Shadow Frost (Shadow Frost Trilogy Book 1)

by Coco Ma

  Asterin loved going on those assignments. In disguise, it gave her the chance to interact with her people, not as their future ruler, but as their equal. To hear what they wanted to say, rather than what they were supposed to say.

  “Is this why you asked me to train you?” Orion had asked her once on their way back to Axaris. “So you could go out into the kingdom secretly? Without the Elites guarding you?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “No. I would have found a way to do that, anyway.”

  “Then why?”

  “I told you years ago.”

  “To be able to protect yourself?”

  “Yes.” When she spoke again, her voice was solemn. “My father died from an untouchable illness. But if it had been anything else, something he could have fought with steel, I know he would have. And …”

  “And?”

  She turned to him, eyes blazing. “If I ever have to fight, I will. And I will always win.”

  Orion awoke a few hours later, a blanket that smelled like Harry draped around his shoulders. Someone had left him a plate of stew with bread on the low table. Quinlan lay sprawled on the rug at his right, an arm draped over his eyes and a makeshift pillow that looked suspiciously like Asterin’s cloak beneath his head.

  He rolled the stiffness from his shoulders and turned in the darkness toward Asterin, slumbering peacefully on the sofa behind him.

  “My life is yours,” Orion whispered to the sleeping princess. “I know you don’t need me, but I vowed to protect your life with mine, and I will never forsake that promise.”

  He turned back around, already drifting off when he felt a hand trail through his hair and come to rest gently against his cheek.

  Orion smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  In the good dreams, it was always winter. Asterin loved winter. She loved the raw bite of bitter wind on her skin. The pale morning horizons, the slate-gray dawns bleeding into vermilion sunrises, setting the undisturbed snowdrifts ablaze with brilliant reds and oranges. The fresh, crisp air, kissed with the subtle fragrance of evergreens.

  When it snowed back home, blanketing everything in sight in a thick carpet of white, she would sneak out of the palace before the sun came up and ride with Lux to the sacred grove of white birches bordering the southern residential district. It was where her father rested in the royal tomb, where all the other Faelenharts before him rested, and where she would rest one day, too. She never made it there unnoticed—Orion and a few Elite Royal Guards usually lurked nearby, but far enough away that she could imagine that she was alone.

  Asterin would find a rock to sit on and simply wallow in a quiet that seemed to stretch on for eternity, serene and unbreakable. If she looked up she would see thousands of delicate flakes whirling in the breeze as they fell from the sky in flurries of virgin white.

  But in this dream, when she sat upon the rock, the snow stilled and hung midair.

  “Milady,” a voice said from behind her in a tone so deep that it vibrated through her bones. Asterin turned to find herself staring at a massive man. An ethereal glow pulsed around his figure. He was beautiful in a rugged, brutal way, from the severe cut of his nose and jaw to the windblown silver hair and familiar, piercing emerald eyes. A nonexistent wind carried the crimson cape flowing from his shoulders. Jagged steel embellished his pauldrons, mimicking icicles. He wore silver vambraces and a polished chest plate, the emblem of the House of the Wolf engraved into the center. A ruby-hilted sword with a double-headed wolf pommel identical to her own hung at his side.

  What caught her attention, though, was his very presence—ancient and immense. Despite his middle-aged appearance, Asterin knew that he was no ordinary mortal. He was as old as time itself.

  “Lord Conrye,” she greeted without a doubt in her mind.

  The God of Ice nodded. “Princess Asterin.”

  “Is this your … human form?” she asked.

  “Indeed.” His gaze fixed into the distance. “You have questions. Ask them.”

  She rose from the rock, still nowhere near eye-level with the Immortal. “Why did you have to leave? In Aldville?”

