The storm erased the mountain faster than Albert could search it.
Beyond a few horse lengths, men became gray shapes. The trail vanished under wind-driven snow.
Ice stung Albert’s cheeks and gathered on his lashes. The wind carried the raw scent of pine, wet leather, and frightened horses.
His court coat was hidden beneath a fur-lined hunting mantle, but the silver clasp at his throat still announced his rank. Snow clung to his light-brown hair. One glove had split across the palm from frozen reins.
Tracks disappeared almost as soon as the scouts found them. Orders broke apart in the wind.
High above, the damaged barrier gave off a weak pulse beneath the drifts.
A Greyhaven captain waited beside Albert’s horse.
“The eastern road is still open,” the captain said. “We should take the
