The Frost Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Nora’s hand came up to her mouth. “Oh!”

  The guards on either side of her tensed. Ovrun grasped her arm and tugged her away from the window. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. The lyster just fell.” Nora pulled away and stepped back to the window. It was clear what had happened. The man had lost focus, turning his ice brittle. She’d done it a thousand times, just never when she was depending on her creation to support her full weight.

  “Come on, get up!” Nora urged under her breath. All the lyster’s would-be rescuers blocked her line of sight. Her heart pounded and her cheeks grew warm as she tried to determine his fate. Sure, he was arrogant and lacked common sense, but he didn’t deserve to die in a pile of his own ice.

  The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than it had before. Suddenly, the young man pushed himself up to stand atop his bed of ice. Nora couldn’t see his expression, but his wave to the crowd was hesitant, his hubris gone. He dropped into a squat, then jumped into the air and flew again, soaring over the buildings of the square and dropping out of sight.

  Nora laughed at the sight, then stepped back from the window and nodded at the guards. “Thanks for letting me watch.”

  “Is the feather eater gone?” Ovrun asked.

  “Yeah. What a fool. He’s lucky you didn’t shoot him down.” Despite her words, all Nora could think about was how fun it would be to make and use a slide like that.

  Across the room, Mayor Ashler cleared her throat. “I’m very sorry about all this.”

  Nora grinned and crossed to the woman. “It’s okay; this is the most fun I’ve had in weeks. Tell me, Mayor, what’s that lyster’s name?”

  2

  As soon as I could crawl, I started eating tree bark, a habit that annoyed my parents to no end. Not long after my fifth birthday, I chewed and swallowed a big bite of bark, ignoring my mother’s commands to spit it out. Imagine her surprise—and mine—when I placed my hands on the tree and caused spring leaves to grow in the middle of autumn.

  -The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios

  Well. That didn’t go as planned.

  Krey flew through Tirra’s side streets. Due to the pageantry in the square, the streets were nearly empty. Despite that, he took the most challenging route, weaving between locked-up food carts and hitching posts, throwing his ire into one close call after another.

  His body felt light, and not in a good, gravity-defying way. Clearly he’d burned up most of the feathers he’d eaten that morning. Two more blocks. Trying to ignore his shaking limbs, he pushed himself, flying close to the ground.

  Krey yelped as his talent petered out, and he plunged to the dirt road. He rolled, then lay there, moving each limb, testing for injury. Two falls in a quarter hour; could this day get any worse?

  Thankfully, he’d only fallen a met or so this time. As a feather eater, he was used to that. He’d be bruised, but it didn’t feel like anything was broken. He stood and glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed his humiliation. Of course not; they were all at the square.

  He took off at a run and reached his house a couple of minutes later. Thank the sky, his aunts were at the two hundredth anniversary event, leaving him to nurse his disappointment in peace. He opened the door.

  “Is that you, Krey, or is someone here to inform me that my nephew is incarcerated in the royal dungeon?”

  How did she get home before me? Krey sauntered into the kitchen.

  His Aunt Minona was seated at the table waiting for him, arms crossed over her ample chest, dark eyebrows raised so high, it was a wonder they didn’t float away.

  Krey greeted her with a sheepish smile. “Aunt Min, the king doesn’t have a dungeon.”

  “He might decide he needs one after your display.” She unfolded her arms and gestured at the chair across from her. “Sit.”

  Krey obeyed. “How did you get here faster than me?”

  “When Evie and I saw you flying, we came to a quick agreement. I ran home to confront you if you made it back here, and she stayed in the square so that if the king arrested you, she could plead for your life.” Min shook her head with a look of such disappointment, Krey was almost sorry for his failed mission. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Min spoke first. “Krey West, do you know how old you are?”

  “Uh—”

  She pointed at him emphatically. “You are a seventeen-year-old magic eater with the talent of a forty-year-old and the judgment of a toddler.”

  “Oh.”

  “I have serious concerns that you’ll kill yourself or get arrested before Evie and I die, and that’s unacceptable, considering you’re supposed to take care of us in our old age.”

  Krey couldn’t prevent his lips from curving into a smile. “I’m fine, Aunt Min. I barely got hurt, and I promise you the king doesn’t even know my name.”

  Her forehead knit beneath her tight, black curls. “All eight hundred people in that square know your name. I guarantee you the king knows it by now too.” She reached her hand across the table, palm up, and when Krey took it, she squeezed his fingers. “Why did you do it, Krey? Do me a favor and tell me the truth the first time.”

  Krey sighed. At the same time, his stomach growled. That morning, he’d only eaten feathers and ice, magical fuel that provided no nutrition.

  Min’s eyes narrowed, and she stood. “You need a sandwich. Then we’ll talk.” Five minutes later, she set a plate and a cup of water in front of Krey, then returned to her seat.

  Like all Min’s sandwiches, it was a work of art—piles of greens, a slice of meat thick enough to be called a slab, and, dripping from the edges, the creamy, salty sauce she refused to share the recipe for. Krey picked up the sandwich and took a massive bite. Once he’d swallowed, he said, “I can explain.”

