The Frozen Embrace: The Books of Theress, #1

By D.S. Ritter

Caught up in a deadly coup, Princess Ashe is left injured and alone in a winter wilderness. Enlisting the help of a solitary poacher and his wolf companion, she finds herself in a race against time to reach her family before the bloodthirsty assassins.

 

Desperate to cross a frozen mountain, she makes a deal with an ancient magical being she may live to regret.
 

Will Ash be able to tackle the wilds and her new powers? Will she manage to outsmart the monster who gave them, or it will it claim something precious in return?
 

Find out in The Frozen Embrace, a fantastical story about survival, magic and adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.S. Ritter
• Release date: Aug 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393337386

D.S. Ritter

Writes fantasy novels

Book preview

Chapter One

The fire crackled, our sole guard against what horrors might lurk in the blackness around us. That flat, open plane left us lost and exposed beneath the starless, windy sky. Far off to the north, a wolf howled. A moment later, its cry was answered to the east. My skin crawled at the stark, melancholy sound…"

As though it were listening, out in the darkness, a wolf howled. The four girls huddled around the library fireplace shrieked in terror and delight and then giggled at each other.

Shhh. Justine put a finger to her smiling lips, her eyes darting meaningfully to the mezzanine behind them.

Taking her warning, the others cut their laughter short, and Gertrude returned to deliberate recitation of the novel she’d hidden behind a sober history text, her voice low and full of drama.

"Morgenstern’s leg continued to fester, causing him great pain. His moans were carried into the ceaseless night by that frozen, demon wind, sharp as glass and just as cutting. Its constant scream bore into our minds like a trepanning drill."

Aside from a small lamp on the hardwood table nearby, the only illumination came from the crackling fire, which made their shadows dance on the shelves and the ceiling high above. Princess Ashe turned her gaze from the burning logs to the thick glass windows in their cold, blackened iron frames. The reflection that stared back was caught between being a woman and a child, with big eyes and gawky chin, slightly too big for its face. Its hair was coiled in pale braids on top of its head, with tiny strands sticking out, despite best efforts. It yawned, but hid the yawn with a sigh. Fat snowflakes piled against the casement, some sticking to the glass before melting away. The firelight turned them an enchanting golden color, like honey.

"What is trepanning?" asked Cadence, looking up from her needlepoint.

A medical procedure. Justine eyed her sister. I doubt you would much like the details.

Oh. All right. Cadence went back to her sewing, happily spared the knowledge.

Ashe smirked to herself. Her cousin’s innocent naivety would survive another day.

Gertrude ignored the interruption.

"Sleep became an ever present and frightening enemy, though it called to us from the depths of that ceaseless arctic night. To close our eyes, to rest, almost certainly meant to die, though this was becoming a welcome prospect to a few of our party.

One morning I awoke to the sight of Morgenstern, slumped in the snow, his face finally peaceful with never-ending sleep. His leg was black with infection, his hands and feet riddled with frostbite. I did not pity him, but in my cold-ravaged mind, envied my fallen companion. To my undying distaste, my stomach growled at the prospect of the flesh left on his emaciated frame...

I can see where this one is going. Justine was frowning now. "I thought you said this story didn’t have cannibalism."

Gertrude smiled sheepishly. I’d forgotten.

Ashe stretched. Generally, don’t they all involve cannibalism?

It certainly seems that way, said Cadence, finishing off a tiny, perfect daisy.

I’m so tired of hearing about men devouring each other, sighed Justine.

If you would like to hear something else, suggest a new title, said Gertrude.

No, said Princess Ashe, yawning again. Go on. Might as well finish what you’ve started.

As Gertrude continued reading the illicit novel aloud in her soft voice, Ashe imagined what it would be like, stranded, lost amongst the frozen wastes further north. The broad, flat tundra stretching out beneath the uncaring stars, the wind, threatening to rip any warmth away from her body. Shivering, she huddled in her knitted shawl and edged her chair closer to the fireplace. Her mind drifted out past the snow-covered casement to the forest beyond, to the wolves, driven down out of the mountains by hunger. Beyond the palace walls, the winter nights were long and full of ice and terror.

Gertrude read on, trying to keep her voice down, though it rose with her excitement, in spite of her efforts. Justine rolled her eyes as the graphic descriptions of the horrors committed by the narrator spilled forth from her cousin’s lips. Ashe found the old yarn served better to turn her stomach than chill her blood. Cadence continued to sew flowers and flourishes into scraps of fabric as the characters in the book were first driven to starvation and then, madness.

The young lady was about to reach the cannibalistic climax of the story when a sparrow flitted through the air above their heads, alighting on an antler of the massive stag’s head, hanging above the fireplace. The four girls looked up at it, already knowing they’d been caught. It chirped at them, the sweet tone piercing a tense silence.

