Winter

“Stupid luck,” I mutter. “Stealing from the Winter Prince.”

He stops so suddenly I nearly fall off his back. “What did you say?”

“I stole some neverapples and . . .” The intensity in his voice makes me nervous, and I brush back a knotted rope of hair before continuing. “Apparently they belonged to a Winter Prince.”

The silence that follows is nearly as cold as the frigid air. Does this Winter Prince control tongues now, too?

But it’s obvious his shadow—and his brand—taint me much like the dark magic does the darklings. Until I sever this bond between us somehow, I’m untouchable.

As if the Winter Prince knows I’m thinking of him, the snow begins to drizzle down in wet, annoying bursts. I focus on the campus. It’s huge, and I imagine in the springtime the land around us bubbles with life and beauty.

But now . . . now the sloping lawn leading up to the main campus building is blanched with snow. As are the conical evergreens and waist-high wall of shrubs leading to a massive gate. Two-foot tall droughts of snow line the top of the stone fence.

A huge diamond-shaped crest sits in the center of the wrought iron gate, half-covered in snow. Engraved into the surface around the letters EA are all manner of creatures: fawns, sprites, ogres, and strange animals I’ve never seen before.

With a twist of the centaur’s wrist, the door parts, revealing a long gravel path cleared of snow. Flames of green magic flicker from ivory columns on either side.

I slide off the centaur’s back without being told. His gaze hovers somewhere on the mountains in the distance.

For some stupid reason, my eyes prickle with tears.

“If something happens to you . . . I will let your family know,” he offers kindly.

My throat aches. I hadn’t truly realized until now how much I fear my family never knowing my fate.

But I made myself a promise. Straightening, I force my chin high. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll see them in four years.”

The corners of the centaur’s lips tug upward. “I hope that’s the case . . . what did you say your name was?”

“Summer Solstice.” I throw out my hand to shake his before remembering he’s Fae, after all.

He regards my hand for a moment before tentatively offering his much larger one.

I give a good, firm pump while he frowns down at the whole thing.

“And you are?” I prod.

“Magus,” he answers, retrieving his hand and then inspecting it. “Good luck inside.” There’s something in his tone that bothers me, a warning. But before I can dig further, he crowds me toward the door with his bulky body. “Go to the headmistress’s office. It’s on the tenth floor. And . . . try not to speak or do anything that grabs attention.”

That’s my new motto. Stay quiet and blend in. How hard can it be?

10

Surprisingly, the inside of the main building isn’t as dark and dreary as I was expecting. A strangely comforting mixture of pine cleaner and sage permeate the air. Pendulum lights filled with magical orbs hang from the mahogany ceiling beams, and flickering sconces line the stone walls.

Maps are neatly stacked at an unoccupied helpdesk near an atrium. When I grab one, I catch sight of two guards near a door. Their ears are round—they’re human. Their sharp gaze falls over me and I quicken my pace, my boots hardly making a sound against the parquet wood floor’s polished surface.

On the third floor, I pass by a commons area where Fae students lounge on sofas that could have come from Ikea. MacBooks and iPads fill their laps, and a few have headphones on.

From a distance, most could pass as human—if not for their slender ears that end in delicate points.

The door to the headmistress’s office is parted. A gold plaque on the door reads, Headmistress Luna Lepidonis.

Inside, I find an imposing Fae woman with stern features and silver-gray hair pulled into a severe bun. She sits ramrod straight behind a neat mahogany desk, her inhumanly long fingers splayed out in front of her. Her face, like all the Fae, is smooth and poreless, with high cheekbones and large dark eyes.

She could be forty . . . or four-hundred.

Behind her, three heavily arched stained glass windows rise, the colorful panes made into a woodland scene filled with exotic creatures.

When I near, two powdery beige moth wings unfurl from her back. They’re soft looking, like crushed velvet, a large mint-green spot adorning the apex of each wing.

She lifts an eyebrow as her sharp gaze takes in first my attire, then my hair. “Ah. You must be the new . . . shadow recruit. Come in.”

There’s a Fae male standing beside her . . . no, his ears are round, so he’s human. Already that’s the first thing I check. Ears pointed or curved?

He regards me with a grim smile as I stare. By his salt-and-pepper hair, matching mustache, and weathered face, he’s at least fifty, with the body of a man who works out regularly.

