an excerpt from

Frost

by Kate Avery Ellison

ONE

IT WAS COLD, the kind of cold that made bones feel brittle and hands ache. My breath streamed from my lips like smoke, and my feet made wet, crunching sounds in the snow as I slipped through the forest. As I ran, my lungs ached and my sack of yarn thumped against my back. My cloak tangled around my ankles, but I yanked it free without stopping.

It was quota day in the village, and I was going to be late if I didn’t hurry.

The path stretched ahead in a white trail of unbroken snow, and on either side the ice-covered limbs of the trees hemmed me in with walls of frosty green. Even the light took on a grim, almost gray-blue quality here, and the world was blank with silence. I could hear only the ragged noise of my own breathing and my own footsteps. I felt like an interloper—too loud, too clumsy, too disruptive.

The Frost was always like that. The snow-covered trees had a deadening effect. They absorbed everything—animal calls, voices, even screams for help. Something could come from behind without warning, and you wouldn’t hear anything until it was right upon you. Until it was almost too late.

A branch snapped in the woods to my left. I flinched, turning my head in an effort to locate the source of the sound.

But silence wrapped the world once more. The shadows lay still and gray across the snow. Empty.

“It’s still light,” I whispered aloud, trying to reassure myself. In the light, I was safe. Even the smallest child knew that much.

The monsters didn’t come out until after dark.

I moved faster anyway, spooked by that branch snap even though a blue-gray gloom still illuminated the path. A shiver ran down my spine. Despite our often-repeated mantras about the safety of the light, nothing was certain in the Frost. My parents had always been careful. They had always been prepared. And yet, two months ago they went out into the Frost in the daylight and never returned.

They’d been found days later, dead.

They’d been killed by the monsters that lurked deep in the Frost, monsters that barely anyone ever saw except for tracks in the snow, or the glow of their red eyes in the darkness.

My people called them Watchers.

Color danced at the edges of my vision as I passed the winter-defying snow blossoms, their long sky-blue petals drooping with ice as they dangled from the bushes that lined the path. They were everywhere here, spilling across the snow, drawing a line of demarcation between me and the woods. Every winter, the snows came and the cold killed everything, but these flowers lived. We planted them everywhere—on the paths and around our houses—because the Watchers rarely crossed a fallen snow blossom. For some reason, the flowers turned them away.

Usually.

I touched the bunch that dangled from my throat with one finger. My parents’ snow blossom necklaces had been missing from their bodies when they were found. Had the monsters torn the flowers off before killing them, or had they even been wearing them at all?

Another branch snapped behind me, the crack loud as a shout in the stillness.

I hurried faster.

Sometimes we found tracks across the paths despite the blossoms. Sometimes nothing kept the Watchers out.

My foot caught a root, and I stumbled.

The bushes rustled behind me.

Panic clawed at my throat. I dropped my sack, fumbling at my belt for the knife I carried even though I knew it would do no good against the monsters because no weapons stopped them. I turned, ready to defend myself.

The branches parted, and a figure stepped onto the path.

It was only Cole, one of the village boys.

“Cole,” I snapped, sheathing the knife. “Are you trying to kill me with fright?”

He flashed me a sheepish smile. “Did you think I was a Watcher, Lia?”

I threw a glance at the sky as I snatched up my sack and flung it over my shoulder once more. Clouds were rolling in, blocking out the sun. The light around us was growing dimmer, filling the path with a premature twilight. A storm was coming.

His smile faded a little at my expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have called out to warn you.”

“We’re supposed to stay on the paths,” I growled, brushing snow from my skirt. I didn’t want to discuss my irrational panic. I’d been walking the paths through the Frost my entire life. I shouldn’t be jumping at every stray sound like some five-year-old child.

Cole pointed at two squirrel pelts dangling from his belt. “Quota,” he said simply, adjusting the bow hanging on his back. He moved past me and onto the path. “Speaking of which, we’re going to be late for the counting.”

“You’re a Carver,” I said, falling into step beside him. “Not a Hunter.”

“And you’re a Weaver, not a Farmer, but you still keep horses and chickens,” he said.

