Etched in Frost

Prologue

PROLOGUE

T he crescent scar glints down at the boy. Faint but familiar.

It’s the mark his little brother got when the neighbor’s dog became territorial over a stuffed swan. A rascally bulldog. It had snatched the toy out of his small hand in haste, red dripping onto the frost-tipped grass.

Grabbing his brother around the waist, the boy picked him up and rushed home. They were both in tears, certain their parents would scold them. Instead, their mother pulled them in for a hug while their dad got mugs from the cupboard. They spent the rest of the night watching the snow fall outside and drinking hot cocoa while their mother tended to his younger brother.

Years later, the tiny, pale scar remains. A memory carved into his brother’s palm. It stares back at the boy now, outstretched and tense. Grasping.

Reaching.

Cracks fissure the ice in hundreds of fragments. Some float along the rippling surface, others obscure the sliver of light pouring between frozen shards.

The air rips from his lungs. His limbs no longer flail. He’s forever reaching for his little brother, sinking farther from the last drops of sunlight.

The hand grasps frantically. More join it. But it’s no use.

They’re too late.

Darkness curls around the boy’s body in a final embrace. Skating through his veins, the cold seeps into his bones, settling in his marrow. Its chill is unforgiving. Unyielding. There is no fighting this. He gives in and surrenders to its pull.

Fate.

She’s there in an instant. Getting to him is no issue. The frigid water, the scald of magma, the scrape of sand… Such things do not disrupt Fate.

She stares at the unmoving boy, his wild, straw-colored hair flowing with the current. He’s another beautiful tragedy, lost to this world much too soon. But there is more for him. The stone she clutches says as much, and yet she hesitates, understanding the costs all too well. There’s no other way, though. With her palm pressed to his chest, she plants a gentle kiss on his temple and her magic sinks into his skin.

Then she waits.

And waits.

Hours later, glittering irises peer up at her. The silver brows framing them are etched in confusion. “Wh-where am I?”

Combing through the disheveled blue and white strands of the boy’s hair with her fingers, she gives him a gentle smile. The others are already gathered, whispering as the eldest pair skate forward. The boy eyes them warily, not that it discourages the couple. They are used to this by now.

Fate helps him to his feet.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she reassures the boy. His hand quivers in hers, but he doesn’t release it, clutching her tighter. Lowering her lips to his ear, she whispers softly, waving her hand toward the sea of shimmering strangers.

“Welcome home, Jax Frost.”