  Conrye began to shrink to mortal height as he answered. “I was never supposed to be there in the first place, Princess. Immortals mustn’t interact with their descendants—that was the promise all of us on the Council made when we shed our blood to create mortalkind. Lady Siore of the earth forged the nine kingdoms from her bosom, and each of us birthed a House to rule over those kingdoms, with magic—our magic—running through your veins. At the beginning, we guided you so that you might remember where you came from, and what you might become. But nothing more.”

  “But you broke that promise,” Asterin pointed out. “You still came to save us at the inn.”

  “I came to save you,” the God of Ice corrected. He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “I received the punishment I deserved from the Council, but I had sensed Eoin’s hand, and intervened accordingly.”

  Asterin’s eyes widened. “Eoin? The God of Shadow?”

  “Yes. Not himself, not yet. He exempted himself from our rules long ago, and he fancies himself a puppeteer. How the Council continues to sit idly by while he interferes in the lives of mortals baffles me. I risk much by visiting you in this dream, but it must be done.”

  “What do you mean by Eoin’s hand?” Asterin asked, her pulse quickening. “Did he send the demon to kill the people in Corinthe?”

  Lord Conrye clasped her hands, his enormous palms dwarfing her fingers. “You must keep an open mind, Princess Asterin. The demon’s actions in Corinthe may not be as straightforward as you imagine.”

  Asterin reeled back, snatching her hands away from Conrye. “What do you mean?”

  “I can only advise you—” The Immortal suddenly cut off, his hand darting to his sword. The snow hanging in the air around him stirred, then hung still again.

  “Lord Conrye,” a voice like ocean thunder rumbled across the horizon. “Do not make me resort to threatening your seat on the Council.”

  “Lord Tidus,” Conrye growled. “That old barnacled bastard.” His eyes fixed back on Asterin. He spoke now with urgency. “Never let anger commandeer your decisions, Princess. Accept the truth for what it is, and your heart will show you the right path.”

  Asterin scowled. “Can you be a little more specific?”

  Conrye began backing away. “No. I am not a fortune-teller, but you are of my blood, and that is the best advice I can offer you from personal experience. Now awaken, for the others need you.”

  With that, he shifted right before her eyes. His armor melded to his skin, transforming into a thick layer of fur. Seconds later, the wolf she had seen in Aldville bowed his head, sparing her one final glance, and then bolted away, nothing more than the glint of a knife’s edge in a field of white. The snow suspended in the sky unfroze, their moment of stolen time dissipating like wisps of morning fog.

  When Asterin opened her eyes, Luna and Rose hovered over her, their expressions alight with glee. Asterin smacked her lips, tasting summer berries.

  “I made you a tonic,” explained Rose. “Feeling better?”

  Asterin sat up, her head clear and her body light. “Much.”

  Luna nodded. “Great. Because a flare just went up.”

  The demon! Asterin shot to her feet, vaulting over the back of the sofa and nearly crashing into the window. She spotted Quinlan loitering on the porch, staring into the distance. Asterin followed his line of sight up above the trees. And just as Luna had said, a bright red trail of smoke from a flare stained the evening horizon.

  “It’s close,” said Asterin, feeling a little dazed. “Where’s Harry?” She caught Rose and Luna exchanging a glance in the window reflection.

  “Out,” Luna said.

  “We’re bringing Quinlan along for backup,” Rose said, “but we’ve instru
cted Eadric and Orion to stay here to keep an eye out for Harry and any … peculiarities.”

  Asterin grabbed her cloak off the sofa armrest and draped it across her shoulders, wondering for a fleeting moment why it smelled of smoke—of Quinlan. “All right, ladies.” Rose and Luna followed her into the foyer. Asterin put her hand on the knob and smiled. “We’ve got ourselves a demon to catch.”

  Harry had sensed that the others were watching him more closely than ever before. Especially the girls. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to pique their suspicion, but he felt the air go taut with tension whenever he entered the room. So he had managed to go a week without shifting, and every time he went to hunt he triple-checked for pursuers.

  In the Immortal Realm, he sustained himself on nectar—but it turned to ash in the Mortal Realm. Human food didn’t always provide him with the energy he needed, so he preyed upon livestock or game when the hunger became unbearable.