I shrugged, still annoyed with him for startling me. “My parents took that farm because no one else wanted it. It’s too far from the village, too isolated. We keep animals because we have room. I don’t bring them into the village on quota day.”

“The quota master gives my family a little extra flour if I slip him a pelt,” Cole said. He glanced down at me, his smile mysterious. “Besides, the forest isn’t dangerous this close to the village, not in daylight.”

“The Frost is always dangerous,” I said firmly.

Cole tipped his head to one side and smiled. He refrained from disagreeing outright out of politeness, I supposed. Having dead parents usually evoked that response from people. “I can take care of myself,” he said.

I looked him over. He was tall, and he carried the bow like he knew how to use it. He might be called handsome by some, but he was too lean and foxlike for my taste. He had a daring streak a mile wide, and his eyes always seemed to hold some secret. His mouth slid into a smirk between every word he spoke.

Our gazes held a moment, and his eyes narrowed with sudden decision. For some reason, his expression unnerved me.

“Lia—”

“We’re going to be late,” I said, dodging, and hurried ahead.

I could hear him jogging to catch up as I rounded the curve. Here the path crawled beneath a leaning pair of massive boulders and alongside a stream of dark, turbulent water. I scrambled around the first rock, but then what I saw on the other side of the river made me freeze.

Shadowy figures in gray uniforms slipped through the trees, rifles in their hands. There were two of them, sharp-eyed and dark-haired. Bandoleers glittered across their chests.

Cole caught up with me. I put up a hand to quiet him, and together we watched.

“Farthers,” I whispered.

“What are they doing this close to the Frost?” Cole muttered.

I just shook my head as a shiver descended my spine. Farthers—the people from farther than the Frost—rarely ventured beyond the place where the snow and ice began. They had their own country, a grim and gray place called Aeralis, and we knew only rumors of it, but those rumors were enough to inspire fear in us all. I’d been as far as the roads that ringed their land once. I’d seen the horse-drawn wagons filled with prisoners, and the sharp metal fences that marred the fields like stitches across a pale white cheek.

The men crept down to the bank and stared at the dark water. They hadn’t seen us. One gestured at the river, and another pointed at the sky and the approaching storm clouds that were visible through the break in the trees. They appeared to be arguing.

“They won’t cross the river,” I said, confident of it despite my fear. “They never do.”

“They’re afraid of Watchers,” Cole said.

I laughed under my breath at the irony of it. The monsters in the woods protected us as much as they endangered us.

After another moment, the Farthers went back up the bank and vanished into the trees. Like I’d predicted, they didn’t cross the river into our lands. I sighed.

Cole spat at the ground in disgust. “Those Farther scum.”

I didn’t reply. Another glance at the sky confirmed that the storm was fast approaching with the night, and our time was dwindling. We still had to deliver our quota.

I turned back to the path and ran for the village.

TWO

THE WOODEN ROOFS of the village began to poke above the evergreen trees, and some of my anxiety eased.

Almost there.

I struggled down the steep hill that led to the gate, my feet slipping on icy rocks. The sack in my hand bumped against my thigh. Cole was right behind me, his boots crunching against the snow.

When I reached the bottom, I brushed twigs off my cloak and hurried through the wooden gate with its faded etchings and carved name of the village—Iceliss. Nobody called it that, though. It was simply our village, the village. There was nothing else here in the Frost but us.

Inside the village proper, people clothed in the muted colors of a snowy forest swarmed everywhere. Their arms overflowed with the goods they were bringing to satisfy their quota, the weekly work their family was assigned by the village Elders. Children ran past me with bundles of firewood, baker women balanced baskets of steaming loaves, and fishermen carried strings of fish that they’d pulled from beneath the icy lakes and streams. I left Cole behind as I shoved through the throng, heading for the center of town and the quota master who would mark my name off the list and give me my earned weekly supplies of salt, sugar, and grain.

I reached the line just outside the Assembly Hall and glanced again at the sky. The clouds were still piling up like dirty wool on the horizon. The storm was fast approaching, and getting home might be difficult.

My stomach squeezed with fresh worry. I shouldn’t have come so late. But my sister hadn’t done her chores, and I’d lost track of time while finishing them for her.

