The white bird arrived at dawn.
Not the golden phoenixes native to Solmire, nor the common messenger hawks that carried correspondence between provinces.
The creature was something else entirely. Larger than a dove, smaller than an eagle, with feathers so pristinely white they seemed to glow against the morning sky.
A frost-hawk. Native to Nevareth. Bred specifically for long-distance flight through conditions that would kill lesser birds.
The guards stationed at the capital's border recognized it immediately. Recognized, too, the silver ribbon tied around its leg and the wax seal stamped with Nevareth's imperial crest.
They didn't open the message. Didn't dare. Letters bearing that particular seal were meant for the King's eyes only.
