CHAPTER 1
Winter Bites.
Her teeth are jagged, and she’s not shy about using them. Not when she’s being ordered about. Hours of practice commanding Winter, and frostbite crusts my lips. My throat is raw from shouting into the wind, and my legs ache from negotiating the ever-tilting deck of this wretched ship.
“You’ve stopped listening, Miss Quine.” Mars stands next to me at the railing of the Maree Vale, same as he did yesterday. Ordering me about as I order Winter.
“But you haven’t stopped talking,” I say. “One of us is going to have to adapt.”
“My thoughts precisely.” He crosses his arms, nods at the storm I set swirling just far enough off our port side that Winter’s rains can’t touch us. “You’ve done well to establish yourself as Winter’s superior, but you’re still wrestling with the nature of your commands. You’re giving her creative license, letting her choose when and how to comply.”
I stifle a yawn. “And that’s wrong?”
“Revelation number four, Miss Quine. You must be specific. She has to obey your commands, but she’s not obliged to assume your intentions. If you leave your orders open to her interpretation, you may cause damage you didn’t intend.”
“Right. You said that.”
“I did. And you need to keep it in mind. Your next task is to compel Winter to act against her own interests. Not just to obey when she’d rather not, but to follow your orders even when it diminishes her.”
“Diminish—What? How?”
“However you can.”
“I have no idea how to make her do that.”
“Think on the wolves, Miss Quine. At High Pass.”
High Pass. When Mars forced her to attack the Frost Whites, her favorites.
“There are no wolves at sea,” I muse, “but I suppose I could—”
He holds up his hand. “You need not be specific with me, but you must be with her. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
But right now, I’d trade all the magic in my blood for some shut-eye.
The Maree Vale has a lively crew. They’re a lot like the riggers I know, except there’s no relaxing out here on the Kol Sea, and to stay alert, they make bawdy jokes and sing songs that ring out over the deck of this three-hundred-year-old vessel day and night.
And then there’s the bell at the helm, ringing loud and long at the top of every hour, reminding all those on board, save Mars and me, to swap their twyl chewing gum for a fresh piece. A necessary inconvenience to keep the kol madness at bay, since the black mineral is thick in both the water and the air, but that bell is impossible to sleep through. After just two days at sea, I’m already scraped hollow.
And still our pace is glacial. We cut slowly through the waves on Mars’s order. He wants to make sure I have time to practice commanding Winter before we leave her behind for the duration of the journey.
It won’t be long before we sail clear of her waters. Even now, silhouetted against the horizon, I see Winter’s Gate, a crescent-shaped islet jutting into the sky. Mars says it marks the eastern border of the Kol Sea, the farthest Winter is able to reach. She cannot cross beyond it, and though I’m ready for the quiet of blue waters ahead—the bell will stop, surely, and the lessons with Mars, of course—I’ve never been in a place where Winter isn’t.
“If you stand there debating any longer, Miss Quine, we’ll reach Paradyia before you choose your command.” Mars has scaled the ratlines and reclines in the ropes overhead, lazily flipping a coin.
I whisper an order and Winter freezes the coin solid. Mars lets it fall twenty feet to the rotting boards beneath him, purses his lips.
“Clever. But you’re stalling. Playing with Winter. Remember, she’s not your friend.”
“Want me to shut him up?” Kyn asks, stepping closer, placing his hand on my back. “I could cut the rope that’s holding him aloft? Might buy you a few minutes of peace.” My insides unwind at his touch, and I breathe him in, catching notes of the twyl gum tucked into his cheek and something spiced, a fragrance that’s his and his alone. A craving stirs in my chest, and I tamp it down, my eyes on the black sea.
“It’s just . . . Mars can fly.”
“Forgot about that.”
I smile and a blister ruptures on my bottom lip.
Kyn tenses at my pain. “Flux, you’re bleeding. Where’s that rag Leni stitched you?”
She’s stitched me dozens, to be honest, but I’ve lost them all. I press the sleeve of my coat against my mouth instead, hating that the bond Kyn and I share means he can feel my hurts now. There’s no denying it. The connection between us is growing. And not up and out like a tree’s trunks and branches, but deeper, into parts of me I’d rather keep hidden.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Any day now, Miss Quine.” The frozen coin hits me in the back and then clatters to the deck once again.
Kyn scoops it up and chucks it hard at Mars. But Mars is quick: He slows it with a word and catches it cleanly. Another word and the coin is fully thawed. He flashes a grin and holds it aloft so we can see.
“Swift, decisive commands, Miss Quine. It’s your turn now. Stop stalling.”
I offer Kyn a shrug and turn back to the task at hand: compelling Winter to act against her own interests.
Black waves slosh against the ship now, peppering my chest and face. The sea spray sets the open wounds on my mouth ablaze, but I shut it out—I shut everything out—and with my fingernails digging into the ancient railing of the Maree Vale, I sort through every Kerce word I know.
Finally, I land on the perfect combination and despite the bite I know is coming, I lean out over the water and shout into the storm, making yet another demand of Winter.
“Chyka Abaki!”
She bucks and screams, a shrill protest that lifts the hair on my arms and has Kyn cursing.
“What’s she doing, snowflake?” he asks.
“Watch.”
Winter doesn’t love her Abaki as she loves her wolves. They’re nothing but cobbled together arms and legs torn from seafarers who once had the misfortune of crossing into the Kol Sea. Soggy limbs in a variety of combinations, bloated heads on occasion—their bodies held together by Winter’s magic and the k
ol. And though they fill these waters in abundance, the monsters do belong to her, and she’d rather not waste them. Especially not on my order.
THEY’RE NOT YOURS TO DESTROY! she cries. THEY’RE MINE. MINE!
Her resistance tugs at my bones, but she has no choice and she knows it. My command left no room for interpretation, and though her energy is wearing thin, she has enough left for this.
Still, she’s slow to act, and I’m forced to repeat myself. I receive another frosty bite, but there’s a tug in the air as she gathers her energy, turning her focus to the gray rock rising from the waves.
It’s not much larger than the ship we stand on, but there are nearly a hundred Abaki crammed atop it. We’re far beyond their reach, but the warmth of our flesh calls out to them, and they reach greedily for our ship. It’s instinct that drives the Abaki—instinct and Winter, ever dissatisfied with her abominations, ever wishing they were living, breathing souls. Demanding of them what they cannot give.
But not for lack of trying. Her monsters climb in and out of the black sea, searching for arms and legs, for their souls, long ago stolen by death.
Since I found a command that forced Winter to keep her monsters off our ship—at least temporarily—that gray rock is the closest they could get to us.
And now, on my order, Winter crashes down upon it, a deluge of cloud and rain that turns the Abaki into nothing but scattered
limbs and washes them into the sea.
Kyn pulls me in for a hug and I melt into his arms. “Good job, snowflake.”
I’m exhausted—I bet I could sleep through any number of bells just now—but I lift my face to Mars, expectant. I wasn’t sure I could even do what he’d asked, and I did.
“Well?”
He cocks an eyebrow and peers down at me through the gaps in the ratline. “I’ve aged twelve years since I set you that task, Miss Quine. A feat I didn’t know was possible considering my cursed youthful state.”
“But I did it. I forced Winter to act against her own interests.”
He flips me his coin again. “And I’m sure Winter is grateful it cost her so little.”
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