“Lia Weaver,” the quota master called. He looked from the list to my face.

I stepped forward, presenting him my sack, and he pulled out the contents and glanced them over. My face grew hot as he scrutinized the mess of yarn—I hadn’t even had time to roll it into the neat balls I normally did—but he didn’t comment. He handed me the sack of supplies that I had earned, and relief slipped down my spine as I accepted it. I turned to leave, enjoying the heavy feel of the sack in my hand.

“Lia!”

My friend Ann Mayor leaned over the stone fence that edged the Assembly Yard, her face framed by a bright red hood. Village dwellers didn’t always wear the muted blues, whites, and browns of the forest like those who roamed the paths of the Frost. The villagers didn’t have to, because they stayed safe behind the high walls.

“Ann.” A twinge of something like apprehension touched me at the sight of her, because she’d been avoiding me lately and I didn’t know why. The muddy snow that covered the ground crunched beneath my boots as I hurried across the yard to her side.

“Are you well?” Her eyes searched my face. “You look frightened.”

“I saw a few Farthers across the river,” I said. I didn’t mention my silly panic on the paths, or Cole’s annoying advances that made me squirm with discomfort.

She closed her eyes briefly at the mention of Farthers. “Oh.” Farthers were not something anybody liked to discuss, but Ann had a special terror of them.

“They went away,” I added quickly. “They always do.”

She bent forward and lowered her voice a little as she changed the subject. “I didn’t see you at Assembly last week.”

I flushed. The weekly Assembly was necessary so each household would know the quota and supply levels, which fluctuated with the needs of the village. We were all cogs in the machine, doing our parts with our individual quota output to keep the village production at its peak. Order, production, discipline, rules…without them, we would starve in the harsh winters and bleak summers.

One adult member of each household was required to attend each week, and since my parents were dead, the responsibility fell to me. But our farm was at the very brink of our small civilization, and the trek into town was cold and dangerous. Sometimes I didn’t go.

“I’m sorry. My sister was being difficult like always. She wanders off and forgets her chores. I barely made quota this week—”

Normally I wouldn’t throw my silly sister to the wolves, even if my lateness was her fault, but Ann was my friend. She knew how Ivy could be. We often shared an exasperated laugh at our younger siblings’ expense.

But this time, Ann only frowned at my excuse. She bit her lip and looked over her shoulder. “The Elders noticed, Lia. My father noticed.”

A shiver of suspicion tickled the back of my neck. As the daughter of our village leader, she had access to information that I did not, like whether or not the Elders really thought I was capable of taking care of my siblings now that my parents were gone.

“Did they say something?”

A faint blush spread across her cheeks. “I can’t…I really shouldn’t be talking about this. I just wanted to tell you to be sure to do your part, that’s all. Important people are watching.”

My stomach twisted into a knot. If the Elders thought I was unfit to take care of my siblings, we’d be separated for sure. “I’ll be there this week, Ann, I promise. Thank you for telling me.”

She nodded, and the curls framing her delicate face quivered.

I glanced at the sky again. The clouds were closer, and the light was growing grayer. Time to head back to the farm. “I must be going—”

“Lia Weaver,” another voice interrupted loudly from across the yard, and I turned to see Everiss Dyer, a curvaceous brunette with a loud voice and perpetually stained hands from her family’s profession, sashaying toward us. She’d always been more Ann’s friend than mine, but I gritted my teeth into a smile and nodded to her.

“Hello, Everiss.”

Everiss brushed purple-stained fingers over her hood, which was not nearly as fine as Ann’s embroidered one. But it was ten times nicer than my ragged, ice-blue cloak with the fraying seams. I could see her mentally making the comparison, and I dropped my eyes.

“Did you hear the news?” she asked me.

I shook my head.

Ann and Everiss exchanged wistful glances. “The Tailor family’s oldest son announced his intentions,” Everiss said, wetting her lips with her tongue. “Can you imagine it? Me, courting? And such an older man…”

“Don’t be silly,” Ann said with a laugh. “He’s less than a year older than you, you goose.”

They both looked at me for my reaction. I forced a smile and nodded, trying to feign enthusiasm. Good for her. Making a match and forming a family was one of the most important things anyone could do here in the Frost. It ensured your survival. It ensured your place in the village. It was every girl’s dream, I supposed.

