Author: Audrey Grey
Category: Fantasy
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Everything is spinning out of control so fast. I need to stop and think, but I don’t have time.
Magic—only magic could have done that. Real magic.
The fact this creature can use magic shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. Fear and anger churn into a whirlwind of emotion inside me. My chest aches.
With a desperate growl, I whip around to face the Fae. “Neat party trick. Does that impress all the mortals?”
The biting sarcasm in my voice does nothing to mask my fear. If anything, it makes me sound more desperate.
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“It wasn’t meant to impress you.”
The coldness in his voice cuts to my core.
Squeezing my hands into fists, I try a different tact. “Put away your magic so we can fight fair.”
A wicked laugh fills the forest. “Fight? With what?”
“With my bare hands . . . if I have to.” I hold up my frozen fingers to drive home my point, hoping they look lethal instead of halfway frozen. “Or you could just move and avoid all that unpleasantness.”
A spurt of icy breeze lifts the hood of his cloak back, just enough to draw the shadow up and reveal his lips: soft, cruel things bowed at the top and perfectly full at the bottom. Lips meant for smirking and taunting and kissing.
Another joyless chuckle drifts from the offending lips. “Try it and I’ll turn you to ice too, mortal girl, and rest you in my winter garden, chipping away at you piece by piece. When only your heart is left, I’ll crush it between my fingers and spread the remains among the snowdrops, so that nothing of you is here to mourn.”
Wow. This guy is a bundle of rainbows and unicorns. The horrible cruelness of his words pierces deep into my heart, his voice a snow-driven shard of ice. What could cause such terrible darkness inside someone?
Or perhaps all the Fae are this twisted and hateful.
Shivers wrack my body, and I’m suddenly all too aware of the cold seeping into my bare flesh. I’m turning into a human popsicle. Riotous waves of my hair has escaped its braided prison and tumbles around me, the sweatier strands frozen at odd angles. The color is just a shade creamier than the snow.
“That sounds fun . . . but messy,” I say. “I vote you just let me go home.” I lift my arms above my head in the universal sign of surrender. If I can’t scare him, perhaps looking weak and innocent will conjure pity. “Let me go and I promise, you will never see me again.”
Another cruel laugh dispels that foolish hope. “The hubris of your kind never fails. You’ve stolen, an offense punishable by death, yet you ask to go home?”
Was he watching me earlier? “The food I stole is ours anyway,” I say quietly. “I’m just taking it back.”
“And the neverapple fruit you plucked from the Winter Prince’s orchard?” he responds just as softly. “Does that also belong to you?”
Oh. Right. Somehow I just assumed the apples were, I don’t know, wild or something. My gaze falls to the golden fruits strewn across the frosted grass, and I know denying his accusation is pointless.
Why did I have to be so greedy?
“We’re . . . we’re starving. The scourge has been seeping through your broken wall for years and it’s poisoned everything in the borderlands. We have nothing to eat. You know”—I put my fingers to my mouth and mime eating—“that thing mortals must do to live?”
I peer through the shadowy haze surrounding his face, desperate for a shred of humanity. Of kindness. Instead I’m met with the faint glow of pale silver-blue eyes. They’re not as big or as inhuman as I was led to believe. The rest of his features are indiscernible.
An icy hatred too dark to be human brims inside his strange irises. “You poisoned your lands, so now all your animals flee to our side. How, exactly, is that our fault?”
For a moment, I stare at him, aghast at his apathy. “Why are you so cruel?”
“I may be cruel,” he admits. “But is that not the order of things? That bow you nearly used on me, how many animals have you killed so that you can live? Living and dying are two sides of the same blade. Call it cruelty or call it fate, I care not.”
I roll my eyes. “Typical pointy-eared dickwa—Fae jargon. Using cryptic words in place of sense. Just tell me what I owe this Winter Prince and I’ll find a way to pay him.”
How much can nine neverapples cost?
“The price for stealing just one neverapple from the prince is death.” My mouth falls open and his smug grin becomes wicked. He’s enjoying this. “How do you expect to pay for nine?” he continues. “Do you have nine lives like the pixie to bargain with?”
“You’re kidding.” But of course he’s not kidding. He doesn’t even seem capable of cracking a joke. “What kind of monsters grow such a precious fruit right next to starving people? Is that your thing? Starve us and then taunt us with forbidden fruit?”