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He blinked slowly and then looked away. She could not interpret this. She tried to tell herself that it meant he did not blame her. But she blamed herself.

Her visitor still came at night. His footfalls were nearly silent, and he kept his distance from her as before.

She wanted to talk to him, to either give or receive some comfort, but she did not know what to say.

She was no longer certain that it was Alexander in his human form; she thought it was, but she was not sure.

She felt unsure of many things. Did the world outside this dark underground prison still exist?

Would she ever again see the faces of those she knew and loved?

Would anyone know, or care, if she died in her sleep?

When Gytha, Sigrid, or Solveig had a bad dream, the other sisters would sleepily turn and snuggle closer, wrapping their arms around each other.

Only in the depths of the worst winter had Gytha been fearful for long while surrounded by warmth and love.

Even then, she had felt the comfort of her sisters sleeping by her side; no matter what happened, even if they all starved to death, they would go surrounded by love.

Her mother and father would go first, and Gytha feared that far more than her own death.

This loneliness was alien and terrible. It would have been far easier to endure if she could at least hear the stranger’s voice and be sure that it was Alexander.

She did not need to touch him! But if he would speak to her, she would know that she was not alone with a stranger, but enduring a trial with a kind-hearted friend.

When Magni finally returned, she did not notice at first. He slipped in the room and stood against the wall beside the door.

Eventually Gytha looked up, and her eyes widened.

He looked the same as before, though a bit thinner, if that was possible.

She wondered that she had ever been afraid of him.

He was not large, and she stood straighter than when she had first stepped into these dark halls.

She was fully as tall as he was, and heavier now that she had regular meals, though he was stronger.

A beating like the one he had endured would have killed any human.

When she looked at him, his eyes darted away, glancing around the room quickly. Then he looked back at her and met her eyes.

She smiled tentatively, feeling suddenly tearful again. Though she thought him strange and unnerving, she was glad he was alive.

He glanced away again, and then looked back at her and smiled carefully.

“I’m sorry,” Gytha whispered, her voice barely audible.

He blinked and then half-shrugged, a quick, awkward jerk of one shoulder. He didn’t say anything, only leaned back against the wall and watched her.

She had thought he would look different somehow, if she ever saw him again. Suffering made one look different, didn’t it? But he looked the same.

Still, somehow she read his expression differently. Perhaps that strange light in his eyes was sadness and resignation rather than cold hostility. Perhaps his attitude had changed, or perhaps she had changed.

Gytha smeared butter on the last piece of bread and slid the plate across the table toward him. “That’s for you.”

His gray eyes studied her face. He took a careful step forward and then stopped. She gestured at it again and then went to the basin to wash for bed, studiously ignoring him.

After a moment, he took another step forward, watching for her reaction. Gytha kept her back turned, noting his movement only out of the corner of his eye.

Finally he took up the bread and hesitated. At last he took a careful bite, his eyes on her. Once he decided to eat it, it was gone in moments; he barely chewed one bite before taking the next.

Still silent, he watched while she readied for bed, and turned his back to her when she slipped her dress over her head and exchanged it for the nightgown. His thin shirt pulled tight over his shoulders as he crossed his arms.

“I’m finished,” she said.

He turned back around, his gray eyes sweeping up and down her again.

Gytha was not sure exactly how or why she was so certain that her nighttime visitor was the bear Alexander in human form.

It was a strange thought, and she was not sure which was his natural form; was he a bear changed to a human form for the nights, or a human changed to bear form during the day?

Why was he a bear during the entire visit with her family?

Still, something about him struck her as so familiar, perhaps even comfortable, and she did not have that feeling with anyone else here .

Not once had she thought that Magni was the one who visited at night. His presence was uneasy and vaguely threatening in a way that Alexander’s had never been, even when he growled.

Besides, Magni had never shivered during the day, though his clothes were not warm. Not to mention that he was too small and light to be the body that shared her bed.

Finally she stepped closer to him, holding up the lantern to see his face better.

The gray color of his skin was not a trick of the light; he was gray from head to toe, and his skin was rougher than she had thought at first, almost like sandstone.

