The camp beneath the Frostfangs was loud with victory. A ranging from the Night's Watch had blundered into one of Maisie Rayder's scouts, and though only a small skirmish, the free folk had taken a prize: a living crow.

Snow drifted through the torchlight as the black brother was dragged into the queen's great tent of snow-bear pelts. Around her sat raiders, clan chiefs, and spearwives, while Maisie lounged upon a pile of furs with a lute resting across her lap. Her patched black-and-red cloak hung from her shoulders, and amusement danced in her brown eyes as the captive was shoved to his knees before her.

She studied him for a moment, then plucked a lazy note from the strings.

"So this is the fierce crow who gave my people such trouble?"