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Nothing in all her travels had prepared Azem for the absolute chill of winter in Amaurot. The air that swept over the city from the river Anyder often bore snow or freezing rain, and while ages-old magics kept the streets clear and the buildings heated, every moment spent outside was cold and sodden misery. She wasn’t sure if her robes would ever be properly dry again.
Last year, she’d had the good fortune to time her travels so that she was gone for all but the first days of winter, when the falling snow had still held a measure of excitement, rather than monotonous dread. This year, though, the endless business of the Convocation’s recent debates had kept her in the city. She might have rebelled against Lahabrea’s insistence on concluding half a dozen pending matters now, rather than letting them wait for spring, had she not seen just how miserable he, too was. Fire had always been his element, she remembered. The frost must be even more anathema to him than it was to her.
Not that his suffering lessened her own. She’d spent the last several days hiding in her apartment, lighting every lamp she owned and burning through fire crystals far faster than she ever had before. Today, however, looming deadlines and a full docket of meetings meant that she had to make her way to her office at the Capitol. It would be an unusual day, to say the least. Her duties as Azem were far more concerned with the peoples beyond Amaurot than the city’s citizens. Yet today, she had seven meetings—seven!—scheduled, filling up the entirety of her post-lunch workday.
She dressed in her warmest layers, for the walk to the Capitol was certain to be cold. Over her underthings she wore a high-necked tunic and heavy woolen leggings, then the long skirts of her winter podea. Her winter-weight robes were thick, and only the virtue of clever enchantments kept them from weighing on her uncomfortably. At her door, she laced her knee-high boots tight, donned her mask, and pulled her hood up to cover her head. Though she usually found it a bit stifling, today she was glad of how well it shielded her face from the endlessly falling snow.
The streets were as quiet as she had ever seen them, rendered still and silent by the frost. As she hurried toward the Capitol, she passed only a few small groups of two or three, their members in high spirits and grinning at one another as if the world wasn’t frozen over.
She reached the building only to find that it, too, was unusually sedate. The entrance desk was staffed only by Ceto, who greeted her with their usual taciturn nod. She encountered no one else on her way to the elevators, nor in the brief hallway that led to her offices. A quick check of her chronometer confirmed that she was not inordinately later than usual, yet somehow she had missed the usual bustle of morning at the Capitol.
Once through the grand doors of her inner offices, though, all was well. Eulimene sat behind her desk, a steaming cup of tea resting between her and the stacks of reports and requests and mission briefs that eternally covered every surface of her workspace.
“Good morning, Azem,” Eulimene greeted. “Was the walk over alright?” Eulimene seemed to know the answer already, for she was pouring a second cup.
“Thank you,” she answered, shedding her too-thin gloves and curling her fingers around the mug. The warmth sank through her skin, and she wished that she could cradle it against her chest, that it might radiate throughout her entire body. “I’m still not used to the cold.” They both knew what an understatement that was.
The brightness of Eulimene’s smile caught her off guard. Something in her expression must have given away her surprise, for Eulimene quickly schooled her features into her usual gentle composure. “I am certain you’ll find a way to acclimate soon,” Eulimene said. “Now, I’ve left a summary of the latest field reports on your desk. There are a few that you may want to look at more closely. I’ve marked them in the summary and included copies of the full reports. Should you need copies of any of the others, just ask, though it may take a few days, as the scribes are all off for—ah, I mean, your personal scribe is on leave. The others, I’m quite sure, are up to their elbows in ink, what with all the work Lahabrea has given them of late. But you can always come read the original reports here at my desk before I send them off to the archives.”
Azem studied her assistant. They had not worked together long. Eulimene had been Venat’s assistant for the last three years of her tenure and had simply continued on in the role. Her seemingly effortless competence and steady presence had made the transition as smooth as it could be, for which the new Azem was endlessly grateful. Someone had to organize all the documents produced by the dozens of outposts and adventurers who reported to the Seat of the Traveler, and Eulimene made the work seem easy, as if she didn’t sort and prioritize and archive her body weight in paper each day.
But she had never seen her assistant quite this…giddy? Enthusiastic? For even though she could tell that Eulimene sought to control the outward presentation of her emotions, there was a bound-up energy in every motion, bright and expectant.
“Is everything alright?” she asked, trying not to let her own uncertainty show.
