The first time Maerad set foot once more into the palace of the Ice-King, she could not help gasping. It had changed beyond all recognition. Instead of cold stone, there was warm, polished old wood. Were there had been ice, there was silk or velvet. It was the very picture of comfort and happiness, so completely different from her last stay here that she stopped stock-still and stared. Arkan used this as an opportunity to gently kiss her cheek, his lips cold and silky against her warm skin.

"For you," he whispered, gently taking her hand and pulling her after him. He led her to her erstwhile prison chamber, now decorated in likeness with her room in Innail. What her lyre had revealed to be a cold stone cave was now what it had appeared to be. Her lyre. Her mutilated fingers reached down to brush the carry-case Cadvan had given her. She would never play again, thanks to the cold of the north, but the lyre was still all that remained of her mother, and though the marks of the treesong had long since vanished, it was still precious to her. Arkan followed her gaze and carefully kissed the stump of her finger. With as much reverence as a worshipper shows to his sacred master's temple, he unhooked the carry-case from her shoulder and placed it on the feather-stuffed bed. Then he turned and smiled at her. The message in his eyes was clear- "What is loved by you is sacred to me. What is hated by you will be abhorred by me. We will always be together."

"We will always be together," Maerad repeated, and they kissed.