“You do not know how lucky you are that I love you as much as I loved your father, Morgan.” The queen’s words were carefully measured, colder than the fluttering snow, “or I would slap your face for that. You speak of things you know nothing about. No, look at me.”

Morgan had not expected his flailing to result in an actual wound and did not want to look at her. He was much more interested in his snow-flecked boots.

“By Saint Rhiappa and the Holy Mother, boy, I said look at me and I meant it.”

Morgan raised his eyes and wished he hadn’t. The shocked anger on the queen’s face had become something more daunting, an expression that was no expression at all, like the parade figure of a warrior-saint. He was not sure he’d ever seen her so unhappy with him, and his stomach churned. “Very well,” he said with what he knew was poor grace, “I’m sorry. The duke was your friend—I know, I know. He was a great man. I’m sorry and I’m a fool and I take it all back.”

“You take it all back?” The queen leaned forward and dropped her voice. “Listen to me well, child. Unless you manage to kill yourself with some stupid prank and break our hearts, you will be a king someday. You must learn to think not only before you act, but also before you speak. Among your family and our courtiers and servants, you might only hurt feelings, but with others you might begin a war—yes, a war—just by talking stupidly about people and situations you don’t understand.” She took a deep breath. “But I do not have the time to correct all your ignorance now. I am going inside. You have been invited to join us—which, I may remind you, is what is expected of a prince your age, and is not some irksome chore—but you may do as you please.” She turned as if to go, but stopped in the doorway. “This is not the end. If you cannot manage to consider your words first, then I advise that you learn to speak less, young Prince Morgan. Much less.”

Morgan knew he should follow her, but the unhappiness inside him wanted cold and suffering and solitude, so he lingered in the colonnade after she’d gone. Despite the quiet, he heard nothing until he felt the touch on his arm. “Holy Ransomer!” he cried, startled, but when he turned he saw, not a creeping Norn, but a figure like a fat child in a hooded jacket. “Snenneq, you startled me!”

“It is true,” said the troll, grinning, “that I am silent like the u’ituko beast, who can cross snow without breaking even the crust.”

Qina came up behind her betrothed. “Yes, silent,” she said with a nod and a fond smile. “Klomp, klomp! Crunch, crunch! Oh, no, rabbit run away!”

“She teases only, friend Morgan,” Snenneq assured him. “She knows that I have many gifts, but she likes to take fun of me. Women are not always having enough seriousness, do you agree?”

“Doubtless. Where have you two been?” Despite his irritation at the trouble that had come to him from the trolls’ ice-sliding expedition, he was grateful for the company, or at least the distraction. It was quickly becoming clear that standing outside in the cold had not been one of his better ideas. “I looked for you earlier.”

“The kitchen,” said Snenneq promptly. “It was very instructing and full of nice smelling. The kitchen woman-lady has a name of great power and longness—she said it is, ‘Erna But May God Save Me If They Ever Call Me Anything But Where’s My Supper.’ We were being much impressed. Nobody in Yiqanuc has such a mouth full of name!”

“And I eat a dimple!” said Qina proudly.

“Dimple?”

“Dumple,” explained Snenneq. “From the stew Erna Long-Name was at making.”

“Ah,” said Morgan. “Dumpling.”

“I so much liked it,” Qina said, her eyes a little dreamy. “Most fluffly.”

Little Snenneq seemed concerned the conversation had wandered too far afield from his original purpose, so he gave his betrothed a meaningful look, then tried a new and more dignified tack. “Now, friend and prince Morgan, we have come in truth for asking, will you join out to the water with us? A trip to the lake?”

“No! In the name of all the saints, why would I?” Morgan wrapped his arms around himself and grimaced. “I still hurt all over from last time! And I was nearly sent home by my grandparents for sneaking out with you. Why would you want to go out on another lake, anyway? It’s freezing cold!”

“To fish!” Little Snenneq said. “It is good the lake is freezing, so we can go out among the ice. We are cutting a hole in it, then we are lowering into it the string for the fish to take. With the . . . the . . .” He turned to Qina and made a shape with his finger.

“Hawk,” she suggested.

“Hook?” tried Morgan.

Snenneq turned to the prince in delight. “That is being it! Yes! A hook on the string and the fish are coming. Hungry fish, down at the cold bottom. We will catch many!”

“I can’t. I’m still in bad grace with my grandparents for going out to the lake in Elvritshalla.”

Little Snenneq shook his head. “For my part, I am sorry. My father-in-law and mother-in-law, as they will one day be, were also upset with me. ‘Snenneq,’ they said, ‘you are having no right for leading the prince into danger.’ But we can go and find your guards or your swordsman friends to accompany our lake expedition.”

Morgan didn’t like that idea, either. Was he a child like his sister, in constant need of being watched? “Huh. If the old people had their way, we’d sit all day at their feet, waiting to be spoken to.” He contemplated his wearisome lot in life. “Do you have any of that kangkang with you?”

Little Snenneq did indeed happen to be carrying a skin full of the tart, chest-warming beverage. Morgan accepted a long draught. “I don’t need any guards,” he said as he handed it back, “but my grandmother wants me to join her and the rest of them in the hall—the nobles and all. They’re talking about the Norns and if there will be a war.” In truth, he was still strongly considering avoiding the council meeting. He felt sure Astrian and Olveris would have found somewhere warm by now, a place to drink and tell lies without interference from Morgan’s royal obligations.

“Ah,” said Snenneq, impressed. “Then that is being something important and you must, of course, give them your counsel. You are having a good fortune, Prince Morgan!” And Qina nodded, agreeing.

“Good fortune?”

“That they are at recognizing your wisdom even with your young age. I have all my life been studying and practicing for importance in my tribe, but had scorning for my reward. It was only Qina’s father, the so-wise Binbinaqegabenik, who was recognizing my cleverness. All the rest of the older Qanuc were thinking me foolish—even a bragger.” He frowned, then thumped his chest with his fist. “It was harming to even a heart of great bravery like Little Snenneq’s. But see, your people are more wisely thinking of you, Morgan Prince. They seek your counseling. They know your worthfulness!”

Morgan doubted that his grandparents and the rest truly did know his worthfulness—he wasn’t exactly certain of it himself—but as he considered Snenneq’s words he had to admit that he would also have been angry if the king and queen had not asked him to join them. Would they ask him again if he stayed away this time? They would surely call it ‘sulking,’ a word he loathed from the depths of his being. No, the more he thought about it, the more Morgan realized that it was the only sensible strategy. He would show up, and when they ignored him as they always did, his grandmother would have to admit he had been right.

“In any case, I suppose I had better be off,” he said. “Good luck with your fishing. Don’t fall in.” It had been meant as a jest, but Morgan felt a pang of regret when he realized how sorry he would feel if anything bad happened to either of them, and he quickly made the sign of the Tree.

But Snenneq seemed immune to such superstitious doubts. “Oh ho! I will be giving it my closest attention. It is the fish who will be coming out, Morgan Prince, not Little Snenneq who will be falling in!”