“Ah, of course! Just busy, busy these days. Now, I’ve got reports from the north just in. If you think the weather is bad here…”
Wrapping herself more tightly around her teacup, she crept backwards toward her office. “I’ll leave you to your work, then,” she offered, then shut the door in her wake, as if that could keep the cold firmly on the other side. She only hoped there would be no situation so dire as to need her personal attention, at least not until the spring thaws.
For now, though, her office was warm enough, and the snow that fell outside her window was lovely if she didn’t have to be outside in it. She spent the morning reading through the reports Eulimene had left for her, sipping her tea and enjoying the quiet while it lasted.
Sometime later, a soft knock sounded at her door. Azem glanced at the wall chronometer; it was just after midday, when she would normally stop her work for lunch.
“Come in,” she called, hurrying to finish signing off on the reports in front of her. Had she read her schedule incorrectly? Had Eulimene shuffled her meetings around, and notifications of the changes gotten lost in the never-ending bustle of the Capitol?
The door across the room whispered open to admit a robed and hooded figure. She did not need to see the face of her visitor to recognize the way he moved, lithe and elegant, as if every step were part of a familiar dance, despite the fact that he was carrying a large sack of azure velvet over one shoulder. “Hythlodaeus!” she greeted, all of her trepidation giving way to glee. If there was one thing she didn’t mind about being forced to spend the entire winter in Amaurot, it was the company. Especially the man now shaking his lavender hair free before her.
Any chill left in the room vanished as he sank into the seat across from her. “You seem ready for a break. I thought we might have lunch from Latreía.”
“That would be lovely.” Already, she was dreaming of the hot soups and warm, crusty bread they served. Surely such a meal would drive away any lingering cold from the walk over there. “Though,” she added, already regretting her words, “I do have to warn you: I have meeting after meeting starting next bell.”
His slow smile spread to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “No, you don’t,” he insisted.
“Would you like to see my schedule?”
“Would you like to know just how easy it is to bribe Eulimene into colluding with me to give you some much-needed respite from your duties? Still, should you need proof, I do believe I can provide the names and complaints of every one of your petitioners for this afternoon.” When she gaped at him, rendered mute by the sudden shift in her schedule, he continued, “I have quite the day planned for us. It is the winter solstice, after all.”
His words explained so much: why her walk to the Capitol had been so lonely, why the building had been so quiet, why she had been unable to reach any of her colleagues or their staff. Still, she couldn’t let him know just how fully he had disoriented her; it would spoil the fun. “Right. I had forgotten…”
“Did you, now?” Hythlodaeus’s smile was all too certain as he rose and joined her behind the desk. “I seem to remember you failing to celebrate last year, seeing as you were on the road. Just as you were the year before that…and the year before that. I would say you’d been avoiding spending the solstice as it is meant to be celebrated.”
“I never…where I grew up…”
He was relentless in his pursuit. “But isn’t it the role of Azem to understand the cultures of all the peoples of the star? Consider me your humble guide to celebrating the winter solstice as Amaurotines do.” He stretched out a hand, grinning his infectious, lopsided grin. Unable to keep from answering his smile, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet.
“Very well. I shall play the eager student.” She paused, uncertain whether to broach the next question, uncertain what she hoped the answer would be. “And will Hades be joining us on this grand adventure of yours?”
“No,” Hythlodaeus answered. “I suspect he would sleep through the winter if he could. As it is, he only leaves the apartment when circumstances are sufficiently dire, or he is sufficiently bribed. I did not even ask.”
Just the two of them, then. The thought should not have left her feeling as giddy as it did. Perhaps a change of topic was needed. “Well, then. How are we to start?”
“You will need these,” Hythlodaeus said, reaching into the bag and producing a pair of dark, fur-lined gloves. Azem took them as he continued to rummage and slipped her hands inside. They were the softest thing she had ever felt, she thought, and so warm that her fingers felt pliant for the first time in days. “And this,” he continued, pulling forth a thick cloak of the finest wool. Though the outer layer was black, as was appropriate for wearing in the streets of Amaurot, the lining was the brilliant orange-gold of a winter sunset.
“I didn’t get you anything,” she began, hesitant. In her homeland far to the south, the winter solstice was a meteorological event, not a holiday, and she had been so caught up in her work with the Convocation that she had wholly missed the festive atmosphere that had slowly been taking over the city.
