I wake up and something is wrong. There was a noise that woke me. Was there?

I’m in my bedroom, wrapped in one of the Palace’s amazing blankets that are both light as silk and warm as wool.

Why am I in my bedroom?

Oh yes. Last night. Storm. Lots of Storm.

Where is he? Why is my head feeling so heavy? Did I drink too much? Did we drink?

Strawberries. Yes, I remember those. But would they make my head feel like this?

There’s a strange taste in my mouth. Bitter.

My stomach lurches and I turn to one side, trying to stop the heaving. But too late, I empty the contents of my stomach onto the mattress. My puke is red. That can’t be a good sign.

Weakly, I try to sit up and call for help. I’m ill and I want someone here with me.

There’s a noise again, coming from the corner furthest away from me. A shadow… no, a man. Or a woman, it’s hard to tell. The shape is kind of blurred. I blink, but it stays strangely blurry, just like the rest of the room. Do I suddenly need glasses? What’s going on?

“Who are you?” I whisper, the bile in my throat making my voice almost inaudible.

“I’m Death,” the person says in a rattling voice that makes me shiver. It’s neither male nor female, just flat and cold. I’m beginning to shake as the dark shape comes closer. There’s something in their hand, a vial?

“I am your Death.”

Darkness is taking over my vision and I fight to stay conscious. There’s pain in my head and my body and my skin is starting to itch.

I want to use my magic to get rid of this Death, whoever they are, but I’m too weak, I can’t even access my heart cave. In a last attempt to do something, anything, before the person reaches me, I tug on the bond that connects me to my Guardians, hoping that it’ll be strong enough for them to notice.

Then I can fight no longer and darkness claims me.

* * *

I’m on the floor when I wake up. It’s cold and uncomfortable. I was in my bed before, right? Where is my bed? Where am I?

I scramble to my feet and look around. I’m in a circular room with a low ceiling that makes me feel slightly claustrophobic. If I was to stand on my toes, I could easily touch it. The walls are made of doors, dozens of them. There’s nothing between them, it’s one door next to another. They’re all made of the same dull metal that’s rather uninviting. They make me think of prison doors.

“Hello?” I call out, but of course nobody answers. I’m alone here. I walk closer along the wall of doors, trying to see if there are any signs or hints to show where they may lead. Nothing. I don’t even detect a scratch on the metal. They’re flawless and boring.

I do a quick count. Sixteen doors. The room is a hexadecagon (my maths teacher would be proud), but I have no idea if that is relevant.

Sitting here wondering won’t bring me any further. Maybe my magic can help me out? I reach into myself, searching for my heart cave where my magic resides.

I run into a barrier. There’s something blocking me from reaching the cave. A solid, hard, threatening barrier built around it. I fly through my body, looking for another access. Nothing. I’m blocked from using my magic.

The realisation that I’m without her once more slams into me. Not again. I feel only half like myself without her. Like part of my soul is missing.

Who’s done this to me? Come here so I can kill you. Without my magic. So maybe not kill. More like scratch.

So I don’t have magic and I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. I can either sit here and wait or choose a random door and explore. And, as I’ve never been someone who likes to stay in one place and be bored, I walk straight ahead and open the first door I reach.

It leads into a brightly lit corridor. The walls and floor are made from the same dull metal as the door, while the ceiling is made of light. Not an electric light, but just... light. It’s cold and unfriendly.

I hurry through the corridor, waiting for it to end. There’s nothing that indicates where it leads. This could be anywhere, except that I have an inkling that it’s magical. So probably not Earth.

At the end of the corridor, there’s another door, just like the ones before. This time, I knock. I don’t know why, it just feels right.

No answer. I press down the handle and push, but nothing happens. It’s locked.

“You need to pull!” someone calls from inside. Embarrassed, I pull and the door opens. Every. Single. Time. At least there’s no push/pull sign here, that would be even more embarrassing. My parents always made fun of me that I ignored those signs and then struggled with opening doors. Guess that hasn’t changed.

I enter a small room that looks like the most stereotypical office you can imagine. Lot of shelves on the walls, overflowing with folders and books. A large desk with stacks of papers, and behind it, an elderly man. He looks human except for his slightly glowing eyes. They remind me of a cat at night. His skin is thin and papery, while his hair is almost gone and the remaining strands are a pale white. He looks like he’s been in this office without sunlight for far too long.

