by Everly Frost
There are no pictures on the walls here.
I won’t let Alice hang any and she seems to understand. She still paints—scenery, animals, and sometimes yet another bowl of fruit to make me smile—but she gives them away to charity.
One time she painted a big, green tree, proud and alone in dense grass, and I stared at it for a long time, not afraid any more of leaves or vines. I told her she should keep it, but she smiled at me and it was gone the next day.
I’ve only just started going out into the world again. Mostly, we keep to ourselves, but every now and then Magenta wins another big race, and out we go. Dressed up in our expensive clothes, glittering rocks, and heels, pretending to belong where we don’t.
I don’t think anyone knows what to do with us. I’m the rich girl with the scar. Nathan’s the man with eight fingers. That’s okay with me.
Sometimes my mind runs back to a blue room and black skirts, to billows of dust and the scent of pasture, to a sparkling dam and the glide of summer wind across my face.
I don’t know what happened to Edith, but in my darkest moments we fall together, twisted shadows both.
We choke, the fire spreads, and our paintings turn to ash. Sometimes, the whole house burns, and all that’s left is our faces, dashed across the rubble under the bitter sky.
I was not one person, but the other me is gone now, resolutely missing, a part of me that once was, but never will be again.
Also by Everly Frost
Have you read the Mortality Series by Everly Frost?
In a world where nobody can be killed, one girl will change it all… Perfect for fans of action, intrigue, and strong female leads who fight against all odds.
Turn the page to read the first pages…
The Complete Mortality Series:
Beyond the Ever Reach (Mortality Book One)
Beneath the Guarding Stars (Mortality Book Two)
By the Icy Wild (Mortality Book Three)
Before the Raging Lion (Mortality Book Four)
Coming soon:
The Princess Must Die (Storm Book One)
The Princess Must Strike (Storm Book Two)
The Princess Must Reign (Storm Book Three)
Excerpt from Beyond the Ever Reach
(Mortality Book One)
I NEVER COULD watch anyone die.
Tricycle wheels flipped through the air. Brakes shrieked and metal crunched. The kid’s trike rattled all the way across the road and hit my foot. I froze at the curb in front of my house, school bag sliding off my shoulder, vision filled with the spinning wheels. I told myself to walk away, pretend I hadn’t heard the smash or seen the boy go under the vehicle. I should shrug it off like I was supposed to.
I should ignore the impulse to help.
I bounded around the broken bike and sprinted to the car in the middle of the road. A little arm extended from underneath the front fender, palm up, motionless. Biting my lip, I sank to my heels, wishing his fingers would twitch, fighting the tears that welled behind my eyes.
First death.
It always took one death to find out how fast someone was going to heal. The boy’s fingers were flushed pink, regenerating, but the stillness of his hand told me he wasn’t a really fast healer. I guessed it would be at least another half an hour before he was fully conscious again.
The silence was heavy after the squeal and crash. I hovered, not sure if I should pull him out.
I hated my brother for leaving me behind. If Josh had driven me to dance class like he was supposed to, I wouldn’t be here now, staring at first death and not knowing what to do. I’d be going about my day like normal. No, I reminded myself. Today was not an ordinary day. Today was Implosion.
The driver emerged from the car with annoyance on her face. I flinched as she slammed the car door. Another woman ran from a nearby house, screaming into a phone. She raced to the driver and gave her a shove. “That’s my son! I’m calling the Hazard Police. You’d better be insured!”
The driver threw up her hands and backed off, slumping against the side of her car, clicking her fingernails together, and tapping her heels against the pavement.
I knelt down to the boy as his mother continued to yell into the phone. She paced up and down the road, her voice shrill. “How long will it take to get a recovery dome here? What—you’ve got to be kidding me. I’m already late for work.”
Wisps of his blond hair touched the side of the wheel like yellow cotton candy, all floating and soft. I wondered if his soul floated there too, inches above the hot road, waiting to get back to his body. I was glad I couldn’t see the rest of his head.
Before I touched him, something zipped past my shoulder.
The drone circled up and back, swinging close to my ear. Shaped like a metal cross no bigger than my hand, it skimmed the air in front of the car. Beneath the hum of its four miniature rotor blades came the chatter of shutters. It was taking shots of the damage: the boy’s hand, the wheel, a piece of tricycle jammed under there with him. Assessing the situation and relaying the information twenty miles west to the nearest Hazard Police station.