  Tonight, his hunger had all but consumed him. He didn’t have the time to go around checking his snares or searching for prey on foot. So he shifted into his demon form and barreled into the woods, promising himself he would stay close to the cottage and return soon.

  Perhaps that had been his mistake. He felt the workings of the trap as soon as his front paws landed on the net—but by then, it was too late. He definitely hadn’t set this one himself, and he hadn’t even scented a trace of it, which meant that someone had charmed the trap into invisibility. The net yanked him up thirty feet into the air, and something wet and pungent exploded from a little tin canister attached to the very same pulley mechanism that Rose and Eadric and Luna had encountered a few weeks back.

  Snarling, his tail and back legs getting increasingly tangled in the net, he gnawed on the rope, but it held fast. Also charmed. Whatever had sprayed from the canister now coated his fur. Vinegar? He thrashed around and smashed his right wing into a tree branch in a shower of leaves.

  Be calm, he thought to himself. He forced himself to still, dizzy from swinging in circles so high above the ground. You can escape before they find you.

  Sparks erupted from the branch above. Harry looked up to find that in his struggle to free himself, he had accidentally toggled some sort of switch. A flare shot straight up into the sky, marking a bullseye on his location.

  Uselessly, he struggled again, thinking hard.

  Shadow jump.

  It was his only choice. He just prayed that he would have enough energy left over to make it back to the cottage.

  Harry took a deep breath and started to rock back and forth. It only took a couple of pendulum swings before he felt the cool caress of the shadows of the tree boughs brush against him, and then he was gone.

  Shadow travel was as simple as touching any shadow and jumping to another shadow elsewhere—anywhere, as long as there existed even the tiniest slice of darkness. But it required a tremendous amount of energy, and it could have devastating consequences on his body.

  He transported himself to his hollowed-out tree and nearly fainted right there, wings hanging limply at his sides. A pair of terrified rabbits scampered past him for their burrow a few feet away, but two flicks of his barbed tail impaled them. Harry devoured both and then shifted back to his human form, spitting rabbit fur from his mouth. Staggering toward the stream nearby, he fell to his knees, naked, and dunked his face in the frigid water to wash the blood from his chin.

  “Harry!”

  He shot up at the voice, dangerously close, his blood thrumming. It was Asterin. He had no doubt that she had set the trap, perhaps with the help of Luna and Rose—he knew that they had been up to something. He guessed that they were heading for the flare and calling for him on their way.

  A dark blue splatter reeking of vinegar stained his skin all the way from his chest down his right arm to the fingertips. He plunged himself into the stream and scrubbed vigorously, dread rising into his throat when it didn’t so much as smudge. To reveal me, he realized. Only a huge mass could set off that trap. No mere mortal could have escaped it.

  He was so stupid.

  Kill them now. It’s the only way out.

  But he couldn’t. If he did, he would be disobeying the Woman’s orders to keep Asterin alive.

  “Shit,” he muttered to himself, and staggered back to the hollow tree, throwing his clothes on. Luckily, the smell was mostly gone, and his coat covered most of the stain. He convinced himself that as long as he kept his right hand in his pocket, everything would be fine.

  He made it back to the cottage in record time, calming himself before he entered.

  Eadric sat on the staircase, elbows propped on his knees, already tracking Harry’s every movement with a flat black gaze. “Evening, Harry.”

  Harry swallowed. “Evening, Eadric.”

  “Catch anything?” the captain asked, jerking his chin at the crossbow Harry clutched in his left fist.

  “Oh, is Harry home?” Orion called from the kitchen. Harry’s knees nearly gave out in relief when the blond boy drifted into the foyer holding a frying pan.

  “Yep.” Harry forced a smile and hung up his crossbow. He strode over to the staircase, but Eadric blocked the steps from wall to banister. “Sorry, Captain. Do you mind?”

