Winter

And where the heck is the sun? Night still clings to everything, the moon in exactly the same spot as before. As if time is frozen here like everything else.

I’m not meant for wintry, dark worlds. I need sunlight on my face and a warm summer breeze. I need flowers and sunburns and the clink of ice cubes against a sweating glass of iced tea so sweet it’ll rot your teeth right out of your head.

By my admittedly limited experience, the Everwilde is the opposite of that.

As if taunting me, a snowflake lands on the tip of my nose. I sigh, my annoyance growing. My tormentor demanded I be here at exactly midnight, yet now he’s the late one and I’m freezing my lady balls off.

The second that thought hits me, something moves between the trees.

I peer through the flurry of snow and make out a man on a moon-white horse lurking near the base of the closest tree. Actually, not a man—I need to remember that—and he’s not on a horse.

He is a horse, sort of.

“Centaur,” I breathe, sure I’m still dreaming as I watch my breath crystallize in front of me.

The Evermore glares. I stare up at him, too enamored to care that he obviously finds retrieving me an insult. From the waist up, he appears completely normal. Or as normal as a Fae can look.

His features resemble a human’s, but brighter somehow, like he’s been painted with chromatic pigment deeper and richer than anything used on us. Large moss-green eyes watch me, set deep in a proud bronzed face. Vibrant red hair falls to his mid-back, twisted and braided with silver ribbons.

“Done staring?” he drawls, but the proud tug of his lips tells me part of him enjoys the attention. “You mortals always stare, in the beginning.”

I nod, but I’m not done ogling him. How could I be? From the navel down, he’s a horse. A mother-freaking horse.

Then there’s the line of humans strung out behind him. They’re linked together in pairs, their wrists restrained by chains. Another delicate chain connects the entire human line to part of the centaur’s armor.

By their slack faces and distant, glassy stares, they’re glamoured.

He holds out a hand and shifts toward me, the powerful muscles of his hindquarters trembling beneath his soft ivory fur.

“Who are they?” I ask.

“Recruits. They’re going to the front to fight the scourge.”

Cutting my eyes at the poor humans, I try to hide my skepticism, in case there’s a part of them that can still see. They do not look ready to fight an army of darklings.

He jerks his chin at me. “Hop on.”

Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I plant my silly, mittened hands on my hips. “I’m good, but thanks. I can walk like the rest.”

He grins. “Unless you want to freeze your butt off here, I’d suggest doing what I say.” When I still hesitate, he adds, “By the laws of the academy, I can’t glamour you to obey. But those rules also don’t specify I have to bring you to the academy alive.”

Touché. Stupid Fae reasoning.

Frowning, I reach out a hand and let him help me onto his wide back.

He’s warm, at least. I shift, trying to get comfortable. Pretend this is a real horse. “Is this okay?” I ask, flexing my fingers. “I’m not . . . hurting you?”

I’ve never thought to ask such a thing to an actual horse, but they’ve never been able to talk back, either.

An equine ear flicks back, and the rumble of his laughter seeps into my thighs. “You, hurt me? Is that an attempt at a joke?”

Impatience quickens his voice, but his laughter has nothing of my tormentor’s cruel edge, and I make a mental note.

If I’m going to survive this place, everyone I meet has to go in one of two boxes: potential friend or enemy.

He waves his hand in the air. A moment later, a fiery blue and orange circle erupts, growing until it’s as tall as my ride. Another world of ice coalesces inside the flames. Red-tipped mushrooms sprout beneath the circle, the magic seemingly drawing them from the snow.

“What is that?” I ask.

“A portal. You didn’t think we’d walk all the way there?”

I shrug, having no idea where there is.

Apparently deciding I’m hopelessly ignorant, he says, “Look. This is Winter Court land. If we were to walk to Evermore Academy from here, that would take us weeks. Plus, the Winter Court frowns upon members of the other courts wandering through their territory so . . . we take a portal.”

“Got it.” I hold up a thumb, hidden beneath my mitten.

“Good. Now hold on,” he orders.

“To what?” I scour his back for reins or something else to grab, but come up short. And no way am I grabbing his hair.

Before I can find a suitable alternative, he kicks off his hindquarters, plunging us straight into the fiery portal.

9

The glamoured recruits behind us all break into a sprint, that blank expression never leaving their faces.

I squeeze my legs for balance and throw a hand over my eyes.

