One kiss ends his winter. Nobody is allowed to make her give it.
A city debt-reader inherits a page that can end a border lord's endless winter, and the price only counts if nobody makes her pay it.
Completed · 18 chapters · 2h 26m
WarmSensual tension; intimacy fades to black.Witty · Tender
Grief, Death of a parent, Death of a sibling (past), Violence, Frostbite injury
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Dear Maeve,
The same man has paid his border tax at my counter for three years, and I have counted on it more than I would admit to anyone.
Ilse Rooke reads debts for a living. Nine days after her mother's death she finds an open page in her mother's ledger with no date, no witness and no story: C. Vael. Debt unclosed. Price: one kiss, freely given. Casimir Vael is the Warden of the frost march, the man who called down an endless winter over his border eleven years ago to keep an army out of Callow Gap, and who has paid his levy at Ilse's counter, in person and in full, every quarter for three years. When he walks up to her grille on Midsummer Quarter-day, the law says she must read the page to his face. He doesn't remember agreeing to it. The crown's Treasurer would very much like a date. And Ilse, who has never in her life wanted anything she couldn't put a number on, rides north into the winter to find out where the debt came from, with a steward who disapproves of her, a Warden whose hands are slowly being eaten by the cold he holds, and a page that warms in her saddlebag at exactly the wrong moments. What she finds at the march is a keep that eats in its kitchen, a village that spits at its lord and brings him pie, a dead captain's frost-ink signature, and her own mother's hidden history with the Vael family. And what she and Casimir have to learn, with a Justice, a council and a Treasurer all watching, is the difference between a price and a gift.
My mother died this month and left me her ledger. On one page, in her handwriting, is a debt in his name. The price is one kiss, freely given. He doesn’t remember agreeing to it.
If it is ever paid, the winter he holds over the north will end, and someone at the treasury would very much like to choose the day.
Now I’m riding north with him to find out where the debt came from. We have agreed to be careful.
I can account for every coin that has crossed my counter in ten years. I cannot account for why, when I read him that page, the first thing I felt was not dread.
From The Frost Ledger
Read this if you want a slow burn with wit, in a fantasy world.
Read this if you want the wait to be about choice.
Slow burns where the waiting is the point
Completed stories you can finish tonight
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