He held out the cloak for her and curled it around her shoulders before fastening the clasps that would hold it snug and warm across the front. Carefully, he smoothed her hair back from her face and drew the hood over her head. “Your presence is all the present I could ask for. This year, at least,” he finished with a wink. And just like that, she was utterly charmed, as she always was in his presence.
“I’ll have to see what I can do, then, for next year.” Between the gloves and the cloak and Hythlodaeus’s radiant smile, she was warm as could be. “Now, you mentioned lunch?”
“That I did.” They both donned their masks and adjusted their hoods, but for once the anonymity seemed less like conformity and more like a secret shared. He hefted his bag once again, careful to keep her from peering within, and offered her his arm. “Though I do hope you aren’t terribly hungry just yet. We’ve got a bit of a journey ahead of us first.”
She shut the door to her office and waved the locking spell into place. Eulimene was nowhere to be found, and her desk was entirely clear for once. “I thought you mentioned lunch at Latreía?”
“From,” he corrected. “Not at.”
“Oh?” They passed through the outer doors, and once those, too, were locked, he laced his fingers through hers.
“Oh, indeed,” he answered. “Or, at least, that is the effect I am aiming for. Now come, we should hurry. I’m not certain how long the heating crystals will last, and I would hate for lunch to get cold.”
Their walk to the city’s border was not short, perhaps twice the distance from her apartment to the Capitol. But between Hythlodaeus’s gifts and the curl of his arm through hers and the general warmth of his presence, she found herself unbothered by the snow that drifted lazily around them. He talked as they made their way, telling story after story of the city he so loved. It was part of what she enjoyed most about spending time with him: he had a gift for allowing others to see the world through his eyes, with every detail and point of nuance preserved. She could spend hours listening to the melodic cadence of his voice, and here in the winter’s stillness, his words were a magic all their own.
He told her of winter solstices past. Here were the gardens where he and Hades and their schoolmates had held snowball fights as children. There was a confectioner’s shop known for their ability to craft lifelike simulacra of any creation filed with the Bureau of the Architect, using only mundane mixes of flour and butter and spun sugar. “The results are brilliant,” Hythlodaeus assured her, “if sometimes a little unsettling.” Around the corner was the theater where his parents had taken him and his sisters to watch performances of popular solstice hero tales when they were children. Even from a distance, she could hear the faint notes of an orchestra.
Eventually, they passed from the densely-packed city center to the broad avenues that ringed Amaurot. Waiting for them was a sleigh of pale wood, adorned in gold and azure draperies. Two horses were harnessed to the vehicle, and as she and Hythlodaeus approached, they turned to watch them with a calm, liquid gaze. They were majestic creatures, with powerful shoulders and haunches that belied the crystalline appearance of their hooves. Manes of glittering, cerulean velvet flowed over their backs, and each wore a single braid, woven with snowdrops and golden, silk ribbons.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathed, letting the nearer of the two snuffle into her hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the like.”
“I’d be surprised if you had.” Hythlodaeus shuffled things around in his bag, then pulled forth a pair of ruby-red apples. “Here, they deserve something special, too.” She took one of the apples and held it out to the horse she had been petting. It sniffed at the treat, then gobbled it up hungrily. “Their concept has only just been approved,” Hythlodaeus continued, “…though I may have had a hand in expediting the process somewhat. I wanted them to be ready for today.”
As he spoke, she studied the creatures more closely, noting the elegant arch of their necks and the quiet regard with which they watched her. Even so, they were affectionate beasts now that they had been properly enticed, in a way that was more than passingly familiar. “Did Hades have a hand in these?” she asked.
“Well-spotted! He did, indeed. After Grani, he seems to have taken a particular interest in equine concepts. When I asked if such a creature might be adapted to colder weather, he seemed to enjoy the challenge. I dare say his results are quite satisfactory.” Hythlodaeus gave his horse a final scratch behind the ear, then turned back to her. “Well, care to go for a ride?”
He helped her up into the sleigh, then swung himself up onto the seat beside her, then took up the reigns. At a softly hummed melody, the horses started into an easy walk, and the sleigh slowly slid along the icy road. Azem reached up and removed her mask, wanting to see the landscape without interference. Beside her, Hythlodaeus did the same. Under the pretense of watching the city slowly fade from view, she studied his face.
