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“This isn’t funny,” Saga scolded. “They’ve scheduled it right at the start of Samhain. I was going to meet with Leigh and Reza and… I guess we’ll have to do it before sundown tomorrow. I’ll need to call.” Worry crept its way further and further into Saga’s voice. “They wouldn’t sunder me like my mother, would they? I haven’t even figured out how to properly use my magic. Surely there’s no justification they could find for that, is there?”

“No.” Avery had been quick to answer that one.

“How do you know?”

“Precedent, mostly, but…” The taller woman had taken Saga’s hands in her own. “I swear to you, I will not let any harm befall you.”

That was how Avery ended up in the car with her on the way to see the Council of Winter. True, the invitation had been addressed solely to Saga, but she also noted it had said nothing about coming alone or denying a plus-one for whatever occasion this might end up being.

When they arrived, they were met by an attendant who brought them directly to Gideon’s office in the magistrate’s chambers. Within stood all five members of the council, along with Esteri and Fáfnir.

It should have been reassuring that they were not within a courtroom itself, but Saga found her anxiety was not abated by the location. Fáfnir held a staff in his hand that reminded Saga that while spells did not function within the walls of the building, magical items did. It was a great deal taller than he was and made of a wood that had been worn down with use, polished from the hands that had held it. The top curled in on itself in a spiral loop like a shepherd’s crook designed to catch something far more tricky than sheep.

“What is this?” Avery asked, and Saga was comforted that her friend was bolder than she was but equally suspicious.

“A thank-you,” Esteri immediately replied.

There was a shared moment between her and Fiore, the dragon giving their partner’s shoulder a gentle squeeze of appreciation. Fiore elaborated, “You saved our lives, not a simple feat by any means, and at great personal risk to yourself. For that we are in your debt. And with Gideon’s input, we agreed on the best way to repay you.”

Fáfnir held up the staff in his hands. “This is the staff of Janus, an artifact infused with his magic to create doors through time and space.”

“I don’t understand.” A pang of injustice shot through Saga, and she fought back a feeling of defensiveness. Wasn’t time manipulation forbidden? “Isn’t this exactly what my mother was punished for attempting?”

Gideon looked like he would have preferred for anyone else to have explained this moment, which might have been a funny sight under any other circumstance. “Your mother entered the past by attempting to change the future. I thought given all she did, you should at least be able to meet the man she gave everything for. You will not be able to alter his fate…” He looked the most uncomfortable with this part as he said it. “But you can ensure he does not have to meet it alone.”

Saga’s breath caught in her throat. She was going to meet her father? “How long do I have?”

“About an hour until the cold takes him. That is all the time I can give you, but it is more than you had before. While you are there, the cold will not bite, but in turn your touch will not warm him.”

She understood it, but she didn’t agree with it. Could human warmth prolong his time at this point? Wouldn’t the comfort it would provide be worth the negligible seconds it might add?

Fáfnir drew an arch on the wall with the butt of the staff, leaving a black, charcoal-like outline. He rotated it in his hands, wielding the crook side now. He swirled it over the door, and Saga could have sworn the charcoal outline began to sink into the wall as he did so—indenting almost like a burn. With a gentle tap, light shone through the indentation, bright blue as it followed along the crack like a flame following a line of gunpowder. The door opened of its own accord, a mixture of color and light, and Fáfnir reached the crook inside, carefully pulling a single thread from the tapestry of light that fluttered in a breeze before snapping to expand and fill the doorframe with the landscape of a snowy mountaintop.

Esteri reached a hand to Saga. “I’m chaperone.” She winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep a safe distance.”

Saga would equate the experience of walking through the doorway to stepping into a walk-in freezer. One moment she was in the warmth of Gideon’s office, the next a chill descended upon her. It was so jarring, it startled her. The night was clear, the aurora dancing over the thousands of stars above them, but without clouds, the cold was violently bitter. “I thought there was a storm,” she whispered.

“It already came through.” Esteri gave her hand a tighter squeeze, and with it the cold dissipated entirely.

They were standing on a snowbank on the side of a mountain, but Saga was as comfortable as within her own home. She looked uncertainly at Esteri, who only nodded ahead to a dark figure who had pulled himself against the mountain to protect himself from the harsh winds.

“Go on,” Esteri urged.

Could she do this? Would it be enough? Saga made her way through snow she didn’t leave footprints in. What would she even say? Her heart began to pound. This was her last and only conversation she would have with her father. What could she even say? How would she even begin? She swallowed as she got closer to the collapsed figure. Her steps grew smaller, but she could not stop, even as she felt herself becoming that scared little girl she’d been. The only version of his daughter he knew. How would he even know her like this? “Viggo Trygg?” she called out.

He moved. It was a weak motion, but he moved, and as she drew closer, she heard him say a prayer of thanks. He thought he was being saved.

Saga’s heart ached. No. No, this was worse than him being alone. She couldn’t give him false hope. “I’m not—” The words died, choked by a sob that could not bear this moment if it left him worse than she found him.

Viggo shifted slightly, his neck struggling to lift his head so he could look at her, and he groaned. “Oh, that’s not good.”

It was a strange enough response, it struck her. “What’s not good?” Saga looked down at herself. She was hardly dressed for the weather and moving through the snow but not affecting it. Could he see that? Would she at least be spared telling him that she was not rescue?

“Hypothermia must be setting in. I’m hallucinating…”

“You think your hypothermia is severe enough to hallucinate, but you’re still coherent enough to know you’re hallucinating?”

Her father took a moment to consider this. “You make a very valid point, but you sound too much like me for me to dismiss the possibility.” He took a moment to catch his breath. “Though, I admit, I always thought if it came to it, I’d hallucinate Audrey—or maybe Saga.”