Blinding light fills the cracks between my fingers, delicious warmth kissing my cheeks. When the light fades to a dull haze, so does the heat. Sighing, I remove my hand—and nearly fall off the centaur.

We’re in a valley with nothing but snow and rocks. A three-story tall wall of stone looms behind us, covered in frost-bound ivy. The sky is a winter haze of fat, gauzy clouds that hide the moon. But my gaze is fixed on the pale cliffs in the distance. An enormous castle of ice and snow has been carved into the top, the monstrosity reaching so high it pierces the clouds.

The centaur catches my stare and laughs. “Welcome to Evermore Academy.”

“It’s . . . so big.”

“That’s only the back. Wait till you see the front.”

“How far does the wall go?” I ask, shuddering at the thought. I hate walls of any kind; they bring to mind being trapped.

“All the way around the Island.”

“Island?” I sweep my gaze over the land, searching for any hint of water.

“Yeah. Of course. The academy sits on the Island of Evernell, the most protected place in Everwilde.”

I wrap my arms around my chest as he trots through the snowy valley toward the cliffs. “Any chance this is like, a fluke weather event, and it’s really spring here?”

“This is actually warm for winter in Everwilde,” he mutters.

“Winter? For how long?” My voice comes out a tad strangled.

“Forever.”

“Forever?” I repeat, praying I misheard him.

He throws me an annoyed glance. “Kidding. Only a year. Winter started a week ago, along with the first day of the academy.”

Only a year? Three hundred and fifty nine more days of this? A sinking feeling comes over me. “Are there any other mortal students showing up today, or . . . am I the only one?”

Please don’t let me be the only—

“Only you.”

“Wonderful,” I murmur. Showing up a week late is sure to draw unwanted attention, and that’s the last thing I need right now.

“Which is rare,” he adds conversationally, “considering most of the mortal first years were chosen years in advance from the pool of mortals who owe us service. There’s an entire process to ensure only the best, most beautiful mortals serve here. And you’re . . . well . . .”

Apparently, unable to think of a word to describe me, his words trail away. Am I really that different than the other students?

Shoving my mittens in my jeans pocket, I brush my fingers over my hair, wishing I’d thought to comb it.

Alarm pulses through me. Somewhere between this morning and now my hair has knotted itself into a matted, unmanageable mess.

Why didn’t I think to take a shower? Or for that matter, brush my teeth? I run my tongue over my teeth, wincing at the fuzzy texture. Who knows when I’ll get another chance.

“Just curious,” I say. “Half-starved mortals who look like they’re homeless aren’t the fashion in Everwilde, are they?”

“No.” His gaze flicks from me to the procession of humans happily marching behind us. The meaning in his glance is clear—that’s where I belong. With them. The poor, glamoured recruits who smile dazedly in my direction.

Do they know they’re going off to fight monsters who used to be human?

It makes me sick thinking that soon, these poor, happy fools will be fighting the darklings. From what I’ve seen of the darklings, these people don’t stand a chance.

“How do you keep the darklings out of academy grounds?” I ask. “Other than the giant wall over there.”

“Wards, mainly . . .” Again his gaze shifts to the poor, happy humans bumbling behind us. Pity flashes in his eyes, and he looks away.

Before I can ask more questions, voices trickle across the crisp air. I sink low on his back as we pass Fae students milling around the grounds. They throw strange glances our way. I’m guessing most students don’t arrive on a centaur shepherding human prisoners-soldiers to the scourge lands.

I don’t bother to hide my own curiosity as I stare back. The watery darkness is broken by golden orbs that float above the students. The magical light isn’t enough to reveal their features, only that they are all different sizes. Some larger than mortals, some smaller.

We pass close to a group near the base of the mountain, and the heat from their orbs chases away the chill, if only briefly.

“Any chance the sun might come up, say, in the next century?” I call out to the centaur.

He cranes his neck to glance at the starry sky. Longing flickers in his mossy eyes. “That all depends on the Winter Prince’s mood. If he’s happy we might get a nice bright day, but experience tells me we’re in for weeks of this.”

That does not sound promising.

“Just curious. How many mortal students come from the Tainted Zone?”

“None.” He shakes his head for emphasis, his ears twitching back and forth.

Although his answer isn’t surprising—anyone with power and influence bribed themselves across the borders right after the magical apocalypse happened—I still wish I’d known all this beforehand.