  “And you will. But you’ll eat first. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes. I know you used more magic than you should’ve.” Min watched Krey eat. When he was on his last bite, she said, “Looking better already. Let’s move to the library.”

  Krey followed her. It was silly to call one room the library when books lined nearly every wall in the house. This room, however, had held the first bookshelf. Min and Krey entered and sat in cushioned chairs. They were upholstered in preday fabric, purchased from scavengers and pieced together like a quilt.

  Even before he’d moved to this house, Krey had grown up hearing the story of his aunts’ library. When Min and Evie had met a quarter-century before, they’d discovered a mutual love of preday books. They’d married, bought this house, and installed a shelf in this room, hoping they’d eventually have enough money to fill it with collectible volumes.

  Then Evie found success as a fashion designer. It was crazy what rich people would pay for outfits like the one the princess had been wearing in the square. The two women had now spent twenty years building the largest preday library in Cellerin. The book-filled home attracted scholars who leafed through treasured tomes while sitting on the very chairs now occupied by Krey and his aunt.

  Min propped her elbows on her knees, and her gaze snared Krey’s. “Now, tell me why.”

  “I need to find Zeisha.” Krey’s heel tapped the floor, his knee bobbing up and down. “That means I need answers, and the capital is the only place to find them.”

  “Can you sit still for a minute or two?” Min asked, touching a hand to Krey’s knee. He lowered his heel to the floor, and she continued, “What answers do you need? You know Zeisha is in Cellerin City.”

  Krey leaned back in the chair and rested his forehead in one hand, squeezing his temples. He took a deep breath and said, “She’s not there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Krey shook his head and gritted his teeth against emotion he didn’t have time for. “Those people who came into town, saying the king sent them out to recruit apprentices—have you ever heard of the king doing that before?”

  “No, but there’s no reason to doubt it. Zeisha has sent two letters to her parent
s.” Min’s voice was gentle. “She’s apprenticing with a master vine eater. She’s enjoying it.”

  “I’ve read those letters! She didn’t write them, at least not willingly. For one thing, she used the term plant lyster. She’s not a snob; she calls herself a vine eater. And I know everyone thinks she’s breaking up with me, but if she were, she’d tell me herself. There’s something weird about all this.”

  “Let’s say you’re right. I still don’t understand why you flew over the event today.”

  Krey gripped his armrests hard, like he was about to propel himself out of his seat. “Those people who took her to the capital claimed to work for the king. That means someone in the government is protecting them. So I decided to put on the best show I could. I figured if the king saw my magic, he’d invite me back to the city to work for him or something. Once I got there, I’d find someone with information on Zeisha. If I was working for the king, maybe people would actually talk to me.”

  “The resident cynic of our household willingly tried to impress the king.” Min gave him a sad smile. “You must really miss her.”

  He ran his fingers through his tangled, black hair. “Do you have any idea how many damn letters I’ve written to government officials in the last six weeks, trying to figure out where Zeisha really is? Of course, nobody’s answered me. They don’t care about a girl from a small town!” Krey stood and turned away, swiping the palms of his hands over his wet eyes. “I’m catching a ride with the next trader who comes through. I’ll go to the city and figure it out from there.”

  Before Min could respond, Evie’s voice reached their ears. “Krey? Are you here?”

  “We’re in the library!” Min shouted.

  Seconds later, Evie appeared in the doorway. Her full lips, so reminiscent of Krey’s mother’s, were pursed. “Krey, there are a couple of people here to see you.” She stepped in, followed by a man and woman, both wearing the black-and-blue uniforms of the Cellerin royal guard.

  Krey threw his hands in the air. “Oh, by the stone, it’s not like I hurt anyone!”

  “Well, you did take quite a fall,” the female guard said. “I thought for sure you scraped up your ego.”

  The male guard coughed. Krey could swear he was covering up a laugh.

  The female guard stood with her arms at her side, shoulders back. Her teasing voice turned officious. “Kreyven West, we’re here to escort you to a meeting with His Majesty, the King.”

  In the Dark: 1

  Zeisha shook the shoulder of the girl on the pallet next to hers.

  Isla startled awake. “Huh?”

  Not wanting to wake the others, Zeisha kept her voice low. “Did we already count tonight?”

  “Oh . . . no. I don’t think so.”

  Zeisha heard Isla sit up, though she couldn’t see her friend in the dark room. As she took off her right shoe and sock, Zeisha squeezed her eyes shut, trying to picture Isla. For a moment, a dim, blurry image filled her mind—a short girl with long, black hair—and then it was gone.

  “It’s day seven,” Zeisha whispered. She found the end of the string she’d looped around the big toe of her right foot. After carefully unwinding it, she wrapped it around her second toe.

  “How many weeks?” Isla asked in a sleepy voice.

