Prologue
NINETEEN YEARS AGO
Rainslamsagainstthewindows, so loud it seems like the whole house is shaking. What if the glass breaks? Who will fix it? I don’t think Mama knows how. I curl tighter in the closet, knees locked to my chest.
Mama said not to come out. No matter what happens.
No matter what I hear.
Thunder booms again. What if the roof falls in and Mama can’t find me?
Someone’s shouting downstairs, but another crack of thunder swallows the words. The rain pounds harder, like it’s trying to get inside. If I were a baby, I’d think the storm was here for me.But I’mnota baby. I’m six. A big girl. Mamaneedsme to be a big girl right now.
But a whimper slips out anyway. My legs twitch to run, to find Mama, but I squeeze my arms around my knees and stay put. I promised. I have to keep my promise.
A flash of lightning fills the thin line beneath the door, white and sharp. My knees knock together. Darkness rushes back in. I clutch my carved wooden reindeer—a gift from Father—so hard, its edges bite my palms. Tears sting my eyes.
I might throw up.
I wish Mama were here. She’d rub my back, stroke my hair, let me hide my face in her soft dress until I felt brave.
Between angry thunderclaps, I hear it—boots on the stairs. Heavy. Loud. Too loud to be Mama.
I cover my eyes. My cheeks are wet.
They’re in my room now. Strangers. Bad men. That’s why Mama wanted me to stay hidden. Things crash to the floor. Where’s Mama?
I hold my breath and make myself as small as I can.
It doesn’t help.
The door flies open.
I scream and scream and scream.
Chapter One
“Comeon,Princess,”adeep voice rumbles in my ear. “I’ve taught you better than that.” I struggle beneath him, the ice floor cold against my back, but his heavy weight pins me down. Dark, mischievous blue eyes—ones I know as well as my own—trace my face, settling on my lips.
I scowl and bring up my knee. Hard.
Daak narrowly shifts out of the way with a huffed laugh before jumping to his feet. I ignore his proffered hand and rise on my own.
“Again.” I drop into a defensive position, arms raised.
Amusement dances in his eyes. “If you say so.”
With a flurry of punches, he attacks.
Daak gives me no quarter, but I know his routine—he’s been training me for years. I easily deflect his blows. When his leg sweeps out in a roundhouse, I crouch just in time, his boot passing scant inches above my head.
Water burbles in the large fountain carved into the ice wall of the palace’s training room, though its sound is muffled by myown heaving breaths. From the center of the fountain, a massive polar bear—one of my least favorite ice sculptures—glares at me. He’s always glaring. I like to pretend he’ll look pleased when I finally win.
Maybe it’ll be today.
I attack with flying fists and well-aimed kicks, my grunts echoing through the vast, cold room. Daak blocks every single strike, eyes glinting in the sunlight filtering from the large, arched windows. Just when I’m about to land a solid blow, a large wave of clear, cold water surges from the fountain. It flows toward us in a rushing torrent, wrapping around my legs.
Itfreezes.