It was my secret dread.

“Don’t look so jealous,” Everiss said, smirking as she misinterpreted my expression. “Your time will come.”

She and Ann both shifted their gaze to someplace over my shoulder. “Speaking of which…” Ann said, giving me a conspiratorial smile.

I turned. Cole Carver was heading straight for us, his sack of supplies in one hand and his cloak flapping behind him. Here in the village, he looked more ridiculous than mysterious.

“Ann…” I said, sighing.

“He likes you,” she murmured. “He’s always asking about you.”

Cole reached us and stopped, smirking at me just like he’d done in the forest. “Hello, girls. Hello again, Lia.”

“Again?” Everiss arched her eyebrows.

“Lia and I ran into one another on one of the forest paths. We walked here together.”

I was suddenly uncomfortable with the way Everiss and Ann were grinning at me. I gestured at the sky. “A storm is coming. I really should get back to the farm—” I edged away, trying to escape their predatory matchmaking attempts.

Ever since I’d been orphaned, every idle villager had decided I was in need of a husband, it seemed. I was sick of it.

Everiss blocked my way. “If you’d been at the last Assembly, you would have heard that there’s going to be a winter social next month.”

Ann’s gaze shifted from me to Cole. “Do you think you’ll attend?”

“I don’t know,” I said irritably. “My brother and sister…”

I didn’t have to finish the thought. Everyone understood. Freshly orphaned, with a cripple brother and an impetuous younger sister, I had my hands full without counting quota and the upkeep of the farm. If anyone had a reason to skip socializing, it was me.

The wind blew between us, and a few snowflakes brushed my face.

“I should get back to the farm,” I said again. I began to walk, and this time they followed instead of trying to stop me.

The girls murmured together about the social while Cole fell into step beside me. The village streets had already begun to empty as the weather drove people indoors. Unencumbered, we passed the houses of stone and wood with their narrow, rounded doors and shuttered windows. I saw a merchant from the south in the streets. Trinkets and gadgets made of cogs and gears from Aeralis and the Dark Lands to the south covered his chest and hung from his belt. A shiver rippled over my skin. Carrying things with that kind of technology in the Frost was dangerous. Didn’t he know?

“I wish you would come,” Cole persisted. He was matching my strides with his, and with each step the shock of brown hair on his forehead bounced. “We hardly ever get any fun around here. It’s good for a body to have some relaxation.”

I sighed. I was tired of making excuses. “The farm absorbs most of my time and energy now.”

Cole followed my eyes to the merchant, who was now heading toward the gates of the village. I frowned as I realized the man intended to head deeper into the Frost tonight.

“Surely he knows better than to go out there with those Farther things strapped to his chest?” I muttered.

Cole frowned. “Fool. He’ll be eaten by the Watchers for sure.”

I winced, thinking of my parents. Cole was oblivious to the distress his words had caused me as he watched the disaster unfolding before us.

But before the merchant could slip out the gates, a slender, dark-haired figure stepped forward and pressed a hand against his chest, intercepting him. My lungs squeezed tight, because I recognized the second figure at once.

Cole drew in a sharp breath. “What is that scum doing here?”

“He has quota just like everyone else,” I said quietly. I watched as the young man pointed toward the inn and then at the Farther things the merchant carried. He mimed burying them, and his lips moved as he explained the danger. He was too far away to hear, but I knew what he was saying—the creatures in the forest were drawn to the strange technology from the south, one of the reasons we had so little of it. Anyone carrying it in the forest at night would be hunted for sure. He was explaining to the merchant what would happen if he left the village now, with darkness approaching.

A sigh slid from my lips. Was this some kind of act to make us think he cared what happened to people out there?

I knew from personal experience that the opposite was true.

“I can’t believe him,” Cole continued viciously. “Your parents’ graves are barely cold, and still he walks around as if we’ve all forgotten the part his family played in their deaths.”

Ann and Everiss broke off their conversation and drew closer. “What is it?” Ann asked, seeing our expressions.

“That idiot Adam Brewer is here,” Cole said. “Acting as if nothing is wrong.”

