Chapter 1
Sol
Only a fool would bring horses into the pass when there was this much snow, and only a fool would attempt such a journey so late in the season.
You could make it through on foot, with snowshoes; Sol had done it many times with Pa. But with horses? Forget it.
Sol pulled on the horse’s lead line. “Come on, girl. Come on.”
The horse whinnied and balked as Sol coaxed it through the snowbank. Ice crunched beneath its hooves and lacerated its skin.
“Why are we going so slow?” Lady Isabella asked. She rode sidesaddle on a lovely mare, her elegant skirts draped around her.
“The snow’s too deep,” Sol said, pitching her voice low.
Isabella’s pouting lip was the only thing visible from beneath her mountain of furs.
Officer Poulsen left Isabella’s side and stomped his way through snow to help Sol push the horse forward.
“We should turn back,” Sol said through gritted teeth. “I told you this would be impossible.”
“We have no choice,” Poulsen said. “Not unless you want these mountains to burn.”
Sol yanked on the lead line. She hated the Tokken uniform they had forced her to wear. Since when had the Tokken armies done anything for her village? The Tokkens hadn’t offered any relief when the Flameskins had burned down their temple, or when they’d torched their fields. Not until they realized they needed a mountain guide did they ever offer aid.
Sol wasn’t doing this for the Tokkens and their blasted war, anyway. No, she was doing this for her family, for the food the Tokkens had promised her.
“We’ll stop at the bluff ahead for the lady’s lunch,” she said. “And I’ll scout out the easiest trail for us to take down this side of the mountain.”
Poulsen nodded and they trudged on.
At the bluff, Isabella’s maids quickly arranged a bed of furs on the ground for the lady to rest her weary body and started a fire to heat some food.
Sol scowled at Isabella and her retinue. Two dozen soldiers had volunteered to join the winter caravan to Cassia, and they all hovered around Lady Isabella like a flock of besotted birds. They cooed at her and fawned over her, and she sent them running to fetch sticks for her fire.
Lady Isabella was about Sol’s age, eighteen, and they both had the same green Tokken eyes and black hair. But Lady Isabella was a delicate flower who wilted at the first sign of inconvenience, and Sol was a huntress, born in the mountains and raised by its cruel winters and its wild ferocity.
The horses barely moved when Sol brushed a hand over their necks. They were in pretty bad shape. The winter air was too cold, and the snows too thick and deep. She wouldn’t be surprised if they froze to death one of these nights. Isabella had forced Sol to lead eight horses up and down the Ulve Mountains. One horse to carry Isabella, and seven others to carry all her silly gowns and the dowry her father had promised her Cassian prince.
Sol sighed as she marched down the slope. She was going to miss the Solstice Festival for this journey, and it felt like a betrayal not to be home with Ma during the holiday. But what choice did she have? If Sol hadn’t left, there would’ve been nothing to eat at Solstice, and that would’ve shamed Pa’s memory more than anything else. He had always made sure they feasted on Solstice. Always.
As Sol descended the slope, the chattering of the ladies disappeared behind her, and the still winter forest enveloped her. This was what she loved about the mountains. The silence, the serenity. The forest was the only temple worthy of the gods. Sol stepped lightly, treading where no mortal had walked before, leaving footprints in the glittering carpet of crystal beneath her feet.
She made quick time on her snowshoes and found one of the trails she and Pa had taken last year. This way was longer, but it wasn’t as steep and had been protected from the snow by the cliffs overhead.
Sol kept waiting for Pa to appear on the trail as she walked: Listen, Sol, a pewter hawk. That’s an omen of change.
She stopped and gazed at the hawk circling above in the blue sky. Pa would’ve known how to take care of the horses in the snow. He wouldn’t have let them suffer from the cold. Make sure to pick the hooves and keep them dry. That’s what he would’ve said.
She sighed. It was going to be a lonely Solstice this year.
Something disturbed the sacred silence of the winter. Sol froze midstep, straining her ear to the sound. Deer? The soldiers surely wouldn’t complain about fresh venison. They might increase her pay as well.
The crunch, crunch of boots without snowshoes alerted her to someone’s approach. Had Poulsen come looking for her? She’d been gone longer than usual. Sol turned and saw a flash of red through the trees, and her heart skipped a beat in her chest.
A Flameskin soldier.
She crept forward and hid herself behind a large pine, then peeked around it to watch the soldier. Would it see her tracks? Ashes and cinders, she should’ve been more careful. Pa wouldn’t have been so careless. But there wasn’t supposed to be anyone in the pass, not this late in the season; that was the reason they had waited so long to go. Lady Isabella had delayed the trip until the Tokken Army had been sure the Flameskins had retreated for the winter and weren’t waiting to ambush them in the pass.
The Flameskin soldier wore a red uniform with brass buttons crossing her chest. She was a true Flameskin and wore no hat and no fur coat despite the bitter cold. The heat of her demon pyra would keep her warm. She slogged through the forest with a hand on the hilt of her sword, taking a curving path through the woods.
Had the Flameskin come to attack their party? Were there more of them?
Sol’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to run, to tear through the woods and never look back. Flameskins were dangerous, and this one could kill Sol with the flick of her wrist. But if there were more, she needed to know so she could warn the Tokken soldiers.
Sol steadied herself and started forward, sliding her snowshoes slowly and soundlessly through the powdery drifts of snow. It was slow progress, but she was as silent as a dryad in the woods.
The trail the Flameskin’s footprints had left was clear, and Sol followed it, watching anxiously for any signs of Flameskin soldiers. She descended the slope and spotted movement in the valley between the trees. Horses. Tents. Red-uniformed soldiers. A Flameskin camp.
Sol covered her mouth with her hand and stifled a gasp. If the Flameskins found her, the blue Tokken uniform beneath her fur coat would be a death sentence.
She started back up the hill at a quick pace. She had to get back and warn Officer Poulsen. Sol silently cursed Isabella under her breath. They should never have come through the Ulves in the middle of winter.
“Hey!” a man shouted.
Sol whirled around. A red-coated soldier stepped out from behind a tree a dozen paces from her. Sol froze in place as he marched toward her. Her hands shook and she tripped over her snowshoes, falling backward into the deep snow.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, peering down at her.
“I’m—I’m a hunter,” she stammered.
“You seen any travelers on the trails? Any Tokken soldiers, or a rich lady?”
She shook her head. Ashes. They were waiting to ambush Lady Isabella.
The soldier narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”