They had to be close to Grella’s Pass. They had to, because Katsa wasn’t sure how much more of this the child could endure.

An ice storm erupted one morning as they trudged upward through trees and scrub. For the better part of the morning they were blind, heads bent into the wind, bodies battered by snow and ice. Katsa kept her arm around the child, as she always did during the storms, and followed her strong sense of direction upward and westward. And noticed, after some time, that the path grew less steep, and that she was no longer tripping over tree roots or mountain scrub. Her feet felt heavy, as if the snow had deepened and she must push her way through it.

When the storm lifted, as abruptly as it had begun, the landscape had changed. They stood at the base of a long, even, snow-covered slope, clear of vegetation, the wind catching ice crystals on its surface and dancing them up into the sky. Some distance ahead, two black crags towered to the left and right. The slope rose to pass between them.

The whiteness was blinding, the sky so close and so searingly blue that Bitterblue held her hand up to block her eyes. Grella’s Pass: No animals to fend off, no boulders or scrub to navigate. Only a simple rising length of clean snow for them to walk across, right over the mountain range and down into Sunder.

It almost looked peaceful.

A warning began to buzz, and then clamor, in Katsa’s mind. She watched the swirls of snow that whipped along the pass’s surface. For one thing, it would be a greater distance than it looked. For another, there would be no shelter from the wind. Nor would it be as smooth as it seemed from here, with the sun shining on it directly. And if it stormed, or rather, when it stormed, it would be weather befitting these mountaintops, where no living thing survived, and all that had any hope of lasting was rock or ice.

Katsa wiped away the snow that clung to the girl’s furs. She broke pieces of ice from the wrapping around Bitterblue’s face. She unslung the snowshoes from her back and stepped into them, wrapped the straps around her feet and ankles, and bound them tightly. She untangled the halter she’d constructed, and helped the child into it, one weary leg at a time. Bitterblue didn’t protest or ask for an explanation. She moved sluggishly. Katsa bent down, grabbed her chin, and looked into her eyes.

“Bitterblue,” she said. “Bitterblue. You must stay alert. I’ll carry you, but only because we have to move fast. You’ve got to stay awake. If I think you’re falling asleep, I’ll put you down and make you walk. Do you understand? I’ll make you walk, Princess, no matter how hard it is for you.”

“I’m tired,” the child whispered, and Katsa grabbed her shoulders and shook them.

“I don’t care if you’re tired. You’ll do what I tell you. You’ll put every ounce of strength into staying awake. Do you understand?”