Ann avoided looking at me as she spoke. “We don’t know that his family is responsible for what happened to Lia’s parents. We don’t know what happened that day—”

“We know enough,” Cole interrupted. He scowled.

“Please,” I said. “I don’t really want to discuss it.”

“Hello, Lia.”

I looked up quickly.

Adam Brewer.

He’d left the merchant heading for the inn and approached us instead—had he heard our words about him? My face flushed. My friends were frozen in quiet. Beside me, Cole’s eyes narrowed, and I saw his jaw twitch out of the corner of my eye.

But Adam was looking only at me. I straightened my shoulders. I would not cower under his gaze, even though it was wild and sharp as a hawk’s.

He was slender, with dark hair that fell into his eyes, and he wore a thick blue cloak as ragged as mine. We were both from farms outside the village walls. Like me, he knew the dangers of the forest because he experienced them firsthand.

Adam’s eyes cut to others and then back to mine. “I hope your farm has been free of Watchers lately?”

The word slid through the air, sharp as a knife blade. I sucked in a sharp breath. He was waiting for me to speak to him about the vicious creatures that prowled our forests at night as casually as we might speak of the weather.

I could just say it. No, I haven’t seen any Watchers. And I won’t be so foolish as to trust you to protect me from them, either. The words burned hot on my tongue, but I couldn’t spit them out.

My friends shuffled their feet, looking at him with thinly disguised hostility. Nothing had been proven, and there were no charges made against the family, but it was clear what everyone thought. And now here he was, bringing up that word—Watchers—like nothing was wrong.

The Brewers were part of the village just like everyone else, but they were not originally from the Frost, and their skin just tanned enough to keep everyone from forgetting that fact. They kept to themselves and didn’t mingle much. Although nobody had really liked them before, after my parents’ deaths they were regarded with open contempt. They’d asked my parents to help them with their quota and then abandoned them in the forest when the Watchers attacked. And my parents had not come back alive.

He was still looking at me like he expected a response. I hesitated, the words sticking in my throat. A hot, humming pressure started at the back of my head and crept forward—the promise of a headache. I couldn’t do it.

Lowering my head, I moved past him without speaking. The others followed.

Cole threw a glance over his shoulder. “Idiot.”

Shock still reverberated through my body at the near-confrontation. I turned my head to see if the Brewer boy was still standing there, but he’d vanished deeper into the village.

“That was bizarre,” Ann said, rushing to agree, to comfort me as we reached the village perimeter and the wall that surrounded it. “My father says the Brewers are a strange bunch.”

“They’re practically Farthers,” Cole spat.

Everyone flinched, and I thought of the soldiers we’d seen earlier. We knew little about the steely eyed people and their land to the south of us, but what we did know was enough. The stories that passed into our village told of arrested citizens, of public brutality, of wealthy who tormented the poor and prisoners who were forced to work as slaves. It was a cruel, cold land of advanced technology and regressed morality. Mothers told their children to be good or the Farthers would steal them away. As a little girl, I’d had nightmares about them.

“Those are strong words, Cole Carver,” Ann said sharply. She was loyal to me, but she was also the Mayor’s daughter, and a diplomat. “The Brewers are a part of this town, members of our community. They deserve to be treated as such.”

He crossed his arms. “They’re not from here, same as Farthers.”

“Farthers,” she said, “Are vicious, cruel people. Comparing anyone in the village to them is a reprehensible accusation—”

“What the Brewers did to Lia’s parents was reprehensible, too.”

I didn’t really want to talk about the Brewers or the death of my parents, especially not with Cole. “I have to go,” I said, interrupting them. “The storm is getting close.”

Cole pressed his lips together and nodded. I think he could finally tell he’d offended me. “May you have clear skies home,” he muttered. It was our village’s traditional—and cautionary—farewell.

Ann hugged me, and Everiss waved. Together they turned for their homes.

I stepped to the gate and lifted the sack to my shoulder. The wind swept around me, tugging at my hood and the hair beneath. I took a breath and started down the path again.

The forest had already begun to grow dark. Shadows darkened the trail ahead, tricking my eyes and transforming the trees into monstrous shapes with skeletal arms that clawed at the sky. Flurries of snow were beginning to drift down like feathers.