Ashe sighed. Now, we’re in for it.

Sure enough, they heard footsteps approaching from the mezzanine. Gertrude tried to slide the novel from behind the thick history book and into her lap, but she was too late.

Lady Heartshire descended the stairs behind them. This governess was a thin, pale woman, her dark clothes only serving to set off the pallor of her skin. Dark eyes and hair accentuated her stern face, giving her a cold beauty that the girls both admired and reviled.

Lady Gertrude. Her tone was crisp and pointed. "I don’t believe that was the history I assigned. What have you been reading?"

The girl’s round, rosy cheeks flushed. "Ice in Our Veins: A Romantic Account of Voyages to the North."

Lady Heartshire shook her head and held out a slim hand for the novel. Gertrude surrendered it, her face a portrait of guilt. This is not what your parents had in mind when they entrusted your education to me. The governess leafed through the book, making a face. Stories like these only serve to give young girls nightmares.

"It’s literature." Ashe turned her gaze on her teacher, daring her to disagree.

I beg to differ, Your Highness. Lady Heartshire met her eye, taking up the challenge. "Just because a book is old, that does not make it worthy."

But history books are so boring, moaned Gertrude, taking the assigned text back up. "All kings and decrees and laws. They even make the wars boring."

It does not become a lady to be quite so blood-thirsty. Lady Heartshire set the novel down on the table. "History, and the proper literature have much to offer, and I’m afraid it is not my duty to entertain you young ladies, but to prepare you for life as adults, so that you might converse with your husbands and avoid embarrassment at court."

Every pupil sighed at this, except Cadence, who was caught up in a particularly difficult part of her pattern, oblivious to what was being said at that moment.

Ashe watched the governess as she put the book down on the little table beside the lamp, certain there would be a letter on its way to her aunt, Lady Kinhold, as soon as the next morning. She narrowed her eyes and hoped Lady Heartshire would see. If she did, the thin young woman made no sign.

How do you always know? Justine folded her arms, rather unladylike and fixed their teacher with a curious gaze.

The princess knew the secret to this trick already. She’d figured it out some months ago. "It’s because he always knows," she said, gesturing to the little sparrow who flitted from point to point.

Found out, Lady Heartshire awarded them with a small smile, her coldness evaporating for a moment. You are correct.

But, how can he know? asked Gertrude, still sulking. Surely, a sparrow could not tell the difference between a novel and a history book?

A normal sparrow certainly could not, but Garnet is not a normal sparrow. Our bond makes him special. I assume you’ve read about such bonds?

Ashe looked up at the sparrow with envy. Her childhood had been full of fairy tales about such things. She had dreamed of the day when she would have enough knowledge to make a bond like that of her own. And she could still remember the day her mother had crushed that cherished dream.

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The Queen had been standing in her dressing room, her maids flitting around her like hummingbirds, alighting here and there, one for her hair, one for her jewelry, her dress, another to apply a light rouge to her cheeks and lips. Ashe lingered beside the mirror, watching them work. She admired the way their hands moved so lightly, adjusting a sash or deftly sewing a few hidden stitches. Her own hands, a child’s, were better suited for climbing or ordering her toy soldiers into battle, or, to her annoyance, copying down passages from boring old books.

What are you thinking about, Daughter? The Queen turned her gaze from the mirror to her child, the shade of her eyes accentuated by the candle light.

Put on the spot, Ashe averted her eyes to the vaulted ceiling with cherubs holding up the corners. I was thinking of a bird, she said, her hands working their way over each other as her mind raced.

What kind of bird?

A beautiful bird. A swan.

The Queen frowned. I don’t like swans very much, she admitted, her long thin fingers adjusting one of the auburn curls that spilled over her shoulders. "They seem terribly mean, for all their beauty. Have you ever met a swan?"

No. But I have read about how fierce they are. If I met one, maybe it and I could make a bond and...

Only a few days ago you were talking about making a similar bond with… a rabbit, was it?

"I had read a story about a princess and her rabbit, but now I think a swan would be better. Don’t you think a swan would be better?"

The Queen sighed at her own reflection. Your father and I have discussed it with our advisers, and we feel it would not be in the family’s best interests for you to...

In the mirror, Ashe’s heartbreak was plain on her face. But, mother, you said—

It’s too dangerous, Ashelle, said Isabelle, pursing her perfect lips. "A relationship like that, well, it can easily be used against you. Against us. It simply isn’t something that can be done. Not in this political climate. Do you understand?"

Mother—

Do you understand?

Ashe opened her mouth to argue, but saw her mother’s expression. The Queen’s calm exterior had crumbled slightly, revealing turmoil beneath. The flush on her cheeks was no longer from rouge.

