“Look,” Isabel says. “You can’t even see the buildings across the street anymore. I’ve never seen it snow so hard before. It’s a true winter storm, never mind that it’s early autumn.”
A true winter storm.
Her words settle in my chest like a block of ice.
All the scary stories Mama told me as a child come rushing back, tales meant to frighten me into obedience, into safety, into never straying beyond the fortified stone walls of Braemar.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a storm like this either,” I reply, striving for a calm voice. “But don’t worry. If your father can’t make it home safely, I’m sure he’ll be wise enough to hunker down at the barracks, or at a friend’s house.”
“I hope you’re right.”
The wind howls louder, and we scoot closer to the fire. We’re holding vigil together, waiting for news about the battle horn. Waiting for Mr. Sinclair’s return. Even waiting for… anattack.
I try but fail to push away my worries about the abrupt change in the weather. It’s possible the frost and snow are a natural occurrence, possible it’s a coincidence that a cold wind swept down just before the battle horn sounded.
Possible, but not very likely, a voice in my mind whispers.
What if all the stories Mama told are true?
And what about thebrand-newstories recently brought to Braemar by traveling merchants? Stories about entire settlements of humans and orcs being wiped out. Stories about the realmchanging, about glowing and glimmering vegetation appearing in forests on both human and orc lands.
Stories about unusual, deadly creatures…
Otherworldly creatures never before seen in human or orc territories.
The door bangs open, and Isabel and I gasp. Mr. Sinclair steps inside and quickly shuts the door against the howling wind. The burst of snow that entered with him drifts to the floor.
Isabel dutifully helps her father remove his cloak, hat, and gloves, then urges him to sit directly in front of the fire. Holding his hands over the flames, he fights back a shiver. His face is bright pink with darker splotches of red, his skin battered raw by the wind and snow. Clearly, he was out in the storm for too long.
“Papa, are you all right?”
He stares at her with an eerily blank expression, the sort of look a person displays when they’ve received a great shock. I imagine it’s how I looked after Mama died and after Harry was murdered.
My trepidation increases.
“I… I…” He tries to speak a few times, only for his words to trail off. Beneath the shock in his eyes, I catch glimpses of hopelessness, his utter resignation. It’s as though he’s just learned something terrible and has decided togive up. To surrender to some horrible, dark fate.
“Papa? You’re starting to scare me. Please, tell me what’s wrong. Why did the battle horn sound?” Isabel sits next to him and cups the side of his face.
His eyes flare wide. He looks at her, then he looks at me, like he’s just noticing us for the first time.
The back of my neck prickles.
He draws in a shaky breath.
“The Winter Court army. They’re coming.”
CHAPTER 2
THERON
Bloodlust hums in my veins.I savor the moment, the moment just before battle, as I hover in the sky, staring down at the human city of Braemar. A fortnight ago, soldiers from Braemar decimated an entire family compound of faefolk in the nearby mountains. It’s a crime that must be punished. Severely. All the soldiers in Braemar will be slaughtered, and many others in the city will perish during the battle too.
Justice will be as swift and brutal as the winter winds that are currently battering the human city, the winter winds that always obey my commands.
Magic swirls through me, cold and tingling. Dark and merciless. I could use my powers to cause the winds to become too cold for human survival, thereby killing all the residents of Braemar quickly and efficiently. I’ve performed such feats before, though only when the Winter Court army was needed elsewhere and there wasn’t time for a proper battle.
Thank the gods, there is time for a proper battle today.