I’d tarried too long, and now I’d have to make the journey home in the grim twilight.

Gathering my cloak and my courage around me, I stepped through the gates.

~

If the journey into the village in daylight was bad, the trip back in near-night was a terror-filled nightmare. The trees seemed to crowd the path like skeletal spectators. Shadows blanketed everything in deep shades of gray. The wind moaned across the snowdrifts, making them hiss.

Something sprang from the darkness to my left. A rabbit. I clapped a hand over my thudding heart and pressed on, fumbling for the flowers at my throat. My skin prickled with every step I took, because with every step the shadows grew deeper and colder. Snowflakes began to swirl, making patterns in the wind and brushing against my cheeks like wet feathers.

The path wound on, and I followed it grimly. Lanterns filled with the glowing fungus found deep in the Frost cast circles of blue light across the snow here and there, their light like fading stars. Some helpful soul had placed them on the path earlier today. The phosphorus-rich fungi would glow for days after picked, but the falling snow made it difficult to see.

Shadows rippled ahead, and the snow crunched. I paused on the path, reaching again for the flowers at my throat. Watchers?

The sound ebbed. I exhaled sharply and pressed on. The incident with Adam Brewer in the village had made me jumpy.

Our farm was the last stop on the path. Ours was the final fingernail on the hand of civilization—after our shabby barn and ramshackle house, there was nothing but icy rocks and trees between us and Aeralis.

Rocks, trees, and Watchers.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I crested the hill and caught a glimpse of the yellow light streaming through the windows of the farmhouse. My head cleared and I sighed as if I’d just broken the surface of a deep lake. An unexpected flare of emotion squeezed my chest and prickled at the corners of my eyes. Blinking hard against it, I checked the sky again and then went to the barn to see to the animals. I rarely cried, because what good did crying do? Yet seeing Adam Brewer in the village had dredged up a whirl of emotions in me.

There was no time to stew on it, though. I brought the horses in from their paddock and fed and watered them. I checked the hens to be sure they were warm and settled in their coop at the back of the barn. I rubbed my fingers over the bridge of the cow’s nose and down her side before dumping the bucket of dried turnips into her feed trough. They didn’t have names, any of them, because I saw no sense in naming the food. The cow and the chickens would be slaughtered for meat when they were too old, and the horses were not really ours. They belonged to the village, but we stabled them. They were a matched pair, small and shaggy and fleet-footed.

Satisfied that the animals were settled for the night, I returned to the yard. Little shards of ice stabbed my skin and prickled against my cheeks. On the porch, the Watcher Ward over the door clattered and turned in the wind, the blue ribbons and carved wooden snow blossom symbols making a tinkle of ominous music above my head. I opened the door to the house and went in.

The house was too hot after the freezing wind, and the air smelled like warm milk and baked apples. The fire on the hearth blazed high. I tossed my cloak across the hook by the entrance and put the bag of supplies in the kitchen. “Jonn? Ivy?”

My brother Jonn raised his head from the yarn in his lap at my entrance. He looked just like me—lanky limbs, a narrow, shrewd face framed by pale, red-blond hair, a stubborn sweep of freckles across his nose and cheeks like speckles on a bird’s egg. We were twins, and we looked it.

“Where’s Ivy?” I swept my gaze across the main room of the house. Dried laundry draped across my great-grandmother’s furniture, laundry my little sister had been supposed to fold and put away before I got home. A curl of anger kindled in the pit of my stomach—we were barely making quota, the winter storms were upon us, and she wasn’t even keeping up with the basic chores I gave her. She was almost fourteen—she was old enough to do her share of the work.

Jonn raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t seen her all afternoon. I thought she was with you.”

A little piece of my insides froze at his words. Our eyes met and held, and a million wordless things passed between us. I went back to the door and opened it.

Darkness was falling along with the snow. I hadn’t seen my sister in the village, and she hadn’t been in the barn. It was a small farm—just a round clearing in the woods, really. There was no sign of her in the yard. I shouted her name, but the wind snatched the word from my lips and flung it away. The Watcher Ward rattled above me, and the sound was like bones shaking.

