Fantasy of Frost (The Tainted Accords, #1)

by Kelly St. Clare

“What is this stuff?” I laugh, watching as flecks gather on top of their shoulders. There are a few chuckles at my reaction. “It is the frozen tears of sad children,” Sanjay says, turning his head away. Horrified, I stop, my hands falling to my sides, the substance tumbling from my loosened grip.

“You must wear your veil,” he says. I nod, my eyebrows furrow in confusion, which turns swiftly to anger. Why do people keep saying that to me, or dying?

Having friends here has given me a new perspective of the court back home. It’s fun to gossip—when it is not about you.