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“Got it.” I hold up a thumb, hidden beneath my mitten.
“Good. Now hold on,” he orders.
“To what?” I scour his back for reins or something else to grab, but come up short. And no way am I grabbing his hair.
Before I can find a suitable alternative, he kicks off his hindquarters, plunging us straight into the fiery portal.
9
The glamoured recruits behind us all break into a sprint, that blank expression never leaving their faces.
I squeeze my legs for balance and throw a hand over my eyes.
Blinding light fills the cracks between my fingers, delicious warmth kissing my cheeks. When the light fades to a dull haze, so does the heat. Sighing, I remove my hand—and nearly fall off the centaur.
We’re in a valley with nothing but snow and rocks. A three-story tall wall of stone looms behind us, covered in frost-bound ivy. The sky is a winter haze of fat, gauzy clouds that hide the moon. But my gaze is fixed on the pale cliffs in the distance. An enormous castle of ice and snow has been carved into the top, the monstrosity reaching so high it pierces the clouds.
The centaur catches my stare and laughs. “Welcome to Evermore Academy.”
“It’s . . . so big.”
“That’s only the back. Wait till you see the front.”
“How far does the wall go?” I ask, shuddering at the thought. I hate walls of any kind; they bring to mind being trapped.
“All the way around the Island.”
“Island?” I sweep my gaze over the land, searching for any hint of water.
“Yeah. Of course. The academy sits on the Island of Evernell, the most protected place in Everwilde.”
I wrap my arms around my chest as he trots through the snowy valley toward the cliffs. “Any chance this is like, a fluke weather event, and it’s really spring here?”
“This is actually warm for winter in Everwilde,” he mutters.
“Winter? For how long?” My voice comes out a tad strangled.
“Forever.”
“Forever?” I repeat, praying I misheard him.
He throws me an annoyed glance. “Kidding. Only a year. Winter started a week ago, along with the first day of the academy.”
Only a year? Three hundred and fifty nine more days of this? A sinking feeling comes over me. “Are there any other mortal students showing up today, or . . . am I the only one?”
Please don’t let me be the only—
“Only you.”
“Wonderful,” I murmur. Showing up a week late is sure to draw unwanted attention, and that’s the last thing I need right now.
“Which is rare,” he adds conversationally, “considering most of the mortal first years were chosen years in advance from the pool of mortals who owe us service. There’s an entire process to ensure only the best, most beautiful mortals serve here. And you’re . . . well . . .”
Apparently, unable to think of a word to describe me, his words trail away. Am I really that different than the other students?
Shoving my mittens in my jeans pocket, I brush my fingers over my hair, wishing I’d thought to comb it.
Alarm pulses through me. Somewhere between this morning and now my hair has knotted itself into a matted, unmanageable mess.