He takes a form from one of the stacks and dips an old-fashioned pen into an inkwell.

“Name?” he asks in a drawling voice.

“What?”

“Name.”

“Wyn. Ehm, Wynter.”

“Surname.”

“Ehm...” Since moving to my mother’s Realm, I’ve not used my adoptive parents’ name anymore. In the Palace, everybody calls me Princess or Your Highness, so I’ve not needed to think about what name to use. It feels strange using that Earth name. It’s no longer me, I’ve changed. I should choose something new, something that fits the person I’ve become.

Something Royal.

“Prince. Wynter Prince.”

“Why are you here, Wynter Prince?”

“You tell me?”

He looks up from the form he’s filling in.

“Please answer my questions. Why are you here?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I was sleeping, then there was someone who called himself Death, and now I’m here. I didn’t come here voluntarily, so I’d like to leave, please.”

The man’s expression doesn’t change. “There is no person called Death.”

“Yes, I assumed that,” I say in exasperation. “But that’s what he... she... they called themselves.”

“Let’s ignore that question...” He draws a long dash over part of the form.

“Next one: Where are you from?”

“Earth,” I say automatically, then hesitate. “Although I was born in the Winter Realm and am now living there again.”

“Oh, you’re one of Beira’s?” He’s suddenly a little more interested.

“Yes, I’m her daughter.”

Now I’ve got his full attention. “Oh, you’re that Wynter. I’ve got your entry somewhere, give me a moment.”

He gets up and begins to search through one of the largest bookshelves behind him. It holds dozens, if not hundreds of old tombs and volumes, most of them covered in a layer of dust. He runs a finger along their spines, rapidly reading their titles.

On the top shelf, he finally finds what he’s been looking for. He pulls down a book that could have easily been split into several. It’s thicker than any I’ve ever seen.

He opens it and goes through the index.

“Demi-gods of the Realms... yes... Memnon... No... Achilles... No... Tityos... No.... Wynter, Daughter of Beira. There you are. Page 1478.”

He flicks through the pages, ignoring the dust that ascends into the air whenever he turns a page.

“1476... 1478. Wynter.”

He begins to read and I’m tempted to walk around the desk to see what he’s reading. I’m in a book? A very old one at that? A book about Demi-gods? There must be a lot of knowledge in there that could help me. I still don’t know the full extent of my powers. Maybe it’s all in there, maybe even instructions on how I can fulfil my potential. Preferably without hurting anyone. That’s the reason I couldn’t grow up with my mother in her Realm. Demi-gods have killed people before when they came into their powers - accidents, mostly, but not something my mother could chance.

“Very interesting,” the man mumbles, but he doesn’t seem interested in telling me what he’s reading. “Oh yes, that makes sense...”

“Excuse me. Could you tell me what it says in there about me?”

“Huh?”

“I’d like to know what you’re reading. If it’s about me, I’ve got a right to know.”

He looks confused.

“Yes, I guess so. But you’ll have to fill in form 938B for that. Nobody is allowed to borrow a book without first filling in that form. I assume you have a library card?”

I stare at him in confusion. “I don’t suppose you’d accept my Edinburgh Libraries card?”

“Any library card is fine. It’s about the principle, you understand?”

I nod noncommittally. I have no clue what he’s on about.

He hands me a yellow form and a pen. There’s no space to write on his overfull desk, so I use the chair in front of me as a substitute.

Form 938B: Book Loan Contract.

There’s a long list of terms and conditions at the beginning and I only skim them. Paragraph 48 catches my eye though: Non-return of a book may result in decapitation.

Wow, that’s pretty harsh. Being killed for not returning a book to a library?

I read the remaining points a little more carefully, just in case, but none are as extreme as paragraph 48.

At the bottom of the form I fill in the book’s title, my name - using Wynter Prince - and do a quick signature.

“Here you go.” I hand him the form, but he only puts it on one of his overflowing in-trays.

“I’ll look at it later. Now shush.”

“But what am I supposed to do now? How do I get back home?”

He sighs. “Patience. First, I have to register you. Then we need to do some tests. Then you can fill in a release form and then we have to wait for an appropriate transport.”

“Listen, I’m the Heiress to the Winter Throne, daughter of the Mother of Gods. I demand that you bring me home this instant!”

I put all the authority I can muster into my voice, but he doesn’t even twitch an eyebrow.

