“I’d rather have my father,” Neve growls, and I dart my eyes between the two of them. I’m trying to see things from Neve’s position, even if Andor did torture me once. But angering an Icebound is the last thing we need to do. “Most of my people are frozen or dead. Who follows a ruler when there are no people to lead?”
Glacia sweeps her hands wide, and I ready myself to throw us into the shadows if something goes wrong. If Glacia really is Icebound, going into the shadows won’t do us much good, but I’ve never been injured when I’m in that in-between space. It’s a safe zone.
“It’s time you learned,” she explains, peering between the two of us. Her expressionless gaze lands on me, and I stiffen as Neve struggles to break my hold. “Once, there were two of us: the Spirit of Winter as well as the Eternal Frost. I believe the myths have named you Jack Frost?”
I nod, frowning. Neve stops struggling in my grasp and peers up at the spirit.
“Eternal Frost? Another spirit?”
Glacia pauses, looking to her side. For a moment, I think she might be sad. “My other half. My twin. But he left me a century ago, and nothing can be done once the spirit is turned back into a mortal.”
She has Neve’s full attention now, and beside me, she finally stops struggling and lets me help her stand as I speak. “A century ago?”
“Yes mage,” Glacia says, focusing on me. “Oh, yes, I remember you. A soul stolen when my brother’s gift became yours.”
I share a look with Neve, but she doesn’t seem to be following, either. “I don’t understand.”
“No,” Glacia agrees, folding her hands in front of her. It reminds me of Kael and Nyra’s manners, neither of whom I have seen since Ronnie died. Zarev never reported spotting them either. “I doubt you would.”
Her gaze sharpens, and she glares down at Neve. “Your father chose to marry a foreigner, a woman who shared our power but not our beliefs. She brought her own ice magic with her, favoring the snow, and convinced your father that power could answer all questions.”
“My mother was from Ander Son’s Way,” Neve says carefully, and I’m surprised there’s no hitch to her voice after watching her father fade. I can’t imagine where her mind is right now. “Her magic was fickle until recent years.”
“Her magic was all a curse,” Glacia corrects. “I do not know the origin of Snedronningen’s magic, for she is not of this land. Her frozen curse came from across the seas, and she shared the burden with the family she created. Until a price could be paid, you could not accept your gift, Queen.”
“Burden?” Neve asks, confusion marring her features.
Glacia looks between the two of us. “So strong was Snedronningen’s desire to be free of her curse, she chose to sacrifice many lives in her pursuit. She required someone with enough magic to pass her curse off and stall the spell forever.”
Neve asks another question, but my mind is drifting, not listening to the Queen.Enough magic, stall the spell…
My brief time in the palace dungeon comes back to me with vivid clarity.
Getting caught by the royal guard wasn’t part of the plan, and being brought to the dungeons is even worse.
I’m still figuring out all the ins and outs of my magic, but this feels like a pretty serious setback. I didn’t know the guards could see me when I fell into their path. I assumed that if I’d developed winter powers, I must be near some kind of Icebound. It’s the only source of magic I’ve ever heard of—aside from the royals—that has any connection to winter.
Now strung up in the dungeon beneath the Frostlands palace, I wonder why I had to be so dumb. Just because I couldn’t see the Icebound as a mortal didn’t mean that nobody could see me now. I’ve been avoiding people as best I can, because people are fucking cruel.
“You’re what the moon chose?” the Queen hisses, glaring up at me. She’s quite a bit shorter than I am, and even if I weren’t suspended, she would still be short. Her pale white skin and strange white eyes glower up at me as though I’ve personally insulted her.
I’ve only had two audiences with the King and Queen before, and both were while I was still alive and starving. There’s no recognition in her eyes, and no kindness, either. Whatever I’ve done since being changed, she’s taking it as a personal slight.
“I asked for the blessing,” she says, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear it. The guards who brought me here said the royals would arrive in a moment to deal with me. I had assumed they would arrive together. “It’s mine to claim as queen.”
“If it doesn’t involve killing me,” I spit, the chains uncomfortable. I can feel the icy burn of my magic beneath, the unexpected push to use my ice to get out of here rising. I can make flurries, frost, and even mild storms. It’s all a process I’ve figured out for myself since there’s no one to guide me. “You can have it. Where’s my staff?”
“Your time is coming,” she growls, stiffly moving back and ignoring my question. “Unfortunately, peasant, you’ll be the sole casualty of me regaining my magic.”
“You already have magic, Your Majesty,” I reply, the sarcasm thick on my tongue. “And it has betrayed you. What more do you need from me?”
Her eyes appear unfocused, looking somewhere past me. I can’t twist around to inspect, my ribs and neck already aching from the battering I took getting down here, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing behind me except a wall. “You took my magic. You damned me to this frozen sleep. How did the spirits decide that you are more worthy than I am?”
I don’t know what she’s going on about. I never asked for anything, and if I had, I would have done so before trying to cross Icicle Pass. Like many before me, the chaotic winds and slippery slope sent me falling to my death. Escaping was a precarious, desperate attempt to begin with. It didn’t much matter whether I lived or died, so long as I didn’t stay in the Frostlands.
And now I’m back. In the capital city I loathe, as something curious enough to catch the Queen’s attention.
“Perhaps you mean to make a mockery of me by stealing my spell,” the Queen snarls, and I try to lean back when she sends thick snow at me. It doesn’t hurt, but beneath the snow is ice that shatters on impact and stings my skin.“For this freeze to never keep, one must forgive the frozen sleep.”
