Matthias' fingers lightly traced the brocade box. The cool silk beneath his touch did nothing to dry the sweat dampening his palm. He glanced at Leopold, who was drinking with Barto.

Leopold threw his head back to chug a large cup of amber liquor. As his Adam's apple bobbed, his gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, toward the copper pot stashed in the corner of the igloo.

Inside was the drugged liquor they had prepared. It was concocted from a poisonous herb native to the snowy plains that emitted a faint, sweet scent. Once mixed into strong alcohol, it was nearly undetectable.

"Chief Barto, your alcohol tolerance is astounding," Leopold said.

He slammed his empty cup onto the table, sending ice chips flying. "This 'Glacier's Kiss' hits like a hammer. Most men would be flat on their backs after three cups, yet here you stand, unshaken. No wonder they call you the Mighty Eagle of Frostwarden."

Barto roared with laughter, and his amber eyes crinkled. He gave Matthias a hearty slap