Chapter 1
Dawn
The cottage reeked like vomited-on old shoe. I yawned and navigated the narrow kitchen, squeezing around the cooking area. My elbow hit a cabinet. Wincing, I rubbed the spot and let out a groan when my fingers found a hole in the dry-wick fabric of my long-sleeved tunic. I’d have to patch it. Again. Another perfect morning.
The smoky whiff of something charred lingered in the air and a half-burnt pan lay on the stove. My father had tried to cook in the middle of the night, no doubt another hungry drunken binge. I turned away from the mess.
Nothing ever changes, I said silently to a small window. Splintered rays of soft morning light streamed in through broken shades. I leaned over and began opening them, only to stop halfway. A reflection in the window showed a normal forehead, smooth plain skin. I took out a headband from my pocket and put it on carefully. I always wore one…just in case.
Plink. The sound of a wet drip followed by a loud snore called my attention to the front of the cottage. My father slept in an armchair in front of a dead fire at the hearth. His tall and bulky form filled the armchair completely. To think, he’d been a knight once, a captain in the King’s Guard. It still showed in his well-defined physique, but I accepted long ago he would never be so noble again. An overturned bottle dripped amber beads of alcohol onto a dirty plate abandoned at his feet. At least it contained the spill. By accident, he’d managed to be a little clean.
I’d have to deal with it later. Ten steps took me across the front room to the door.
“Going to the mountain again, daughter?”
His voice stopped me like a cold hand on my back. My fingers dropping from the doorknob, I faced him. Had it been a mistake to wear snow trousers? “I’ll hit the slopes and go straight to the tavern. I won’t be late for my shift.”
“The job’s important, girl, but the mountain isn’t going to do anything for you.” He scratched his beard. Dawn light danced on dirty and mussed golden hair. “I’ve got a client coming. Get back straightaway after work.”
Client. My hand shook a little as I turned back to him. Unconsciously, my fingers went to my forehead. It was the last day of the week, so I’d picked a purple headband. My father’s gaze fixed on the flimsy fabric with a slight smile. My stomach churned, but I managed a nod. I hurried outside before he could throw out any other ugly surprises.
Worn wooden planks creaked. I crossed the length of the porch and went down the front steps two at a time. I circled to the side of the stairs, and with my foot, I pushed aside a loose slat to take out a long fiberglass skyboard, blue with white stripes. The weight on my shoulders lightened just at the sight of it. The skyboard used to be my mother’s, one of the few things I had left of her. It stayed hidden because, unlike most of her other belongings, I wasn’t about to lose it. Nothing of value escaped my father for long.
I ran down the winding path, skyboard in hand, putting distance between me and the lonely cottage. A brisk hike to the village’s center square took nine short minutes. Despite the sky board’s heavy weight, I was used to hauling it back and forth. In the village square, two-story buildings surrounded a familiar park with a fountain. A statue of a woman, at the head of the fountain, rode a tiger. I touched the tiger of the great mother protector for a quick blessing as I hurried past. A transport bus that stood at the street corner.
A handful of other kids, mostly boys, also waited for the bus’s doors to open. Some leaned on their skyboards. Some yawned. Some did both. The ones who weren’t already wearing helmets had outrageous bed-hair. A few, those who’d been coming to the mountain as long as or longer than I had, nodded half-heartedly as I approached. Maybe I would have even appreciated how well they filled out a ski-suit, if I hadn’t known them so long. As it was, no one spoke to me. Although they didn’t mind the occasional pleasantry, most of them were highborn and therefore didn’t want to socialize with the likes of me. But in my case, the lowborn kids were no different. My father’s lack of worthy employment made lowborns look bad.
The bus’s doors swooshed open. I boarded first. No sluggishness slowed my step. Up on the mountain, nothing could touch me. Kids chattered on and off as the bus ambled along and took us uphill. I used the time to let my gaze rest on the soft gray snow that softened the jagged terrain. About fifteen minutes later, deep into the wooded evergreens, a winding uphill path stopped just outside wooden ski lifts at the bottom of the trail.
I pulled on my helmet and gloves and crossed into the base area of the ski villa. A long wooden patio extended out from a snow-laden two-story lodge. To my surprise, a few people loitered and watched the slopes. I didn’t recognize them, and by the quality of their coats, they didn’t seem local. I skipped past the lifts to go up to the baby trails and went to the advanced one at the end of the base area. Nakal, the wiry attendant with short crew-cut hair, already had the lifts running.
“Shred the gnar, Kira,” he said with a sarcastic sneer.
I rolled my eyes. Nakal could barely shred cheese. For all of his eleven years working at the ski villa, he’d never torn it up on the slopes and still fell off the lifts. Other kids with visors raised moved out of the way to let me through. They might not care to talk to me in the village, but on the mountain, they all watched.
Overcast skies stretched out over a silent slope. The top of the run gave a clear view of the village’s small cluster of red rooftops. Though the autumn weather kept the trails cold, machines still had to blow snow. Once off the lifts, I went flying down an advanced slope. About a minute later, a narrow fork in the path marked by a Y-shaped tree appeared. I veered off the main trail and sped downhill, dodging sharp rocks and twisty turns. A steep drop-off lay hidden at the end. I flew off the edge and spun my skyboard into a sweet aerial. I made the landing stick.
“Whoo!” My hands pumping the air, I celebrated with the trees. The mountain remained silent. Not as much as leaf fell in the expansive slope of white snow around me. I stuck my tongue out at it. “That was spectacular,” I told the mountain.
After that, I took it easy and wove the rest of the way down, enjoying my skyboard around familiar nooks and crannies. At the bottom of the slope, I moved to head back to the lifts when a sludgy piece of ice tripped me on the path. I went down hard in an inelegant belly flop. Seriously?
The mountain snickered, as if reminding me I was only smooth only on a skyboard. Wincing, I spit out snow. A soft trickle of laughter sounded. My head jerked to the sound, ready to pounce, but no one met my gaze. Everyone seemed busy. I picked myself up and, brushing off snow, walked back toward the lifts.
“Not bad,” a boy said, pushing up his visor as I approached. Pretty gray eyes raked over me with speculation. Straight teeth showed as he said gruffly, “Your run went fairly clean. Except for that last part when you ate snow.”
I stared at him for a beat. He had long slender lashes and pretty eyes. I’d never seen him before, which was unusual in our sleepy snow village. The thin collar of fur lining his well-made, likely extremely expensive, ski-suit cried townie. With a capital T. But it was too early for the usual vacationers. The slopes wouldn’t be good enough for another month-cyle.
“Hello? Anyone home?” He waved in my face. Under his breath, he muttered. “Villagers.”