The red-and-black uniform he wears fits snug around his muscular arms and thighs.

“This is the head Shadow Guardian for the entire academy, Mr. Willis,” the headmistress says. “If you graduate in four years, he’ll also be responsible for your placement with a keeper.”

He gives me a curt nod as he leaves. Slipping into the black leather chair in front of her desk, I watch quietly while the headmistress shuffles around papers until finding the one she’s looking for. She reminds me a bit of Aunt Vi, but I can’t tell yet if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Lips tight, she pushes a document across her desk. “All we need is your signature and then you can go.”

That was quick. I stare at the paper, my heart pounding. “If I don’t sign?”

Her dark brown eyes narrow. “Do you know how many mortals would love to be in your position? Mortals who have been training to come here since birth, whose parents came here before them. Mortals with means and influence. Mortals who can benefit this school and Fae-kind after graduation.”

Well then. “And I’m not that kind of mortal?”

She doesn’t even try to hide her disdain as she says, “You . . . are a special exception. Made by a very powerful student. But there is no reason to hide the truth: I do not think you belong here. Moreover, I do not think you will survive here.”

Heat flares up my neck and into my face. “And I think you’ll be surprised at how resilient I can be.”

“Resilient?” The word spits from her lips like it’s poison. “As a shadow, your job is to train beside an Evermore, the highest, most promising Fae heirs from each court. They rely on you for many things, but your most important job at this school is protecting your Fae keeper with your life.” Pressing her hands together, she leans forward. “If a darkling breaks through our wards, are you prepared to kill it to protect your keeper?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the truth is, I’m not. And I’m not even sad about it.

“As I thought. You are untrained, undisciplined, and uneducated. If it were up to me, you would be drafted to fight the darklings outside the wards. Maybe then your death would mean something.” Her lip curls. “But it isn’t up to me, so here”—she slides the document even closer—“make your mark and this charade will be over.”

For some reason, her words cut deep. I understand being annoyed with having someone basically foisted on them last minute, but I didn’t choose this path. And I had nothing to do with my placement here, which I’m starting to realize is my tormentor’s form of a cruel practical joke.

Biting the inside of my cheek to hide the hurt, I focus on the form. It’s basically a declaration that I now belong to the academy, and that they aren’t responsible for my safety, nor liable monetarily or otherwise.

There’s also a clause at the end that stipulates after my training here, I will give four years of service to shadowing a Fae, or buy my freedom.

When I’m done reading, I scribble my signature and shove the document away.

“See,” she says in a deceptively sweet voice. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, we have a temporary room available for you on this floor in the visitor’s wing. Last room on your left. We’ll know soon which court you belong to, and I’ll have your books and schedule delivered to your court’s mortal dormitory.”

She hands me a pamphlet titled, Rulebook for Shadow Guardian Students, and sends me on my way. Right before I get to the door, she calls out, “Miss Solstice?”

I glance over my shoulder. What now?

Maybe I’m just imagining it, but the hard line of her lips has softened. “Your files are sealed, meaning no one knows about your slave-mark . . . or who requested your presence here. I highly recommend you keep it that way.”

“Noted, thank you.”

I’m halfway down the first flight of stairs when I remember I left my handbook in the office. Crap. When I get to the door of her office, I pause. Mr. Willis, the head Shadow Guardian, leans against the side of the desk, deep in conversation with the headmistress.

“. . . cannot have another student death at our school,” the headmistress is saying. “You saw her! She has no idea what awaits her inside this academy.”

Willis’s bushy eyebrows mash together, and he places a large hand on the headmistress’s much smaller one. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Make sure she gets extra attention from Richter and extra training.”

“It’s not enough.” Lepidonis’s gaze drifts to the window. “You know what they’re like here. I doubt she’ll make it through the Selection.”

“I could inform King Sylverfrost about her presence.”

“No. You know what he would do with her.” The headmistress’s words tumble out quickly, and I detect more than a hint of fear in them. “I cannot imagine why, but the girl is here. Now, let’s just hope she understands the danger she faces.”

11

My boots slap loudly against the metal stairs as I try to find where I’m supposed to go next. But my mind keeps drifting to the words I overheard, and cold sweat trickles between my shoulder blades.