Simon did not want to think too much about his errant grandson. “Are you happy with him as a match for your daughter? Snenneq, I mean.”

Binabik laughed. The familiar sound warmed Simon, made it seem for a moment as if time really could be cheated. “It would be making no difference at all if I did, I am thinking. Qanuc women are making their own minds up about the partners they are wanting, as Sisqi did when she was choosing me over her parents’ wishes.” The expression the little man wore as he looked to his wife made Simon’s chest ache a little. Did he and Miriamele still gaze at each other that way? He hoped so. “But, as it happens,” Binabik continued, “I am also liking Snenneq. True it is that he is having too much pride, as the talented young often are having—‘a man who only wants to step on unbroken snow,’ as we say on Mintahoq. Yes, sometimes Young Snenneq is being a bit of a braided ram.”

In the moment of silence, Tiamak’s voice rose above the others. “No, no, Eolair speaks the truth. I am a married man now.”

“By our good lord, I wish you well of it!” said Sludig. “What is the woman’s name, so I may pray for her poor soul?”

For a moment Tiamak seemed to bridle, then he heard the laughter of the others and realized Sludig was jesting. It was hard to tell with the Rimmersman sometimes. In his younger years Sludig Two-Axes had been a serious, often sour-faced man, but age—or perhaps Lady Alva—seemed to have mellowed him. “You are a wicked man, Jarl Mischief,” Tiamak said, wagging his finger, “but I will tell you anyway. Her name is Thelía.”

“Is she Nabbanai?”

“That is where she was born, yes. I met her in Kwanitupul. She had been a nun.”

“A nun?” Sludig looked around in mock astonishment. “So this little fellow stole one of the Aedon’s brides right out of a nunnery? No wonder Isgrimnur thought him a fit partner for clambering through ghant-nests!”

“You mock too much,” Count Eolair said gently. “Lady Thelía was no longer under the convent roof when Tiamak met her. She was serving as a healer in the poorest parts of Kwanitupul, working with the Astaline Sisters. A very noble woman.”

“And all the nobler for marrying Tiamak, no doubt,” Sludig said. “At least she seems to have taught him to wear shoes! But the count is right—I make too many jests. Tiamak, I am truly happy for you. A good marriage can redeem even the wickedest fellow, and you were already one of the best of men.”

Tiamak smiled. “I could not agree to that, my good jarl, but I can agree that both you and I have been lucky in our mates.”

“Hear, hear!” said Simon, lifting his cup. “A toast to all married men! And a cheer for the best of women, their wives!”

“Methinks the king has had too much to drink,” the queen said; and yet, she was glowing.

Elvritshalla Castle had fallen out of sight, blocked by the imposing, nearer shape of the cathedral, as the prince and the two trolls made their way by diffident moonlight down to the lake that lay at the heart of the city. The snow had stopped falling but the north wind still cut like a knife. “I think it’s time for a little more of that kangkang,” said Morgan. “One swallow is not enough to ward off this chill.”

“No, with sorrow, Morgan Prince,” said Little Snenneq. “Afterward, I was saying, and afterward it must be. Not only is there some risk, but you also will need a clear head to appreciate the cleverness of my device.”

A day spent with the trolls in the castle was one thing—Morgan had quite enjoyed drinking fiery kangkang and trying to puzzle out Snenneq’s and Qina’s strangely amusing speech. Wanting more, he had even declined the chance to accompany Astrian and the rest down to the Kopstade tonight. But following Little Snenneq through bitter cold wind to the arse-end of Elvritshalla was another matter, and Morgan was already regretting his choice.

This end of the city was mostly dark, with only an occasional lantern to paint the angles of the streets and buildings, and a few fires burning in the small, high-roofed houses. Morgan, who had spent most of his time in Elvritshalla evading the guards his grandparents arranged for him, suddenly began to wonder what might happen if he and the trolls were set upon by robbers in this dismal section of the city. Was that why Little Snenneq wouldn’t give him any more of the reviving liquor? Because the troll expected a knife fight with angry Rimmersmen? The Northmen certainly didn’t like Little Snenneq or his kind very much.

Morgan didn’t have the chance to ask, because Snenneq put out his arm and waved the prince to stop. “No farther. Not yet. Soon there is an icy downslipping. I have been here already, because I am a great one for learning and preparing. Is that not so, Qina?”

His betrothed, who had been following them as quietly as a shadow, nodded her head vigorously. “Preparings, yes,” she said. “And there are learns, too. Many of them my nukapik is having. Oh and most yes.” Morgan thought he could see her smile.

“Because that is how it must be. I will be Singing Man of all Mintahoq one day. Learning is my duty. Wisdom is my destiny!” He turned to Morgan. “You see, not only princes are having these destinies.”

Morgan could only shake his head in confusion. “Why did we stop? Is it time to go back?”

“Ah. Not for going back, but so I can be showing you my cleverness.” Little Snenneq shrugged off his pack and rummaged in it, then began to pull things out that made jingling noises as he piled them on a stone. “Put these on,” he said, and tossed a clinking something onto the snowy ground beside the prince.

“What are they?” Morgan lifted one and it poked painfully into his finger. The object looked like nothing so much as an iron horseshoe, but longer, and the bottom and sides were covered with sharp spikes almost the size of house nails, each as long as the first joint of his finger. Long rawhide straps dangled from the spiked irons like some foppish decoration.

“Climbing spikes they are, of course.” Snenneq was strapping on a pair of his own, deftly weaving the straps up from his feet, through various tie-rings, then to his ankles like the ribbons twined around a Maia-tree. “We use them most time only for traveling in the highest of mountains, but it is icy where we go next. Also, they will be part of my surprise.”

Morgan stared helplessly. He could not for the life of him make sense of how the things were supposed to be used and he wasn’t certain he wanted to use them anyway. Qina saw his dismay and came to help, showing him how the flat parts pushed against the soles of his boots, and how the straps should be wound around his feet and ankles, then tied above his calves. It took several tries before Morgan could figure out how to climb to his feet while wearing the odd things without tripping or gouging himself, since spikes protruded not just from the bottom but the sides as well.

“Ha!” said Snenneq. “You are looking like a tall troll for certain, Morgan Prince. Are you now ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“Good. Follow, then, and I will show you.” And just like that, Little Snenneq slid between two piles of rubbish that had once been dwellings, but had long since tumbled down and been cannibalized for their useful bits by the locals.

“It is not a fall to death,” said Qina reassuringly. “You go, Prince friend. Lowlander can climb down here without frightened.”

As she promised, what lay beyond the edge of the city here was not a steep cliff, but rather a descending slope of mostly flat stone, cracked and heaved up in places. Beyond it lay a great misty openness whose details Morgan could not quite make out, flat and white as a fallow field covered with snow.

“What . . . ?” he asked, then felt his foot begin to go out from under him. The sheets of rock on which he stood were covered in ice. He did not fall completely over, but saved himself only at the expense of a crack to his knee and scraped palms.