Rhea did not look back as the door to Calista's chamber closed behind her.
She walked steadily down the long corridor, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floors.
The torches lining the walls burned low, their pale flames flickering uneasily as though even fire hesitated to assert itself in Frostmere's cold embrace.
Only when she was several paces away did she allow herself to breathe.
Slowly. Deeply.
Her fingers curled at her sides, nails biting faintly into her palms as fragments of the confrontation replayed in her mind—Calista's burning eyes, her brittle laughter, the way flames had kissed the air when her temper slipped its leash.
"She is mad, and mad people offen tend to be dangerous," Rhea murmured to herself.
The corridor opened into a wide passageway, and to her left lay an open patio framed by carved icewood pillars. Snow drifted in quiet spirals beyond it, the night sky heavy with clouds that promised more to come.
Rhea stopped.
