Page 2 of Omen of ice
Levina rests her hand atop my head. “You are no longer Keltania Tunne. You are Aphelian, an extension of the selfless Priestess Aphelian. You are nature’s fury and her sword and the embodiment of the bond. Wield them well.”
Levina smiles and bends to retrieve the last burlap sack at her feet. It contains my share of our people’s most prized possession. Our blood ink, the last small bits of our magic. Dipping her pointer finger into the bag, she traces a symbol onto my forehead. Our crest. A large circle with a vine of ivy wrapped around it. It’s the sacred mark that will identify me as aFae protector, an agent of honor and respect. The sigil of Aphelian.
The sensation is unpleasant, like a million tiny needle pricks breaking my skin at once. It steals my breath away, making me dizzy. But, as fast as it comes, it dissipates, leaving me with an all-over warm feeling as the magic absorbs into my skin.
“I will make our ancestors proud,” I whisper.
We call it ink, but it’s dirt. Scraped from a sacred section of earth and mixed with deep red pigment, it’s blessed by the acting high priestess and imbued with a tiny kernel of the remnants of our power. Every descendant of Aphelian gets her own share, for times of crisis when we need a boost of power or strength. It allows us to channel what’s left of our people’s magic and temporarily reclaim a small bit of the glory we once knew by tracing sigils onto our skin with the ink.
From somewhere behind me, Alainya lets out another excited squeal. Levina’s lips quirk, and my other cousins whisper for her to stay quiet.
Levina steps back and closes the pouch, careful not to spill any of the ink. “You have all been marked and have the ink of Aphelian in your veins. Make our people proud.”
From this day forward, each sigil I use will mark my skin with a red tattoo. The marks are alive, churning and shimmering with power. It’s unsettling to some who see them, but our sigils are worn with pride, symbols of bravery and unyielding loyalty. Like Aphelian before me, I’ll use the magic to protect the Fae as they once protected us. With their own power gone, the Fae of the Winter Lands—once called Aroberg—are vulnerable. Their prosperity breeds hatred among the nomadic survivors from the other courts as well as the magic-starved creatures that border their lands.
Levina takes my face in her hands as the crowd around us cheers. “Go with the Goddess, my child. Iknowone day we will meet again.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” Because of Levina, I’ve trained harder than the others, studied longer, and pushed myself further. Because of Levina, I earned one of the most coveted assignments the Order has ever received. “Iwillmake you proud.”
“My dear…” She brushes her hand across my cheek and smiles. The pride I see in her eyes, the confidence in me, makes my chest ache. I just hope I can live up to her expectations. “I know you will.”
I smile and move to turn away, but Levina holds tight. For a moment—just a moment—I swear I see a flicker of regret in her eyes.
…
The next morning, after changing and gathering my things—everything I own easily fits into a single pack—I’m shown to a chestnut mare with an intricately braided mane, then led down the overgrown path at the northern corner of the Order grounds. The other Aphelians left the night before, in the pre-twilight hours following the feast. I wished them well, knowing I’d likely never see them again.
My Winter Fae companions—a broad-shouldered Fae who’d introduced himself as Kopic as we began our trek, and a Fae named Wella with silvery-white hair and an expression that could easily sour milk—lead the way to my new home. We travel north on horseback for three days, stopping for very short periods of time to rest. The Fae seem eager to get home, and there’s little conversation. As we travel, I run through all I’ve been told about my charge.
Levina didn’t say much. Not his name or placement in the Winter Court, but I know he loves books and learning, has a small degree of fighting skills, and is well-liked—particularly among the females. With his love of books, the logical guess would be that he has some kind of advisory position. But given that the only other thing I know about him—he’s just a year older than my eighteen—that seems unlikely. Then again, the Fae do things differently than we do.
Eventually, I give up speculating. Whatever he does, whoever he is, we’ll make an amazing team. The details don’t matter.
I’ve never been outside Lunal. The terrain is both beautiful and terrifying. Our lands aren’t exactly lush, but the decay I see here is brutal. Shriveled and calcified tree trunks and eternally rotting foliage dot the landscape. But, as disconcerting as it is, there’s something strong about it. Something unwilling to yield. The magic drained from the land, yet the forest has refused to fall.
The farther we travel, the narrower the path becomes. When I start to think passage will become impossible, we emerge from the mist-laden brush, the temperature shockingly colder.
Even though I’ve spent hours reading about the Winter Lands and know to expect the abrupt temperature change, I still can’t fight off the involuntary chattering of my teeth.
Ten steps out of the woods, the shriveled brush and rotten foliage are gone, replaced by a thick blanket of glinting snow. It’s more beautiful than I could have ever imagined, and the paintings I saw in our books haven’t done it justice.
“Wow…”
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Kopic laughs. It’s a warm sound that eases my nerves just a bit. It’s the most he’s said to me since we started out. “I was born here, and it never fails to steal my breath away.”
His companion isn’t nearly as friendly. She snorts and rolls her eyes. Where the other Fae’s disposition now seems sunny and warm, hers matches the cold landscape as she adds, “Yes. Stunning. Maybe we can gawk at it after we’re settled back at the estate?”
In the distance, there’s a sprawling manor at the end of a long, snow-covered path lined with miraculously blooming fruit trees. Apples, pears, and… I pull up hard on my reins and lean closer to the tall, white-barked tree closest to me.
“No… It can’t be!”
I rub a silky leaf between my fingers, half expecting it to be fake. It isn’t. Despite the falling snow and freezing air, the leaf is warm and undamaged. Thriving, even. I inhale. A long-forgotten scent fills my nose and brings a rush of childhood memories flooding to the surface. “Is this ahilpberrytree?”
Kopic nods, smiling.
“When fungus came in my tenth year, we tried to save them, but in the end, the decision was made to let them perish. A painful choice, but our dwindling resources were better spent elsewhere.” Channeling what was left of our magic to save a single species of plant, possibly risking the extinction of many others, hadn’t been worth the risk.
“Understandable,” he says.