“Child, here in the Library of Lives, everybody’s equal. We all have to fill in the forms or there’d be chaos. Now sit down and let me work.”

I ignore his request. “The Library of Lives? What’s that?”

He looks up at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “How can you not know where you are? People only get here if they request access... or if they’re dead. And as you’re not translucent, I assume... unless... oh.”

“What?”

“Is this your first death experience?”

I laugh hysterically. “I’m not dead. And I’ve never died before, if that’s what you mean.”

“Ah, that explains a lot.” He smiles and rummages through one of his desk drawers until he finds a small leaflet. He hands it to me.

“Read that, it’ll explain things.”

A Guide to Immortality.

There’s a picture of a friendly old woman on the front, but not much else. I open the brochure and begin to read.

Dear Deceased,

It may come as a shock to you that you have died. Don’t worry, this is not the end. Please try not to panic while you read this short Guide to Immortality.

If you’ve been given this leaflet, your advisor assumes that you are eligible for Immortality. This may be because of your heritage, your achievements or your good karma.

Being eligible for Immortality does not make you Immortal per se. You will need the right mindset to be able to apply and be chosen for Immortality. If you are unsure whether you have what it takes, please speak to your advisor.

Please be aware that, while you won’t be able to die from disease, there are ways to kill an Immortal (decapitation, immolation and in extreme cases, starvation). We cannot be held responsible for your life ending earlier than planned even if you have chosen Immortality. For legal advice, please visit your Realm’s Death Lawyer.

I look up from the leaflet in bewilderment. Surely this is a parody? An elaborate joke someone has set up? Immortality is not something you choose. It’s something you have from birth, like Guardians or Gods. In my case, I was never quite sure. Some legends say Demi-gods are immortal, others say they aren’t. What I am sure about is that I’ll have a longer than average life. Unless I get killed.

“How do I... ehm... apply for Immortality?” I ask the old man and he clears his throat.

“There’s a form somewhere... oh yes, here it is. You’ll have to fill it in, then return it to me and I’ll tell you what to do next.”

“Can’t you just tell me now?”

“No. It’s procedure.”

I sigh. This guy looks like he’s been doing this job for hundreds of years. Bureaucracy must be all he can remember by now.

I look at the form he’s handed me. Application for Immortality.

Yes, definitely a joke. Are there hidden cameras somewhere?

But there’s nothing else for me to do than fill out this form. He’s not giving me any answers, so complying is all I can do. Maybe that will somehow get me out of this strange place. Maybe it’s a dream? Is that why everything else is so hazy?

I pinch myself. Nope, probably not a dream.

With a frown, I start filling in the form, hoping that it’s worth my time.

First, it’s all the basic information about myself: name, date of birth, place of birth, parents, and so on. Then the questions get trickier.

What is your claim to Immortality? Choose from the options you’ll find in the Appendix, part I.

I choose birth or heritage as the most suitable answer. Having a Goddess as my mother should be a good enough reason.

How will you use your Immortality for the Greater Good?

That makes me think. Is helping look after the Winter Realm a good answer? Or is that just my job?

I scribble down a few sentences about using my position to help all people in the Realm live a prosperous and healthy life. I hope they don’t think that too idealistic. Even though I’ve not been directly involved in politics yet, I know that not everything in the Realm is perfect. There are poor people, there are diseases that can actually kill Guardians, there’s corruption and greed. A country - or Realm - can never be perfect, but I’ll do my best to get it closer to that goal.

Are you afraid of death?

I blink. Yes. I think I am. Who isn’t. If someone came up to me and asked whether I’d want to live or die, I’d say I’d want to live. Of course. And if that someone would then threaten to kill me, I’d be afraid. I’d fight.

I write a small Yes on the line, as if I’m trying to hide my answer.

Would you die to save someone else?

Immediately, I think of my men. Storm. Frost. Crispin. Arc. If one of them was in danger and the only way to save them was to die - yes, I’d believe I’d choose to die. I hope I would. It’s all good and well to think about it now, but in the actual situation? But yes, I think I really would. I love them too much to see them go.

Yes.

One last question.

What is a good death?

Another hard one. No pain? No tears? No guilt? No humiliation? No long, dragging death but a quick, painless one?

One that I wouldn’t regret.

That’s quite a vague answer, but I don’t even know who’s going to read this. If it’s the old man in front of me, I don’t think he’d actually look at my responses. He’d just put it on some pile of papers, to be forgotten for eternity.