My heart beat fast. My lungs were suddenly empty. I took a shaky breath and then exhaled slowly before turning to my brother.

“I’m going out to find her.”

Jonn looked at the fire. I knew he wouldn’t argue with me—he wasn’t the type to voice disagreements, especially not with me—but his whole face tightened and his lips turned white. “The Watchers…”

“It’s too early for Watchers to be out,” I said. “There’s still light left. Besides, nobody’s seen one in months.”

That was a half-lie, as their tracks were spotted almost every week crisscrossing the paths or wandering around the edges of the village where the border of snow blossoms was planted to keep them out. But it was a half-truth, too. We hadn’t seen them recently.

But Jonn and I knew better than anybody that there was still a risk.

“I’m going,” I said.

He didn’t reply, but I could tell by his expression that he was furious that he couldn’t go. He wasn’t mad at me. It was just the way things were. There was no point in wasting time talking about it, so we didn’t.

I pulled on my cloak again and struggled into my heavy boots with the snowshoes for walking on top of the snow. Opening the front door, I threw one final look over my shoulder at Jonn before ducking back out into the wintery evening.

It had grown colder since I’d been inside, or maybe that was just the wind stealing the warmth from my body. I padded through the dusting of snow that covered everything, cupping my hands over my mouth to call her again. “Ivy!”

Most of the time fear was just like a rat in my belly, gnawing and gnawing a hole in the same place day after day whenever I’d let it. But now the rat had turned into a lion, and it was tearing me apart from the inside out. I reached the edge of the yard, where the trees formed a wall of brown and green, and I stopped. The wind shivered through my hair.

“Ivy!” I screamed again.

She was always wandering the farm with a dream in her eyes and a song in her mouth. She had a head full of thoughts about things that didn’t matter and never would, and she didn’t have an ounce of sense when it came to our survival. I wrapped both arms tight around my middle to hold in the fear, and I sucked in another breath to call again when I heard it, lost against the wind. My name.

“Lia…?”

Her voice was faint, almost imperceptible, but my ears were fine-tuned with terror and I heard it. I surged forward into the woods, kicking up snow. “Ivy?”

She appeared out of the shadows suddenly. Her cheeks were bitten red with cold and her long dark hair was wet with melting ice. She stumbled, grabbed my hands. Her mittens were missing. “Hurry,” she breathed, tugging at me. “Quickly.”

“Ivy Augusta Weaver,” I hissed, torn between joyful relief and flickering anger. “It’s almost night time. There is a storm coming. What were you thinking? Where have you been?”

“There is a boy,” she panted, ignoring my scolding. “In the woods.”

“What?”

But she was already plunging deeper into the forest, and I had no choice but to follow her, a new worry filling my mind and replacing the short-lived relief I’d felt. A boy in the woods? Who had gotten himself lost in the woods at a time like this? One of the farmers’ sons, perhaps?

We were the last farm in the Frost. There was nothing beyond us to the north but the Empty, and to the south there was only the Farther World. What was anybody doing at the edge of that?

Ivy and I continued into the forest. We ducked around branches and scrambled over icy roots. The shadows were thick, and they painted our cloaks a deep indigo.

Ivy reached a giant rock at the mouth of a clearing and stopped. “There,” she said, pointing with a trembling hand.

I could just make out the crumpled form. In my anxiety, I saw only isolated details. A thin, wet shirt, a pair of shoulders, a face almost hidden by the snow. I took a step forward, trying to place the face…and then I saw the sharp features, the dark hair, the slightly tanned tone of the skin. I halted as my blood turned stone-cold. Time became protracted and dense, like swimming underwater. Sound was muffled. My chest felt tight.

You must be strong, Lia. My mother’s voice rang in my head. I remembered her wind-weathered face, her chapped hands gripping mine, her earnest eyes as they scoured my face for weakness. There could be no weakness here in the Frost, where we clung to life between the mountains as desperately as a drowning man clings to a stone.

“He’s not one of ours,” I said, turning to her with sudden fierceness. “Ivy…”

“He’s hurt,” she said.

“Don’t you understand?”

She just looked at me. I drew in a deep breath.

“That is a Farther.”