate beside his great head.

She had never seen another white bear, but he was quite a big larger than the largest brown bear she had seen.

The skull in the general store on the wall was as long as her arm from elbow to fingertips.

Alexander’s skull was half again as long, and the rest of his enormous body matched this size.

Hesitantly, she reached out a hand and put it on his neck. She ran her fingers gently through the luxuriant fur.

He turned with a growl so low that she felt it in her bones without really hearing it.

She froze, her fingers still entwined in his thick fur.

The servant sidled in, eyeing the bear cautiously.

He put a large basket and another lamp on the nearest table and withdrew to stand just inside the door. Alexander sighed and put his head down.

“Thank you, Magni.” Gytha smiled at him and turned to the basket.

She found a great quantity of finely woven wool and more than a hundred skeins of fine silk thread in many colors, along with needles and a small pair of sharp scissors.

She looked up at the servant in surprise.

“Thank you! This is just what I would have asked for, but I didn’t even think to be so bold! ”

Magni inclined his head with a polite smile.

“Is it all right if I turn up the lamps? Oil is expensive.”

Magni nodded again.

Gytha arranged the lamps so they would spill their golden light over her and settled down in the chair. She laid out the colors of the thread on her lap and thought about her design for some time before threading a needle.

It was strange not to have chores or work. It was strange not to have her little sisters and brothers laughing or crying or shouting, or all of them at once, in the background .

A moss campion took shape slowly, first the tiny green leaves in a mound and then the delicate pink flower.

She brushed tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. There was no use crying. Tears couldn’t make the time pass faster.

Every day she would add a flower to the work, and she could count the flowers to know how many days she had been underground.

No, how many nights had passed. A year was three hundred sixty-five days, and one more was three hundred sixty-six.

There was plenty of room on this cloth for that many flowers.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly and put the cloth aside.

The next piece she would embroider for sale, and that would be useful for her family when she saw them again.

A year from now, good thread work would still fetch a good price, and that money would help her family get through another winter.

The bear lay nearby, his eyes on her face.

She blinked the tears away and focused on her work.

Her stomach growled, and she ignored it, partly because she was engrossed in the embroidery and partly because it was a familiar sort of discomfort, not worthy of fully attending.

A short time later, Magni brought her a tray covered with a silver lid.

When she lifted it, she saw a bowl of rich brown broth with many fat dumplings in it.

There was also a sweet roll, hot from the oven, with a little pot of berry preserves.

“Thank you!”

The servant nodded silently and withdrew to the door.

When Gytha bit into the first dumpling, she was surprised and pleased to find that they contained meat! This was another extravagance she had not expected .

“Do you want a dumpling?” she asked Alexander impulsively.

After a moment, he heaved himself to his feet, as if he were exhausted, and moved closer to her.

She held a dumpling up toward him, but he pulled away, his eyes on hers.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked toward Magni and lay down heavily with his head near her feet.

Gytha pondered that. Had she offended Alexander in some way? Or did he merely want her to eat everything? He knew a little of how badly her family had suffered, and she was still weak from their long deprivation. Perhaps he meant only to care for her.

She reached down and put a hand on his head for a moment. “I don’t mind sharing, but thank you.”

He huffed softly.

Some hours later, Magni brought her another meal of thick stew with many flavorful pieces of elk meat among the carrots and potatoes.

A little bowl of fresh berries, small and tart, was another extravagance.

Surely no berries could be obtained this far north!

Someone must have traveled to find these.

She ate gratefully. Slowly, with food and sleep, strength would return to her limbs. She would also have to work; it would not do to sit around and embroider for an entire year!

Was her family all right? Did they have enough to eat?

Her heart twisted and turned within her.

The elk was enough; it ought to be enough.

Not to be strong or healthy, perhaps, but they would not die.

But fish and carrots and potatoes and berries would help keep their strength up, too, and they had very little of these.

But they would live.

Guilt and grief and relief and gratitude warred in her, until she could not have said what she felt even if someone had asked.

Not that anyone did.

The bear lay quietly on the floor near her. She offered him a piece of the meat from her stew, and he eyed her with a strange look in his eyes and did not take it.

“Bears eat meat!” she exclaimed. “I think they plan to feed me here, so I don’t think you have to worry about me starving. Don’t you want it?”

He looked away and put his head on the floor.

When she went to bed that night, she managed to stay awake until her visitor came. Even with the embers in the grate faintly glowing, it was far too dark to see anything, even if she had looked, and her eyes were closed.

His steps were nearly silent as he crept across the floor, and she guessed his feet were bare. Again he lay on the very edge of the pallet, as if he were more afraid of touching her than she was of him.

For she had come to believe Alexander’s word that this man, whoever he was, would not touch or harm her in any way. His movements were careful, and he kept as much distance as possible between them.

A faint tremor caught her attention, and she tried to identify it.

He was shivering.

“You can use one of the blankets,” she whispered. “There’s plenty.”

Of course there was no answer. She sat up and pulled one of the heavy furs from the end of the pallet and pushed it between them .

He flinched away, and she froze.

“I was just giving you a blanket. It’s here now and you can take it. I’ll be on my side so you don’t accidentally touch me.”

She withdrew and waited, hoping to feel him move.

After a long time, the fur lying bunched between them shifted, and she thought he might have pulled it over his shoulder.

Still, his shivering did not entirely fade away.