Page 3 of Gifted to the Frost King

She smiles softly at me and sets a slice on my plate—the cinnamon and sugar swirl throughout the pale-colored bread. The crust is a perfect golden brown. Somehow, Mama always manages to turn frostbitten scraps into a delicious meal. Themeat in our stew is a bad cut, tough and inedible most of the time, but Mama has a way of making it unbelievably tender.

Sophia picks up her spoon, a large chunk of potatoes resting on it, and brings it towards her mouth. Mama clears her throat and casts a pointed look.

“Sophia, you know what we must do before we eat.”

Pursing her lips, Sophia returns her spoon to the bowl with a soft clank.

“Sorry, Mama,” she sighs before bowing her head.

I follow suit.

“Mother of the Snow,” Mama prays. “We thank you for this harvest—even in these harsh conditions, you find a way for us to survive. We thank you for our health. We pray that Nick, who was a loving father and husband, has found peace with you and is no longer in pain. I thank you for my two beautiful girls—without them, I would never have known the true meaning of love. I beg you to please look out for them and?—”

Her breath catches on a sob. Both Sophia and I snap our heads up. Tears pour over her pale cheeks and collect in the hollow of her throat.

“Please,” she sobs, “pleasespare my Dove tomorrow.”

Reaching out, I take her hands. They are warm and as familiar as my own. Tears slip from my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away. Nothing can be done now; sadness over what’s happening tomorrow won’t change it. Of course, I am worried despite the history ofthe Offering.

There is always a chance he will come—finally choosing one of us to fulfill our part of whatever curse he’s put upon this land. Not that I have any particular desire to be selected. One of the others up there with me tomorrow can be the chosen one—undoubtedly, one wants to be remembered as the person who stopped the snow.

A soft sniffle makes me look over. Sophia’s blue eyes are red, and wetness courses down her round cheeks. Dropping Mama’s hand, I push back from the table—my wooden chair scraping against the floor.

“Oh, Soph,” I sigh, opening my arms. “Come here. Don’t cry. Everything will be alright.”

Sophia rounds the table and rushes towards me. Barreling into my arms, I hold her petite body in my lap, not liking how cold she still feels. Rubbing my arms up and down her sides, my heart pangs.

I love them—I’d never wish to leave them—but if I am chosen tomorrow, perhaps there is comfort in the fact that I will have improved their lives somehow. I don’t want to be a savior, but my sacrifice wouldn't be in vain if it meant granting Sophia the future she deserves.

However, now is not the time to voice those thoughts. Besides, there’s a real chance that all this worry is for nothing.

“Hemay not even come. No one’s ever been chosen,” I remind her.

Sophia scrunches her nose.

“Not true, Mrs. Pendleton says someone was chosen. A long time ago,hepicked a boy and they found his bones scattered?—”

“Enough, Sophia. You know Mrs. Pendleton is a dreadful lair.” Mama shakes her head. “Regardless, it is a vile custom. Even if one of you is taken, how do we know that dreadful creature will keep his word? The curse was laid on this land long before any of us were born.”

It is true. Whatever caused him to curse our land in the first place was not our doing, and yet we are still being punished for it. It is all dreadfully unfair, but we have no choice. I will do my duty to Snowdale and hope I don’t freeze to death in the process.

“Mrs. Pendletonisa dreadful liar,” I agree. “There’s no reason to think this year is any different than all the others.”

Mama nods reluctantly.

“He hasn’t shown at anOfferingsince I was a little girl.I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad omen. If the weather is any indication, I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

“No matter how poor the weather gets, at least we have each other.”

Clasping my mother’s hand, Sophia tightens her hold around my neck.

“Forever?” Sophia asks.

My eyes connect with Mama’s—our matching eyes share our matching worry. I let my mask fall, if only for a moment. I let her see the fear in my eyes that I’ve shoved down so that I don’t do something foolish and run away—damning my family in the process. I let her see that I am worried this time will be different. Even if I were to be the one to save them, I’d never see them again, and somehow, that seems worse than being made to tend our icy fields.

My mother squeezes my hand, absorbing everything I’ve laid bare in my gaze and bestowing me a look of love only a mother can give. I swallow down the lump in my throat before pressing a kiss to Sophia's head.

“Forever.”

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