His eyes were more lovely than she had realized.

There was a pale ring of ice blue around his pupils that darkened to almost black around the outside edge.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

He blinked and then smiled, the expression a little sad and a little ironic. “You. Are. Sorry.” The words sounded like they took effort, as if he wasn’t sure if they were the right ones, or if he was saying them correctly. His voice sounded like stones grinding together, low and cold and sharp.

It had never been more clear that he was not human.

She nodded, biting her lip. Was he angry? Did he blame her?

His smile widened a little, and she could see sharp teeth behind his thin lips. Even his lips were gray. “You. You did not beat me.” The words came out in a soft hiss, a snarl of cold fury masked in sardonic amusement. “The queen ordered it. The queen’s servants held me down and wielded the staff.”

“Aren’t you one of her servants too?” The question sounded silly the moment it slipped out.

He licked his lips and smiled, showing his teeth. “Not anymore.”

Gytha swallowed. “So you are not angry with me?”

He blinked twice, his gaze flicking over her face so quickly that she wondered what he was seeing. What decision he was making.

“I am angry,” he said at last. “Angry enough to kill. Angry enough to die.” His strange, pale eyes held hers. “But not with you.”

When he volunteered nothing else, she said, “May I ask your real name? I guess it’s not Magni.”

His lips drew back in a faint smile, less bitter than the others. “My name is Eshkeshken.”

Gytha repeated it carefully, testing the sound of it. It sounded like ice crystals scraping against stone, and the sound fit him.

“The bargain is finished in two nights. Do not betray your friend after all this time.” His words were soft and serious. “What did he tell you?”

The bear appeared in the doorway at this moment, and he entered, his eyes fixed on Eshkeshken. He gave a low, rumbling growl.

“Do not look. Do not touch. Do not fear.” Gytha’s voice shook a little. She did not want to be afraid of Alexander, but the menace in his growl made her heart turn over.

The ice goblin turned to look at him, a thin, almost frail figure against the immense white bear, and then looked back at Gytha.

“Good. Do not fear him. The queen lies.” His lips twisted in fury and scorn as he spoke of the queen.

Then he bowed and stepped out of the room.

The bear looked at Gytha and then padded into the corridor too, leaving her alone.

Gytha found herself trembling, as if the ice goblin had threatened her. His fury was terrifying. But he had not threatened her at all; if anything, she felt that he was an ally in some conflict she did not understand.

She could not sleep, so she was intensely aware when the stranger crept in, his steps soft and his movements careful.

He lay down with a groan that barely reached her ears, and in a matter of a minute or two, she heard his breathing slow as sleep claimed him.

He sounded exhausted, like her father did when he’d been working on the trail for days, when merely breathing was an effort because every muscle ached.

“I don’t know all of what’s going on,” she whispered. “But I did this because the bear asked me to. Are you Alexander, too?”

He did not answer, and his breathing did not change.

“I’m glad I did it, but I’m glad it’s almost done. I’m lonely here. I wish you could answer me. It would be less lonely if I could hear another human voice.”

Still he slept.

The next day she barely saw Alexander or Eshkeshken, and the female ice goblin was nowhere to be seen, either.

But at bed time, Eshkeshken appeared in her doorway. “Put on your coat and boots,” he said in a low voice. “Hat, too. Gloves.” He handed her a pair of lambskin gloves.

She blinked at him. “To sleep? I’ll bake like a loaf of bread in an oven.”

His gray eyes flickered, and he said, “You gave me bread as a kindness. Take this as a kindness from me.”

She licked her lips and finally nodded.

He added softly, “In the morning, the year and day of nights will be done. You must be ready.” He nodded to her and slipped out of the room in his usual silence.

Bundled up in thick layers, she struggled to get beneath the covers, and sleep did not come.

Her nighttime visitor crept in with his usual care. He slipped beneath the covers, staying far from her, and soon his breathing grew slow and even as he fell into sleep.

Gytha grew drowsy, despite the oppressive heat of her many layers. At last, she began to fall into dreams.