  Eadric didn’t budge. “Why are you still wearing your coat?”

  Harry blinked, and then shrugged. “It’s a little chilly.” In one swift movement, he bent his arms behind him and let the sleeves slide off. With his right hand, he grasped the collar of the coat, concealing the stain from view. Then, trying to sound indignant, he said, “Could you excuse me, please?” It was his house, after all.

  “Move, Eadric,” said Orion with an eye roll.

  The captain complied grudgingly, and Harry forced himself to take one leisurely step up the stairs at a time. He made it to his room and locked the door behind him, thanking Orion in his head.

  Double-checking that his blinds were closed, he shucked off his clothes down to his boxers and stared at his reflection in the obsidian mirror. The stain was still there, like a half-shirt. He spat into his left hand and tried rubbing it off his chest again, unsurprisingly to no avail. With a furious growl, he clawed his nails down his chest, hard enough to draw five slashes of blood.

  Panting, he weighed his options as he began to pace the room. When he came up empty, his eyes returned to the mirror, where his immortal body had already knitted the slashes together, leaving five pale lines of healed skin. Unstained skin.

  He knew what he had to do.

  Grabbing a pair of socks from the wardrobe and the largest blade from the assortment of knives in the bottom drawer, he walked back over to the mirror and balled the socks before stuffing them into his mouth.

  And then he began to carve.

  He sheared off the skin on his palm first, then each individual finger, then the back of his hand, gripping the knife handle as hard as he could to keep from shaking. Silver blood poured onto the floor, pooling around the scraps of blue flesh—which, parted from his body, had already withered like dead leaves. With every slice, he closed his eyes and did his best to wait through the pain. His body was still weak from shadow jumping and near starvation, but within a few minutes the skin on his hand had regenerated.

  Another deep inhale and he dragged the knife down from his shoulder to his wrist, tears burning into his eyes. He pared his arm like a vegetable, biting down on the socks to muffle his scream. The blade caught on the back of his elbow and he had to pause, slumping against the mirror, the strip of skin hanging from his arm like a ribbon. Black spots blotted his vision. He blinked them away and finished the cut. Finally—finally, came his chest. His hand quaked so hard he nearly stabbed himself.

  King Eoin has broken you a thousand times worse. This is nothing, he chanted in his head. This is nothing.

  He closed his eyes and drank in the agony, letting his instincts guide the blade
, sharp and true, running across his collarbone and stripping himself down to muscle and bone.

  When it was done, Harry threw the knife onto the bed and collapsed beside it, curling up and burying his face into the pillow, chest jerking with empty breaths.

  Downstairs, the front door opened with Asterin’s return. He could hear all of them talking. The smell of stew wafted to his nose, teasing at his hunger, and he whimpered quietly.

  He caught the shuffle of footsteps on the stairs. They reached the landing and grew closer, stopping in front of his door. He knew it was Asterin from the sound of her steps alone, but he humored her tentative knock. “Harry,” she said. “Dinner’s ready. Are you coming?”

  Harry hauled himself out of bed and lifted the rug, moving it to cover the pool of blood and pile of shriveled flesh. He unlocked the door and cracked it open with a smile on his face. “Hey.”

  Asterin smiled back, but he could tell it was forced. “Eadric said you didn’t look well.”

  “Sorry. I’m feeling a little under the weather.” He ran a hand through his hair and joked, “Maybe you passed your cold on to me.”

  Asterin’s brows shot upward. “Oh, Immortals, I hope not!” She paused. “You should come downstairs and have something to eat, you know.”

  “I guess.” Slowly, he opened the door all the way, savoring the relief that washed over her features when her eyes ran down his body.

  “Maybe put some clothes on, though?” she said.

  Harry let his mouth fall open, cheeks heating. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” He pushed out a laugh. “Just give me a minute.”

  He turned his back on her, feeling the telltale tingle down his spine that revealed she was examining him again. By the time he had pulled on a new shirt and trousers, her smile was genuine.