The drone flitted from spot to spot, whirring around the car straight toward the driver, hovering and clicking, transmitting her image back to the police. The kid’s mother was next before the drone flew to me. A pinprick of light struck my eyes, and I stopped still, waiting for it to take the shot and move on, but the clicking stopped.
I frowned as the mechanical chattering died. Instead of taking my picture, the drone floated, paused for the first time. I stared back at it, waiting, a feeling of unease spreading through my chest.
Someone grabbed my arm.
My elderly neighbor, Mrs. Hubert, wrenched me to my feet, a pair of pruning shears wavering in her other hand. The camera clicked behind me—just once—and I imagined the blur of my body captured in the image. Before I drew breath, Mrs. Hubert’s strong grip propelled me several feet from the car. Her long braid—a sign of her age—slapped against her thigh as she strode away from the accident, taking me with her.
“Come away, Ava. You don’t need to get caught up in that.” She flicked her head in the direction of the scowling driver who looked as if she wanted to strangle someone. I guessed she didn’t have insurance, after all.
“But…” I threw a confused look at the boy’s mother. She still hadn’t checked him.
“Everyone deals with first death differently. You need to get used to it if you want to get through Implosion tonight.”
Implosion. When I find out how fast I heal…
Read more in Beyond the Ever Reach (Mortality Book One) – now a complete series!
Sneak peek at The Princess Must Die, coming soon from Everly Frost…
Two male elves wait in the shadows near the far door, one taller than the other. The taller male steps into the light, but his head is down so I can’t see his face. In a single fluid movement, he drops to one knee, both palms raised toward me.
I stare in shock at the red stone he holds out to me in his open hands.
Every Elven House has a heartstone. All of them are priceless, irreplaceable, but this one is … legendary. The size of my fist, the rock casts ruby light around us from a thousand carefully cut facets. There’s no mistaking it. It was the first heartstone ever created—the first true heart.
This stone belongs to the House of Rath.
My heart jumps. The male’s head is still down. All I can see is his hair: light brown, with a telltale kick on one side. I almost reach out to run my hands through it. It’s been so long…
I haven’t seen Baelen Rath since we were children. Or, more correctly, since the day I almost killed him.
His name passes my lips before I can stop myself. “Bae.”
If he heard me, he hides it. His arms don’t waver.
The man beside him steps into the light, unsmiling, staring at me. “Princess, the stone is offered to you.”
I blink. “What?”
The man’s forbidding expression tur
ns to confusion. He spins to Elise. “Is the Princess not aware of the protocols?”
Elise is ashen, her face paler than I’ve ever seen it. She doesn’t touch me—that would be dangerous right now—but her hand lifts in my direction. “Princess?”
The protocols…
Bae looks up for the first time and I catch my breath. His green eyes pierce mine, the cut of his jaw unyielding. I follow the shape of his high cheekbones to his jaw and the pulse at his neck.
Then he tilts his head to reveal the scar that cuts from his right temple down the side of his face and curves behind his ear. It splits at his jawline and cuts beneath his face like a curling vine, as if a single wound wasn’t enough.
His voice is like ice as he turns the scar fully into the light. “This is what you wanted to see?”
“I… No…” My voice fails me. He’s wrong. I don’t want to see the scar. I want to see that he’s okay despite it.
But the fact that he’s holding his family’s heartstone out to me—offering it to me—means that he intends to be a champion in the fight for my hand. He intends to fight for me. By taking the stone, I will show him that I accept his nomination.
The thing is, the protocols force me to take it. The whole process is designed to make it look like I have a choice, but I don’t. If I refuse to accept him as a champion, then I’ll dishonor his entire House.
The problem is … he’s the only one left. He’s the only remaining Rath. The fight for my hand isn’t all about battle. It’s a game of wits first and strength last. But the final fight between the two remaining champions is to the death. It’s designed that way so the loser doesn’t live to challenge the marriage bond. If Bae fights and dies, his House will die with him.
The scar is a painful reminder that I almost ended his life once.
I can’t do it again.
Read more in The Princess Must Die, the first installment in the Storm trilogy.
Connect with Everly Frost
www.everlyfrost.com
