Riuza Freya stood in the cold morning light staring at the rusted door of the cell half-buried in the earth under the castle’s south wall. She could hear Katja shuffling about inside, the noises echoing in the confined space. And she heard a pair of boots crunching toward her across the trampled, icy snow. “Good morning, fair lady.” “Morning. Is there any sign of Wren yet?” “I’m afraid not. Is your sister down in there?” Omar asked. Freya nodded. “I slipped her some meat this morning. I hope it was enough.” She hesitated. “That was you shouting over the water last night, wasn’t it?” He shook his head. “I don’t know who that was. I heard it just as I was coming inside the south wall.” “Any idea who it was?” “I do not. Perhaps some poor fisherman was out on the water, fighting with a reaver in the middle of the bay,”