The Princess’s own anger rising, she said nothing, but stormed from the room and spent the rest of the evening hiding, ruining her sister’s plans of spying on the dances from their regular secret place above the ballroom.

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It’s a magical bond, isn’t it? asked Cadence, glancing up at the little bird hopping from perch to perch. Did you study long?

Lady Heartshire arched a dark eyebrow. It took over a decade to prepare for the ceremony, and longer than that to prepare the subject. My family has been breeding sparrows for generations specifically for this purpose. Garnet is the product of only the most intelligent and loyal birds.

Is it very hard? Justine rarely showed interest in anything openly, but now her gaze was set firmly on the governess. My mother says I may start my studies next year.

Ashe felt a cold wave of envy for her cousin wash over her heart and hid a glare with a half-hearted yawn.

"It is difficult," corrected Lady Heartshire. And yes, it is very difficult to do correctly. You must prepare your mind and spirit very carefully, or things may go horribly awry.

What might happen? Gertrude always had an appetite for the horrible.

Well, for one, there is the possibility of creating a bond which is too tight. The governess sat down on a nearby chair and smoothed her skirts. There are traditions and even laws that dictate what might be traded.

Traded? It was becoming obvious Cadence had not done any reading on the subject and contented herself with asking the most basic questions. Justine, who read everything she could about magic, did not object and seemed to enjoy listening to Lady Heartshire’s explanations.

"Well, for instance, the lifespan of a normal sparrow is much shorter than a human’s, but, because of the bargain we made, he shall live as long as I, as long as we remain within the limits of the magic. It did not take me long to convince him to accept.

Of course, if you trade too much away, such a separation could be quite detrimental to both parties. Some have gone blind, or mad when separated from their animal companion.

Ashe sighed. It was a dangerous business. Too dangerous for a princess, though she’d had her heart set on it. Now, it was just another romantic childhood dream, something she was told she must put away now that adulthood neared.

The thought of childhood’s end brought her attention to her sister. Guilt and sadness quickly replaced the envy in her heart and she rose from the table. I just remembered, I need to speak with Bea, she said, waiting only a second to take her leave.

The other girls bid her goodnight, though Justine seemed ready to delay her. No one in the palace enjoyed talking about magic as much as those two, but Ashe would not be held up. She lifted her skirts and took the stairs up to the mezzanine quickly, disappearing into the shadows beyond the firelight.

Chapter Two

Ashe felt her way along the shelves, her young eyes peering at the spines in the low light of the candles burning in their wall sconces. The smell of books surrounded her, made her feel at home. How much of her childhood had she spent hiding among them, reading their pages? How many times had the maids found her nestled in a bed of blankets in some obscure corner, a book still clutched in her hand as she slept?

Ashe had never been farther than the village just outside the valley, and only on the rarest of occasions, but she knew the world waited beyond, and she knew that because she read everything she could get her hands on. It was a way of escaping the thick walls of her great grandfather’s palace.

Her family called it the Summer Palace, because that was what it had once been. A holiday seat for the royal family to escape the claustrophobic heat of the capital. However, since relations with Rothram, the kingdom to the south, had deteriorated thirty years before, the Summer Palace had become something of a crèche for the royal family. Isolated by the high northern mountains as it was, there was no safer place.

Ashe loved her cousins, having grown up with them in the protective bowl of the Royal Valley, but she longed to get out, to see what she had only managed to read about.

Her fingers moved along the neat rows of books on the shelves, touching each one until she found the one bound in worn, yellowing leather. The cover had once been white and was inlaid with a design of tangled wildflowers. The title simply read, Poems, and there was no author.

She opened it and peered at the pages. Each held a poem, an ode to love or the silver waters of a lake at dawn, or other bits of nature that were pretty and perhaps could hold a deeper meaning to someone with an artistic temperament. Words that had once been written in black had faded to a brownish-purple with exposure and the corners of the pages were heavily marked by the fingers of readers over the years. It was well-loved, though not by her.

The princess tucked the book under her arm and crept out of the library.

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Ashe’s slippers whispered along the empty corridor as she ran and skipped, unladylike, down the straightaways. The only people she passed were palace guards, who watched her go without comment, forbidden to move except in times of emergency. The younger children sometimes made a game of testing their discipline by making faces at them or pretending to spill things on them. Once, a distant cousin had situated a lit match beneath the boot of a guard, but all he’d succeeded in was blackening a rug and having his toys taken away by his mother, a lady of lower standing. He had not come to stay at the Summer Palace again after that. Ashe was sixteen now and those sorts of diversions no longer interested her.

The men in uniform she passed were like any of the old, decorative furniture in the palace: seldom used and boring to look at.

She passed through the entrance hall, the grand staircase with its deep red carpeting and gilded banisters sloping down to the black and ivory marble floor and the thick wooden doors, two stories tall and