“Why did you bring me here?!” I shrieked. I’d aligned myself with Quinten in this orchard. Jolly Cheat had handed me a white apple in this orchard. I’d fooled Red Princes and the Crimson King in this orchard.

“This way.” Porethius turned for a snowy path, reaching into a satchel at her hip and tugging out a furry corner of fabric. The fabric kept coming; she pulled until she held a full-sized red cloak, and she extended it to me.

I held it up, knowing there was no point in asking about the science of the gaps and nooks in Winter. Porethius pulled out another cloak and flipped it over her shoulders as she walked. I scrambled to follow.

We ventured down the path out of the orchard and made our way through a maze of buildings with narrow alleys. Porethius marched on light toes, barely making a noise, while I clunked along. We slowed at a wide, round, crowded pavilion. The Red Kingdom dwellers chatted and pointed, some laughing. In the middle of the pavilion, two men were in an open, cobbled space. The first sat upon a chair with a large feather pen; his chin tilted up, showing off his yellow eyes. He looked bored, but occasionally he scribbled something on the parchment before him.

The second man reminded me of the pirates I’d met the first year I came to Winter. He had a few flashy trinkets—a silver earring, a gold tooth. He was red-faced and shouting.

“Who are those two?” I asked Porethius.

“The scribe is Sullen Sprit-Spellborrow. He’s the editor-in-chief of the Natter Nugget, the Scarlet Post, and the Pebble Paper.” She glanced at me as she said the last one.

My gaze returned to the man in the chair. So, this was the guy who’d written all that garbage about the fight in the courtyard last year—blaming it on the believers, calling us dangerous.

“The other man is a fisherman. He is a believer in the Truth,” she explained.

“Well, if he’s a believer, shouldn’t we warn him? He could get snatched up by Nightflesh’s shadow for revealing himself with such a scene.”

Porethius watched the fisherman start off on a new tangent, shouting even louder than before. He called the people names, and I winced when he shouted in a mother’s face and her baby began to cry.

“Nightflesh doesn’t need to take this man,” Porethius said, her irises turning grape. “This man is doing Nightflesh a favour. He is making the Rime Folk despise us, and he is making the Rime Folk despise Elowin too, by representing him with hatred on his tongue,” she said, and I watched her shoulders sag. “Cruelty rarely convinces anyone of anything.” She looked at me. “Anyone can yell and argue.”

My eyes found the ground at my feet. I hoped I hadn’t looked as ridiculous as the fisherman when I’d been the one yelling in the middle of the meeting.

“But only the believers can pray for a miracle on a silent night. That is our weapon, Carrier. Prayer is our one advantage in this war.”