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My name is Emmeline. Ice Angel never calls me that, of course, but then, he never addresses anybody by name. He is polite, but cool and slightly distant; it is as if he doesn't really have a connection to anything here, or anyone.

Carefully I braid three locks of hair together, into a tight, snowy cord. His hair is silky, just-washed, scenting of something cool and clean, like vanilla or fresh snow. He wears it in a multitude of tiny braids, each reaching the small of his back. Whether this is by choice or by the Palace's orders, we do not know. We are merely pages, and we don't ask things like that.

I finish the current braid, tie it off with a small piece of white cotton, fit a silver bead to the end. I let it fall down onto his pale, bare back; it lands there with a small clink as the bead settles in with the braids already completed.

It takes two of us to perform this task. Shadow begins his work at the opposite temple, and we work around until we meet at the back. Every week his hair must be washed, re-braided. And all the while he sits and stares at the wall, expression blank, revealing nothing. No impatience, no boredom, no pleasure.

As we work, Shadow chatters enough for the three of us, imparting gossip, stories, whatever his overactive little mind comes up with. Sometimes one of his comments will provoke a small, fleeting smile from his Key. But then Ice Angel's expression becomes distant again, and I wonder if he is even aware of us here, in the room with him. His eyes are blue, the blue of cornflowers or sapphires or the night sky, depending on mood.

I finish another braid, knotting the cotton around silver metal and white hair. "I'm nearly out of beads," I note absently, letting it fall and join the rest.

"I'll get more!" Shadow volunteers. He leaps to his feet, abandoning the braid he is currently weaving without a thought.

In build, he could be Ice Angel's twin, but in everything else, they are drastically different. Where Ice Angel is withdrawn and contemplative, Shadow is outgoing and optimistic. His hair and eyes are brown, his childish face round and perpetually grinning.

He darts into the bathroom, and sounds of rummaging are heard. I separate out the hair I will use for the next braid, splitting it into three. I have only completed a handspan's worth when the crash comes, followed by a sharp scream that trails into a wail.

Ice Angel is on his feet in an instant, his hair pulled from my grasp as he dashes into the bathroom. I scramble to follow, nearly treading on the hem of my skirt in my haste.

In the bathroom, Ice Angel is helping Shadow to sit up. One of Shadow's wrists is cradled limply against his chest, and tears stream down his face as he tries to catch his breath between sobs.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Ice Angel. I dropped the b-bowl and s-slipped when I tried to p-pick them up."

The floor is covered in hundreds of small silver beads, some still spinning and rolling about, and the bowl lies upside-down in one corner. Shadow howls his pain even more loudly.

For a moment I am flustered, and then my brain kicks back into gear. "I'll get someone to take him to the infirmary," I tell the Key, knowing that he cannot leave his rooms, and Shadow is in no condition to walk.

"No."

"What do you mean, no? He's broken his arm, he needs the doctor!"

"Wait a moment."

Pages don't take orders from Keys. We take orders from our supervisors only. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, anxiously. I want to get help for Shadow, get something to take away the poor kid's pain, but I am held in place by the command in Ice Angel's tone.

Ice Angel has an arm around Shadow's shoulders now, and is murmuring in his ear. Shadow's crying softens to small whimpers, and I notice that Ice Angel has wrapped a hand very gently around Shadow's broken wrist as he has been speaking.

And after a few moments, the sniffles ebb completely, and Shadow is staring at Ice Angel with eyes as wide as saucers, his nose still running and wonderment on his face.

"S'fixed!" He draws his hand from Ice Angel's and flexes it tentatively, a delighted smile forming as he obviously feels no pain. "S'really fixed!"

Ice Angel nods, and kisses him on the forehead. "Now, how about you pick them all up again while you're still sitting on the floor and you can't fall any further?"

Shadow nods enthusiastically, starting to gather up the tiny silver spheres one by one.

Ice Angel stands, using the sink for balance, seeming weak and unsteady. He walks slowly back to his room and sits down on his chair, then suddenly fixes me with a blazing blue gaze.

"You saw nothing."

For a moment I am confused, and then understanding dawns. The Palace staff know of Ice Angel's ability to heal himself, but they've never realised that he can also heal others. If they did, he'd be exploited beyond imagining. I wonder how he can keep it from them, when they have the entire thing on video. And then I run through the scene in my head and remember that Ice Angel kept his own body between the camera and Shadow the entire time, preventing them ever seeing how badly the kid had really hurt himself.

And I realise that despite his apparent vacuousness, Ice Angel knows exactly what is going on around him.

I nod quickly, earnestly. "I saw nothing."

And I also realise that somewhere deep beneath his cool, uncaring exterior, Ice Angel's heart is still warm and alive. He had just risked his very life, to keep a simple page from crying.