Chapter 2

I folded that letter and hid it deep in my sleeve.

It should have been given to Vivian.

But when I found her the next morning, she was standing before the mirror trying on a tiara studded with rubies. When she heard Rowan had sent a letter, she did not even turn her head.

“Still ice and dead men?”

I clutched my sleeve. “He asks whether you are willing to wait for him to return.”

“Wait?” She gave a light snort. “Who knows whether he can even come back alive.”

She finally turned and looked at me carelessly.

“Write back tenderly for me. If he really becomes a hero of the North, this betrothal will naturally be useful.”

I returned to the attic. Ten gold coins she had given me lay on the table. But I could not bring myself to write that reply for a long time.

I wanted to tell Rowan that I was willing to wait.

Not as the legitimate daughter of the Reed family, not for the power of the Blackwood family, but only because he remembered every little thing I mentioned, because between frozen soil and corpses he seriously answered every word I wrote.

In the end, I still wrote my sister’s name at the end of the letter.

I will wait for you to return, and I will plant the bloodstanch grass with my own hands.

On the seventh day after the letter was sent, the Blood Wall lost contact.

The vampire legion launched a surprise attack in a blizzard, burned the relay stations along the way, and even the messenger ravens were contaminated by blood mist. The last Northern battle report had only a few lines: the Frost Fang Legion had retreated to the third wall, casualties unknown, commander’s life or death unknown.

Yet banquets in Wolf Keep continued as usual.

Nobles drank and danced, discussing which legion should take over the Blackwood family’s defense line. Vivian stopped attending banquets, afraid someone would ask about her betrothed, who might already be dead in battle.

Only I went to the messenger tower every day.

The first letter received no reply.

I told Rowan that the bloodstanch grass in the southern district had grown to the height of a palm. My mother said that the more this grass endured severe cold, the deeper its roots grew.

The second letter still vanished like a stone into the sea.

I wrote that the gray finch’s wing had healed, but when released it circled the windowsill three times, as if unwilling to leave.

While writing the third letter, Vivian burst into the attic and pressed her hand down on my parchment.

“The mail route is cut. Stop wasting my gold coins.”

“You do not need to pay this time.”

She was startled, then narrowed her eyes.

“Mara, you do not really think you are his betrothed, do you?”

That sentence stabbed into my heart like a needle. I did not argue. I only pushed her out the door and continued writing that letter.

That night, I sold the silver brooch my mother had left behind.

The caravan leader weighed the gold coins again and again, warning me that beyond the blockade there were vampires everywhere, and no one could guarantee the letter would arrive. I still handed him the letter.

I began writing once every three days.

I no longer pretended to be lighthearted, and I no longer wrote only of flowers, grass, the gray finch, and the weather. I told Rowan that I was afraid.

Afraid the Blood Wall would fall, afraid the Frost Fang Legion would be wiped out, afraid I would never again wait for that familiar black wax seal.

Please live.

Even if you cannot reply, please live.

A month passed, and the North remained silent.

In the second month, the Wolf King was already discussing in the council chamber whether to abandon the third wall. Everyone assumed Rowan Blackwood was dead. When young people of the clan saw me going to the messenger tower, they laughed that I was writing love letters to a dead man.

Vivian even began selecting a new betrothal candidate.

But I did not dare stop writing.

I did not know whether those letters crossed the blockade, whether he could see them, or what exactly I was waiting for. But as long as I kept writing, it was as if he were still somewhere in the North, leaning against a broken wall, and after reading he would reply as before—Do not worry, I can still hold on.

On a rainy night in early spring, a heavy thud suddenly came from outside the window.

I ran over barefoot and saw a blood-soaked raven fallen on the windowsill. One of its wings was almost broken, the silver tube on its claw was deformed, and dark red blood had congealed around the seal.

My hands trembled so badly that it took several tries to pull out the paper inside.

It was only a small corner torn from a military map.

No salutation, no date, not even a complete signature.

On it was only one word, ink dried, strokes trembling.

“Alive.”

I pressed the paper tightly to my heart and knelt on the cold floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Only then did I finally admit—

I had fallen in love with my sister’s betrothed.