Bitterblue woke to dim gray light, the scent of lavender, and the feeling that her hands and feet were on fire.

“I don’t want to die,” she cried out, confused, then hearing her own voice and understanding she mustn’t be dead. Feeling soft, silky blankets and pillows around her; realizing she wasn’t drowning.

She was in a small room, its walls touched by weak light filtering through a high window. The lavender smell came from the bedding, but there was another smell underneath. A more pervasive smell, as if the lavender was meant to mask something less pleasant. More animal.

“Winterkeep,” Bitterblue said, remembering. “Is this Winterkeep?”

Other memories began to form. The ship. The wave. The incredible moment of being tossed through the air, like a doll stuffed with beans, then splashing into the sea. Being surrounded by those purple creatures, just at the moment of giving up. Silbercows, Bitterblue thought, remembering more about Winterkeep. They rescued me and brought me to people in an airship. They showed me pictures in my mind. They saved my life!

Bitterblue shoved her blankets back and swung her feet down, thinking she would go find everyone, tell them she was awake. But when she tried to stand, her feet screamed with pain and she fell back onto the bed.

“Ow!” she cried. “Hello? Giddon?”

When no one came, she took stock. She was wearing someone else’s pajamas and her toes were bandaged. Frostbite? Chillblains? Her fingers hurt too, as did her nose and ears, but they weren’t bandaged. Touching her arms, she noticed that her knives were missing. Then she realized that her gold rings were gone too; then remembered her mother’s ring.

Oh, no, she thought, imagining the ring falling into darkness, thudding against the floor of the Brumal Sea. I’m sorry, Mama, she thought, with the desolate sense that she’d abandoned her actual mother in a cold and lonely place. I hope there are interesting things to see down there.

“Giddon?” she said out loud. “Where is everyone?”

Grumbling about how she always had to do everything for herself, Bitterblue put her feet to the floor again and, carefully, tried to stand. It hurt, but she could do it. She shuffled forward a step or two, until it became too painful. Then she knelt, tried crawling, which was equally painful because her hands ached. Slowly, she made her way to the door. She reached for the knob.

The door was locked.

That was strange.

Giddon? Why would the door be locked?

She knocked on the door with her elbow and called out once more, but nothing happened.