Chapter 8: The First Snowfall Gathering

The first horn echoed through Frostmane before I had finished my morning tea.

It wasn't urgent. Instead, the horn echoed across the mountains with a slow, steady rhythm that seemed to wake the entire fortress. A moment later, laughter drifted through the open window, followed by cheerful voices from the courtyard below.

I set my cup aside. "That doesn't sound like a military signal."

Agnes finished fastening the clasp of my cloak before answering.

"It isn't. Today is the First Snowfall Gathering."

The words had barely left her mouth when the door opened. Nella hurried inside, breathing a little harder than usual.

"I promise I knocked."

"You did," Agnes replied. "After opening the door."

"I was excited."

"So I gathered."

I smiled despite myself. Nella caught it immediately.

"You're smiling. That's a good sign."

"I wasn't aware you were keeping score."

"I am now."

Agnes picked up the pair of gloves resting on the table and handed them to me.

"You'll need these."

As we stepped into the corridor, the manor felt different from every morning before. Servants still carried trays and baskets through the halls, but there was an ease to their movements. They greeted one another as they passed, exchanging warm wishes instead of hurried nods.

By the time we reached the front entrance, I understood why. 

The square beyond the manor was alive.

Families from nearby villages filled the streets, bundled in heavy winter cloaks. Children darted through the snow while merchants arranged trays of pastries and steaming cups of berry tea. Evergreen garlands hung from windows, and paper lanterns swayed gently beneath the wooden eaves.

Only a few days ago, Frostmane had seemed carved entirely from stone and ice. Today, it felt wonderfully human.

"Everyone comes home if they can," Nella said as we joined the crowd. "Some travel for days just to be here."

"For one festival?" 

She nodded.

"Winter can keep families apart for months. This is the last gathering before the mountain passes become too dangerous."

I looked around again.

An elderly couple embraced their son near the fountain while two young warriors laughed over a game I didn't quite understand. A little girl proudly carried a basket almost as large as she was, refusing every offer of help.

Perhaps this was why people spoke of Frostmane with such loyalty.

It wasn't only their home. It was where they always returned.

A small snowball rolled to a stop against my boot.

"Oh."

A boy no older than seven froze where he stood.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace."

His friends watched from several steps away, looking equally horrified. I bent to pick up the snowball.

"Were you aiming for me?"

His eyes widened.

"No."

"That's fortunate." I tossed it gently back into his hands.

"Because I would have expected better aim."

For a heartbeat, he simply stared. Then he laughed.

"I wasn't aiming at you. I was aiming at him."

He pointed accusingly toward another boy, who immediately protested his innocence.

Their argument dissolved into laughter as they hurried back to their game. 

Nella smiled to herself.

"I don't think they'll forget that."

"I hope they'll forget almost running me over."

"They won't."

We continued through the square until a row of painted lanterns caught my attention.

An elderly woman was arranging them with patient care, straightening ribbons that had shifted in the breeze. Each lantern was different. Some carried silver wolves, while others were painted with snowflakes, winter flowers, or pale moons against deep blue skies.

When she noticed me, her weathered face softened.

"Our Duchess."

I inclined my head politely. 

"Good morning."

She selected one lantern before placing it carefully into my hands.

Its paper was painted with white blossoms curling around a silver crescent moon.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"It will be even more beautiful tonight."

I traced the smooth wooden frame.

"I've never taken part in this tradition."

"Then you'll remember your first lantern."

I looked up.

"What does it represent?"

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Hope."

The answer was so simple that I found myself waiting for more.

Instead, she adjusted the ribbon hanging from the lantern.

"When the Duke and Duchess release the first lantern, everyone else follows. Whatever hopes we carry into winter, we send them together."

"And if someone doesn't know what to hope for?"

Her hands became still.

"Then they borrow hope from the people beside them until they find their own."

For a moment, the sounds of the festival faded into the background. I wasn't sure what I hoped for anymore.

Safety, perhaps. A place where I no longer felt like a stranger. Maybe those two wishes weren't so different after all.

"Mrs. Elowen gives the best lanterns," Nella whispered as we stepped away.

"Does she choose them herself?"

"Every single one."

Before I could ask another question, the conversations around us gradually softened.

People turned toward the broad staircase leading to the manor, smiles lingering as they made room without being asked.

Nella looked up expectantly.

"The Duke is coming.”

The great doors opened, and the square grew quiet without anyone asking for silence.

Evren descended the steps at an unhurried pace, acknowledging the people who greeted him along the way. An elderly woman caught his sleeve long enough to complain that the younger hunters no longer listened to advice. He listened without interruption, promised to speak with the captain, and wished her a pleasant festival before moving on.

It lasted less than a minute. Still, she walked away looking satisfied. Only then did he notice me.

"I hope the morning has treated you well."

"It has."

I lifted the lantern slightly.

"I've been told this one carries hope."

His gaze rested on the painted blossoms.

"Mrs. Elowen chose it."

"So I've heard."

"She rarely chooses carelessly."

"I'll take that as reassurance."

A faint smile touched his expression before a small figure hurried toward us.

The boy from earlier stopped in front of Evren, breathing hard.

"Your Grace, my brother still says my snow wolf looks like a sheep."

Evren looked toward the uneven sculpture with remarkable concentration.

"I disagree."

The boy's face brightened.

"It has the right ears."

"I knew it."

He raced away before his brother could object, leaving a trail of laughter behind him. 

I glanced at Evren.

"You settled a very serious matter."

"I thought so."

There was no trace of humor in his voice, which somehow made the exchange even funnier.

Before I could reply, movement near the edge of the square caught my attention. A familiar carriage had entered through the gates.

My smile faded.

Lucan stepped down first, immaculate as always despite the long journey. Snow clung to the shoulders of his dark cloak, but it did nothing to soften the calculating calm in his eyes. He approached with effortless grace.

"Sister."

"It has been a while."

"Only a few days."

"It feels longer."

His smile remained perfectly pleasant.

"I'm relieved to see you're settling in."

"I've been welcomed with more kindness than I expected."

His eyes lingered on the lantern in my hands before returning to my face. When he spoke again, his voice was low enough that only I could hear.

"Father expects your first report soon."

"I have nothing to report."

"Then you haven't been paying attention."

"I've been learning my new home."

For the first time, his smile faltered.

"Don't forget your old one."

"I haven't."

That was precisely why the words no longer carried the weight they once had.

Someone called Lucan's name from across the square. He stepped back, his polished smile returning as quickly as it had disappeared.

"We'll speak again."

"I'm sure we will."

He inclined his head to Evren before disappearing into the crowd. The warmth of the festival seemed to dim for only a moment.

Then another horn sounded. This time it was answered by cheers.

As dusk settled over Frostmane, the square filled with a gentle golden glow. One by one, lanterns were lit until they shimmered like scattered stars waiting to rise.

Evren turned toward me.

"Shall we?"

I nodded.

Together we released the first lantern. It drifted upward, carried by the cold mountain air, and hundreds of others followed. The night sky slowly filled with floating lights, each one rising a little higher until the darkness itself seemed to glow.

For a while, nobody spoke. The entire fortress simply watched.

"It's beautiful," I whispered.

"It reminds us that winter isn't faced alone."

I looked at him. He wasn't watching the lanterns anymore. He was watching his people.

Then a sharp horn split the night. Not warm. Not welcoming. A warning.

Every warrior in the square turned toward the eastern mountains.

The music stopped.

A rider burst through the gates, his horse flecked with snow and foam.

He barely waited for the guards to reach him before looking at Evren.

"Your Grace," he called, struggling to catch his breath. "The Seventh Watchtower has fallen.”