The Vodsmizak, that's what Taisia called them when I asked her what they were. Fortunately, she considered me dim from the time I started working here so I was able to get a sketchy explanation about what they are. Prisoners executed by the crown, doomed to swim in the depths beneath the Zamarov Palace until the end of time. That's the legend. Nobody knows what they really are.

There's so much more than the numerous ponds that is giving the courtyard its character. The trees and hedges are all sculpted perfectly of ice. The intricate detail is the product of craftsmanship that is rarely found on the continent today. History books state that in the past, such marvels were common. Workers are bustling among these masterpieces, maintaining them. The Zamarov Palace outshines everything in the courtyard. Its walls are crafted of marble with strange symbols carved of ice as decorations. Its beauty is well known throughout the continent because Protsvetanians brag about it wherever they go.

"Get out of the way, Patulzak! Pardon me, my lady!" That bark and croon came from that lanky man with light hair and close-set green eyes. Gerasim, that's his name. He'll probably introduce himself to Taisia again. If it weren't for the constant introductions, I wouldn't bother to know his name. He is pathetic. He's always outside, bossing the courtyard staff around. The supervisor of the garden labourers, it's the only thing he can be. I stepped back in time for the boy ploughing the snow not to plough into me.

"Apologies, ser." We said it in unison.

"Shut up!" Gerasim scoffed in my direction. "There's no need to apologise, my lady." His crooning is making my stomach curl. Taisia is nothing special to him. Wavy hair, pouty lips, he probably doesn't notice any of her features. Whenever I see him address a woman that appears to be single, he is nauseatingly polite. Probably single himself; definitely desperate. With the exception of allegedly single women, there's nobody Gerasim is nice to. It's a wonder his subordinates haven't staged a mutiny by now.

Frozen stares from the statues flanking the path still make me feel uncomfortable. It's as if they know. It's quite fitting, now that I think of it. Previous monarchs lined up, leading to the Palace as if they are watching over it. A worker is hammering away at his chisel, restoring the nose of a particularly harsh-looking man.

There are more soldiers posted at the Palace's entrance. They are following the same procedure as their counterparts at the archway. I think they're redundant. The sight of vegetables satiated their curiosity.

We're in. Groups of important people are standing about the vestibule and speaking in hushed tones. The layout here is simple but elabourate. A chandelier of ice is hanging above the white, stone floor. Sky blue carpets give the room a more comfortable appearance. Taisia is taken by a tiny crystal ornament. It looks like a bear to me. One would not think the woman comes here almost every day.

I have to twist the end of my moustache. It should stave off the itching. Taisia is gushing over some famous man she idolizes. The gushing is showing no sign of ending. She cried out when I grabbed her by the wrist. It's proving quite the effort to drag her away from him. She'll be in a bad mood for this. A tantrum will be much more endurable. The halls are full of servants, officials and Myostosel. She wouldn't dare make a scene here.

Snaking through the clusters of people is rather pleasant, all those unique and exclusive scents on their clothing. Oh dear, it seems I lost Taisia in the crowd. Now that she's out of the way, I can complete my routine. Nobody is taking notice of me. Whatever pretentious topics they are discussing are too interesting.

Mostly servants going about their duties are on the second floor. This might change tomorrow so we'd better get to the Palace earlier than usual. Offices of some of the officials are also up here. Diplomatic Relations, Sherka, Economics, almost all the doors up here bear a label. This is the twelfth time I've been up here. The monotony of this routine is growing frustrating but it's going to pay off soon.

"Lost again?" It's the maid who usually helps me find my way back to Taisia. The maids are more observant than the uppity people. I should stare blankly for a few moments before I grunt. She grabbed my wrist and I'm being escourted back to the staircase. She touched me. I suppose this young woman is fearless in the face of people with poor hygiene. Taisia is waiting at the bottom. She looks peeved.

I'm sure my moustache hid my smile from the maid. I should join Taisia now. "Quit slacking off!" She always says that. I'll apologise as I always do.

"Leave." The slowness of my grunt is in character. There are too many people in these cold halls for my liking.

Gerasim is standing, switch in hand, behind the man restoring the harsh-looking statue. Two young men walked past him. "Get Yulian out of the tool shed!" Gerasim sounds furious. "All that sack of lard is good for is eating!"

Yulian must be in the tool shed on the left side of the Palace rear. There are several like it but this one is positioned near the balcony that belongs to the room behind the only unlabeled door upstairs. Tomorrow, this tool shed is going to serve a great purpose, so exciting.

"Stop spacing out and hurry!" I'm beginning to feel bad. Taisia is usually quite patient with me but my increasing tendency to get distracted must be pushing her to her limits. "We need to get back to the depot!" My nose is itching. I have to rub it. Itch obliterated. Tomorrow is going to be a thrill.