Molly, dressed for bed, sat at the window, her chin in her hands. It was snowing in Alba. Watching the flakes covering the torch lit courtyard below made her horribly homesick. She remembered the day she'd first seen Brother Vaal. She’d been so excited, looking forward to something new happening in her life. That was when her entire life changed. She just hadn’t realized it at the time. Now, thinking back on it, she wished she’d never prayed to the Mother for change. It was as Grandfather said. Change is seldom all good.

She, swiped away betraying tears with the back of her hand. She so badly wanted to hug her grandfather. The one she knew. This one was still a puzzle. She wanted to ride to the Last Lantern and see her friends there. She wanted to see Rupert scowling at her, to ride the bannister down the stairs, to ride out on a clear bright morning on Tansy.

As she thought about riding her thoughts strayed to Phillip. Why had he thrown over everything to come after her with Vaal? She’d been horrid to him at Rosslyn. Yet he’d come to find her, to try to take her to safety.

And now.. Was he safe? He’d been gone nearly a week now, riding southward toward home. She’d had no word, at least no word either Octavian or Vaal had shared with her. Would they even tell her if something horrible had happened to him?

No, she refused to believe Phillip was hurt or worse. She squinted her eyes and tried to imagine him riding along the King’s Road, looking all grown up and fierce. He’d look dangerous and so people would leave him alone and not hurt him.

Her thoughts drifted off to her father then. Bryce. She knew him even less than her grandfather, this King Octavian. She wondered what he thought. About her, about, well, everything! What did he think about her agreeing to come here, if he even knew! Would he think she was being held against her will? She wasn't. It was just that she hadn't known what else to do. At the time she was asked about it, her staying with Octavian had seemed the most sensible thing to do.

Why hadn't her father come to visit her? Why hadn’t he at least sent word through Vaal? She was certain Vaal would keep whatever her father or she wanted secret from Octavian. Well, wouldn't he? And just what did Octavian think of her father? She’d tried to ask a couple of times, but it was hard to get a king alone to speak of things in private. She sighed.

She shifted and her muscles protested. Master Mullen had indeed agreed to come to stay at the palace and tutor her. He’d been drilling her on the practice field, teaching her how to use her sword, how to use her body to enhance its effectiveness and a little about the strategy of a swordfight. It was pretty daunting, really, there was so much to learn. And she felt, somehow, that there wasn't enough time to learn it all.

Still, she felt more competent now, even when she wasn't holding her sword. More confident, maybe. Master Mullen had mentioned something of that, that knowing you could handle yourself in a dangerous situation, knowing you could fight, even if you chose not to, tended to affect you in normal circumstances too. She was beginning to believe it.

When she wasn't fencing, her tutor was drilling the history of the North into her head, and ranting at her when she told him what folks who lived south of the White Fang Mountains believed of the North. She, in turn, huffed at some of the things he told her about the South that she knew absolutely weren’t true! It was maddening!

And then there were the gowns. Ugly fancy frilly gowns, the ones Grandfather Octavian had promised her she wouldn't have to wear. Well, guess what? That promise had proven hollow. She tried to rebel against her governess and maid, refusing to wear them, but it had been to no avail. Well, at least she could wear pants and practical clothing all day, at least until dinner. The tutor made faces at her and the governess huffed but she wore leathers every chance she could.

She yawned, blinked then stared at the snow as it piled up in corners and on window ledges in the courtyard and wondered yet again, just where Phillip was now. Had he reached the border yet? Where was her father? She’d hardly had a chance to say a word to this father she'd thought dead all her life, and he was gone from her life again. It seemed as if everyone she cared about left her. Well, all except Grandfather. She’d been taken from him, he’d never left her. Tears, hot and embarrassing, stung her cheeks as she thought about Rosslyn.

Something, something she couldn’t name, suddenly made her hold her breath. She froze. A barely heard noise behind her made her jump and she whirled her head toward the door, expecting it to be her maid. Instead it was... Big trouble!

He, despite being all wrapped up in dark clothes with a cloak over himself, she was pretty certain it was a man. He slipped through a narrow crack between the door and the frame. He was crouched low and Molly caught a glint of brightness and knew he had a knife in his hand. At first he was just a puddle of blackness, hard to make any sense of. Then he moved and a bit of light struck him. He wore a scarf over most of his face, his clothing all darkness.

His eyes met Molly’s then he tore them away and glanced quickly around the room to determine if Molly was alone. She was.

Her heart was beating so loudly she couldn’t hear. She felt faint. Terrified. Her body tensed.

Whilst he paused in his advance toward her to see if there were others in the room who might intervene, Molly gathered herself and suddenly launched herself toward where her sword lay. She'd been honing it and it was out of its scabbard. Her hand clenched its reassuring substance. She felt better immediately as she felt the familiar weight in her hand. Being armed didn't stop her from shaking though. She was an amateur. She knew next to nothing about real fighting. Her heart pounded in her ears, she could barely put one thought in front of another. It was her body not her mind that brought her sword up. She crouched into a defensive posture.

She needed to get to the bell pull, she thought, but the assassin, if that’s what he was, was between her and it already. He’d made a mistake though, Molly thought. He’d left the door to the hallway open, so she had some wild hope of calling for assistance. She opened her mouth to shout for help.

“Don’t bother,” he hissed before she could let loose a scream. “Octavian is dead, as is most everyone else in the palace.”