“I’m done.”

I hand him the form and he looks at it in surprise.

“That was quick. Now, let me see, what do I do with this again? Ah yes, the test. I’m afraid I can’t administer that level of examination, so you will have to see one of my colleagues.”

“There are more of you?” I blurt out and cringe when he looks at me with the air of someone who’s just been insulted in the gravest manner.

“You don’t assume a library runs itself, surely?” he says, a bit piqued. “Follow me.”

He gets up with the sigh of someone who’s not walked around for a long time. I wonder if they have regulated working hours here. Holidays? Paid overtime? Somehow, I doubt it. He doesn’t look like he’s been outside in years.

I follow him out of his little room and along the corridor, around a few corners, past a row of doors that I could swear weren’t there before, until we reach a very large red door. It’s more of a gate, really.

“I’ll leave you to it. Return to me once you’re done.”

He shuffles off, leaving me alone.

I knock on the door and am surprised when someone knocks back on it from the other side. Is that my signal to enter? I carefully open the door and am almost crushed by a giant hand swinging towards me.

The biggest woman I’ve ever seen is staring at me, her fist extended in the air, ready to strike the door (and me). She must be a giant, there’s no other way for her to be this... big. She’s about three times as tall as me, and several times as wide. She’d be pretty if her features weren’t skewed somehow, as if they melted and then froze again. Her sleek black hair reaches her waist where a large belt shows off her figure. Several rings of keys hang from it, dangling with every movement she makes.

“Who are you?” she asks with a booming voice. I’m sure it’s her normal volume but to me it’s as if she’s screaming.

“Ehm... I’m here to be tested for Immortality.” I’ve never felt more stupid. What kind of sentence is that. And I can’t even refer to the man who brought me here because he never told me his name.

“Oh, I’ve not had one of you in ages. Come on in,” she says cheerfully and I have to fight against the urge to cover my ears. They should provide ear muffs for visitors.

For every step that she takes, I need to walk four. The room is more of an arena, large and round. The floor is covered in sand, but there are no stands and seats around it. There’s a giant chair at the other end of it, where the giantess now leads me. She plumps down on her seat and grins at me.

“What’s your name, race and age?”

I clear my throat. Let’s do this properly.

“I’m Wynter, Daughter of Beira and Heiress to the Winter Throne. I am half Goddess, half Guardian, and turned twenty-two last month.”

“Pleased to meet you, Wynter. I am Eithne, your assessor. If you’re really the daughter of a Goddess, this is only really a formality, but as you may have noticed, they take formalities very seriously here.”

She winks and I have to grin. I know exactly what she means.

“To prove that you are ready to become Immortal, you will need to pass three tests. One physical, one mental and one magical. Which one would you like to start with?”

Physical strength is what I don’t have, so I should probably do that first. That way, I still have mental energy. If that makes sense. No, it probably doesn’t.

“What happens if I fail the tests?”

“Then you die, just as you were supposed to. No rebirth, no Immortality. You’ll stay here or pass on, but you won’t return back to the living.”

I gulp. She makes it sound like I’m really dead.

I take a deep breath. “How did I die?”

She frowns. “Did nobody tell you? You were poisoned with the venom of a black dragon. I didn’t think they still existed, but it looks like someone found one and either killed it or forced it to give up some of its venom. In either case, they must be incredibly powerful to do such a feat.”

I swallow hard. Someone poisoned me. I’m dead.

The room begins to spin and I have to blink several times to get a grip on reality. Don’t faint. Don’t cry. Just be strong, Wyn, do these tests and then go home. To my men. Oh Gods. They must be furious. Or grieving. Or both.

“Does time pass the same way here as in the Realms?”

Eithne smiles at me. “That’s an excellent question. It depends on the Realm, but I believe the Winter Realm is aligned closely to the Library, so there shouldn’t be much difference. Maybe a few minutes less, give or take.”

“So I’ve been dead for hours. What’s going on with my... body?”

She laughs. “Don’t worry, your mother knows what’s going on. Beira founded this place, and she still comes here occasionally. I assume the reason she isn’t here right now is that she wants you to prove yourself on your own. Now, which test would you like to start with?”

“Physical,” I mutter, my head spinning. My mother knows I’m here and didn’t come to bring me home? She doesn’t want to support me? I hope she at least told my Guardians that I’m not really dead... not yet, anyway.