No matter how much time she spent in his presence, his loveliness still had the power to catch her unawares. Now was one such moment. His long lavender hair was loose beneath his hood, dancing along the sharp planes of his cheeks. A slight frown shaped his lips as he concentrated on the horses’ progress. It was a rare moment to see him quite so serious; if anything, it only heightened his impossible beauty.
She shivered, momentarily overcome by just how delightful the day had become, how lovely the city looked all blanketed in snow, how thoughtful Hythlodaeus’s gifts were and how perfect his company.
“Still cold?” he asked, and though his tone was teasing, there was genuine concern in his expression. Without waiting for her to reply, he set the reigns aside and reached beneath the seat to produce a heavy blanket. He settled the azure and gold fabric over both of them, tucking it snugly around her hips before drawing it up over their shoulders. It was just a bit too narrow, and Hythlodaeus shifted closer until she could feel his body against hers in an unbroken line from shoulder to ankle. He curled his arm tight against his chest, holding the blanket in place beneath his chin. Her arm, by contrast, was trapped between them, half-pinned beneath his leg.
“But what about—” she gestured uncertainly toward the slack reigns. She’d never driven teamed creatures before and wasn’t sure how much guidance they needed.
Hyth’s cheeks, already pink from the cold, flushed prettily. “They, ah, aren’t strictly needed. The horses know where to go.” He paused, and she felt his limbs tense. “Hades was afraid I might get lost, left to my own navigation. I don’t leave the city often. And…he feared I might be distracted.”
She felt the uncertainty in his lavender eyes in her frantically thrumming pulse. Months—years—now, they’d been dancing around this moment; she was always too quick to demure, he too likely to cover any possible awkwardness with endless words, and there were always, always distractions in their busy lives.
But not here. There was no one in this frost-bound world but them, nothing but the sleigh and the horses and the snow.
“And are you?” she asked, letting the hand pinned between them trail up the outside of his thigh to rest atop it. “Distracted, I mean?”
His tongue darted across his lips once, twice. Then, reaching to draw her closer, he breathed, “Very.”
The kiss was sweet and slow, the warmth of his lips a brilliant counterpoint to the cold.
He pulled away with a breathless laugh. “Stars, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”
“Maybe you should have lured me out of my office sooner,” she teased. “But…perhaps I could have stolen you away instead. I wasn’t quite sure you felt the same.”
His hand came to cover hers, holding her close. “Well. Now you know. But I promise I did not set all this up to seduce you. Or, not just to seduce you,” he added quickly, tripping over the words. “The winter solstice has always been my favorite celebration of the year. Since you’d mentioned it isn’t a holiday in your traditions, I wanted to share it with you.”
“Newly designed frost horses, a sleigh ride, beautiful gifts, and an entire afternoon with my favorite person? I do think I am coming to like this holiday quite a bit.” She squeezed her hand around his. “But, wait. How did you even know I would be in Amaurot? Did you convince Lahabrea—”
She had never seen his eyes so wide. “Creation, no! Though I am intensely flattered that you think me capable of such a feat. No, I had nothing to do with Lahabrea’s end-of-the-year demands, but I certainly took advantage of them.” More quietly, he added, “Your favorite?”
As answer, she kissed him again, just a quick brush of lips, but one that held so much promise.
“I could get used to this, I think,” he mused.
“Good.” Suddenly shy beneath the intensity of his gaze, she asked, “Tell me more about how the solstice is celebrated in Amaurot? I fear I have only the vaguest understanding. I think presents are exchanged?”
He turned slightly, using one hand to keep the blanket tucked around them, so that they were facing one another, one of his knees pressed between hers. “Yes, presents are traditionally exchanged between family members and close friends, though the exchange begins on the solstice amongst one’s most intimate circles and lasts for the next ten days. You might expect something from Hades or Venat this evening, but I suspect that anyone else will feel they should wait at least another day or two, out of formality.
“Though the core celebrations involve time spent with those we are closest to, that goes doubly so for the longest night of the year. Tonight, all of Amaurot will stay awake to see the sun rise. Precisely how one spends the night is open to a variety of possibilities—though storytelling contests and the preparation of foods or crafts for the new year to come are most traditional.” Beneath the blanket, he removed one of her gloves, entwining his own gloveless fingers with hers. His skin was delightfully warm, and she traced her thumb up along his wrist. The way he shuddered was immensely gratifying. “Hades and Venat will be joining us tonight for such festivities, if you are amenable?”
