Page 2 of Frost and Death
A random gust of wind pulls me from my thoughts, ripping down my hood and leaving me scrambling for it. Small wisps of my silver hair get caught in my mouth, and I thank the Makers the rest of it is in a plait.
“This damned wind,” I grumble as the black gates come into view.
Clouds loom above me, and snow covers the spiked tips of the barrier leading to the courtyard, Aiyana’s cold month-long season just beginning. Unfortunately for me, the weather willonly add to my magic-touched winter. If only her blossoming springs and blistering summers melted my power away, then I wouldn’t even be in this mess to begin with.
“At least the clouds aren’t my fault,” I mutter grimly.
Hopefully the skies will clear and save me from more scorn and disappointment before the Celebration of Spirits next week. If one thing could go right when so many are attending, I would take that as a miracle.
Passing through the threshold, my steps echo, the castle I used to love eerily silent. Rooms that have fallen victim to my magic are blocked off and, luckily, are at the back of my home.
But on days like today, where the loss and failure fester, I can’t seem to care—can’t seem to move.
Exhaustion tugs at me when I reach my chambers and peel off my cloak. I remove Mother’s small handheld mirror from my dress pocket, admiring the grooves carved into the gilded handle. As I run my thumb across it, I glance at its paired vanity.
The mirrored set has been in the Clemmensen family for generations. They were never important until Mother used her magic from the Deity of Illusion, Anwir, and cast a glamour on them to be a method of communication. The two mirrors are the last bit I have of my mother and her magic. It is a comfort and keeps her memory strong, the only solace I can turn to on my darkest days.
I clutch the mirror to my chest before reverently resting it on my vanity and remove the rest of my clothes, draping them over the cushioned chair.
The stone hearth blazes heat across my cold skin, the warmth following me as I collapse onto my bed, plush cushions cocooning me as the clean linen scent eases my eyes closed.
Three loud knocks reverberate throughout my bedchamber, and Iloathethe insistency behind each one.
I remain silent, wondering if the clanging will happen again.
It does.
“Tove?”
A smooth baritone voice echoes into my bedchamber.
I glare at the door, stalling, with the hope my silence will be enough to send Nikolaj, my royal advisor, away. Stilling my breath, I listen for footsteps receding down the hall and jolt when his voice booms into my chambers once more.
“I know you are awake. I can feel your stare melting through the door.”
I groan despite a small smirk forming. “Go away.”
“Never.”
Nikolaj’s voice remains distant.
His laughter rings as I roll my eyes, squeezing my pillow once before expelling the air from my chest.
I rise and slip clothes over my curvy, petite frame, lifting my hair out from underneath the dress, checking to make sure I look presentable through my vanity. Running my hand down the long length of my plait, I note my sunken features.
My small pointed nose has a speck of red yet to diminish from the cold outside, and my hooded eyes are rimmed in dark undertones of purple and pink—the singular sign of crying and lack of sleep.
Blue irises, pale and as lifeless as ice, stare back.
A crack in the mirror has me blinking, the hallucination of the monster within thrashing.
I rub my eyes quickly, dragging myself to the door to open it a fraction, Nikolaj peering through with a wide grin.
His copper hair, streaked with darker hues of mahogany, is unruly, with the waves granting him a beauty I find myself envious of. Rich colors warm his skin and accentuate the amber in his eyes, fit to match his jubilant, colorful personality.
But it’s the light stubble framing his square jaw that appeals to his boyish charm and always makes my chest flutter.
“Oh, come now, Tee. Let me in already,” Nikolaj insists.