“It sounds perfect,”
“Then I will save all my best winter’s tales for this evening. For now, tell me how the solstice is observed in your homelands? Surely you mark the seasons much as we do, even if you do not celebrate their turning?”
Even now, it was so easy to slip into this familiar exchange, trading story for story, telling him of the grand summer festivals that had marked her childhood while he described his favorite memories of winters with his parents and sisters. The only difference was his hand in hers, the closeness that they no longer pretended to ignore, the faint charge of something yet to come.
The horses came to a stop some half an hour later, at the base of a tall tower. “It dates back to the founding of the Convocation,” Hythlodaeus explained. “Before the world was at peace. It was a watchtower then.”
“And now?”
He only smiled. “You’ll see.” Shouldering his bag, he slipped a key from his pocket and unlocked the broad stone door at its base. Inside, a winding set of stairs climbed endlessly upward, past floor after floor. Hythlodaeus caught her staring and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her attention to the other side of the entry chamber. At a wave of his hand, the doors of an aether lift swung open. “I would not subject you to such torment,” he assured her as the lift began to ascend. “Nor do I have any desire to climb a few hundred stairs.”
The lights of the lift played mischievously across his face, and she stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. Here, out of the cold, he did not have the excuse of being chilled to explain away his blush. Shyly, he tilted his head to catch her lips with his own.
All too soon, the doors of the lift opened. The space beyond seemed to be a sitting room of sorts, with gatherings of plush armchairs and broad couches scattered throughout the room. A harpsichord sat off to one side, and behind it one final set of stairs curled upward. A thin, grey light filtered down from above. Hythlodaeus started for the stairway. “Alas, we do have to do some climbing, though I promise it will be worth the effort.”
She followed him up to a breathtaking vista. The topmost floor of the tower was walled entirely in glass. Though the snowfall had grown heavier and the afternoon sunlight was already quickly giving way to night, she felt as if she could see half the world from where she stood: Amaurot nestled quietly in its valley, the Anyder winding down its center all the way to the sea.
“Do you like it?” Hythlodaeus wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her lightly against his chest as she slowly turned to take in the fullness of the view.
“It’s beautiful.” She had no other words for it. All around them, the snow fell in gentle, lazy drifts.
“Excellent. Because this is where we’re having lunch.” He turned her slightly, directing her attention to a table that she had wholly overlooked. It, too, was decorated in blue and gold, with a spray of snowdrops and winter greenery at the center. Along one side, three ceramic crocks sat atop a stone shelf lined with tiny fire crystals. Next to them, a basket of dark, crusty rolls stood between a platter of fruit and a tray of small cakes. “I hope you are hungry,” he added. “I may have wanted to try a bit of everything, and, well…”
It was far more food than two could eat. “I suspect we can take the rest back with us. I’ve never known Hades to pass up sweets, much though he may try to hide it.”
Hythlodaeus seemed relieved. “Shall I take your cloak?”
“Please.” He helped her out of the heavy garment, then draped all of their outerwear over one of the low benches that ringed the chamber. Even without it, she was perfectly warm.
They ate slowly, lingering over the food and spending far more time talking than they did eating. Slowly, the sun sank beneath the horizon and gentle amber lights built into the floor began to awaken. By the time they turned to the cakes, the last sliver of sunlight was just barely visible.
“Wait,” Hythlodaeus cautioned as she lifted her fork. “You’ll want to watch this.”
He hummed a few notes, and the lights in the floor faded away. Night fell.
And in the valley below, all of Amaurot began to glow.
The city’s golden lights were interspersed with brilliant globes of color that scintillated like polished jewels: amethyst and azurite, citrine and cinnabar and peridot. Every sweeping spire gleamed, and the lights danced across the Anyder, making the water shimmer.
“Oh,” was all she could say. She’d never had a way with words like Hythlodaeus. But this…this was beyond her ability to even begin to express. “It’s perfect. This is perfect.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Hythlodaeus watching her and added, “You are perfect.”
He only smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Happy solstice, dear heart.”