  Zeisha knew the answer but counted just the same, rubbing her fingers along the tiny, crescent-shaped scars on her ankle. One, two, three, four, five. “Six,” she said. Then she pressed her thumbnail into the skin above the previous week’s mark, gritting her teeth. An involuntary yelp exited her mouth as her nail broke the skin.

  Isla’s hand found Zeisha’s arm, then moved to her shoulder. Her grip was tight and comforting.

  “Thanks,” Zeisha whispered as she dug her nail farther into the skin, creating a deeper gouge. Then she pressed her index finger to the wound, releasing a long sigh.

  Isla removed her hand, and her blanket rustled as she lay down.

  When Zeisha was pretty sure the blood had clotted, she put on her sock and shoe and lay on her pallet. She placed the tip of her thumb in her mouth and used her front tooth, then her tongue, to clean out the blood under her nail. The metallic flavor made her gag, as it did every week.

  3

  Several other children in our community developed magical talents after I did. We got a lot of attention, and I’ll admit, I enjoyed it.

  But we had no magical experts to learn from. When we asked questions, our parents shrugged and said, “You’ll have to figure it out together.”

  -The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios

  Nora sat before a fireplace, chatting softly with her father and the mayor, who was hosting them in her home for the night. A knock sounded at the front door.

  The mayor left to answer it, returning with a member of the royal guard. He held both hands open in front of him, arms bent at the elbows, and briefly lowered his head. When the king nodded to acknowledge the man’s bow, the guard dropped his arms and said, “Your Majesty, the guest you requested is outside.”

  “Bring him in,” King Ulmin said.

  Nora sat up straighter, fighting the smile that tugged at her lips. She’d asked her father if they could meet the poor lyster who’d fallen in his own magical ice. According to the mayor, the young man was seventeen, the same age as Nora. How had he gotten so good at magic at such a young age?

  The guard returned, stopping in the doorway again. “Kreyven West, Your Majesty,” the guard announced. He stepped back into the entry hall.

  Kreyven West entered the room. He had a medium build, brown skin, a strong jaw, and thick, dark hair that was due for a cut. His clothes were simple, made of neocot fabric, but he wore them well. Nora kept her expression neutral as she took him in. Surely he had some lean muscles underneath his baggy shirt and pants.

  The oddest thing about Kreyven was his expression. Most royal visitors were obsequious, giddy, or nervous. Not this guy. His lips were compressed into a sharp line, his arms folded.

  All in all, Nora couldn’t quite classify him as gorgeous or dashing. Rather, Kreyven West was . . . striking. Yes, that was it. A striking teenager with incredible magical faculties. How intriguing.

  Nora completed her perusal of the young man, then realized her father had stood and approached Kreyven. She stood too, but didn’t step away from her chair.

  “Kreyven West, hmm?” King Ulmin said.

  Kreyven didn’t bow. He kept his chin high and met the king’s eyes. “I go by Krey.”

  Nora watched her father. His eyes widened just a little, and she almost laughed, knowing the external reaction signified a pronounced internal one.

  Before the king could say anything further, a middle-aged man spoke from the doorway: “Dinner is served.”

  The king shifted his gaze to the mayor, who was hovering near the door. “I’d like to have a conversation with this young man.”

  “And the dinner table is an excellent place to have it,” Nora said, walking briskly to the mayor. “Can we accommodate one more?”

  Her father’s eyes found her, and he must’ve seen her fascination with Krey in her face, because his mouth twitched with a little smile.

  By the sky, he was laughing at her! She raised an eyebrow at him and returned her attention to the mayor, who confirmed that Krey could dine with them.

  Nora switched her attention to Krey and found that he’d turned toward her. He was squinting, studying her like he was trying to decode a book written in a foreign language. She returned his stare.

  “Krey,” Nora’s father said, “tell us about yourself.”

  They’d all settled at dinner and were nearly done filling their plates from dishes of food passed around the table. Krey held a bowl of small, purple potatoes in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. He placed five potatoes on his plate, ponderously arranging them. At last, he handed the bowl to the mayor, took the dish Nora was offering, and met the king’s eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  King Ulmin set do
wn the bread he’d just served himself and speared a piece of meat. “I’d like to hear about your lyster training.”

  Krey lifted his chin and stared at the king. “I’m a magic eater.”

  A laugh escaped Nora’s mouth. “Lyster, magic eater—they’re the same thing!”

  Krey smirked and barely glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Okay.”

  For the next several minutes, the only sounds were clattering cutlery, a crackling fireplace, and chewing that seemed twice as loud as usual. Krey never once shifted his attention from his food.

  Nora finished eating. Krey, who must be the slowest eater on Anyari, was still hunched over his plate, chewing. The king had cleaned his own plate and was watching their guest. The mayor cleared her throat.

  “This,” Nora said, scooting out her chair and standing, “is ridiculous.” She placed her hands on the table and leaned toward Krey until he looked up at her with an expression that was somehow both combative and apathetic.

  Nora straightened and clasped her hands behind her back, not releasing Krey’s gaze. “Krey West, we, the royal family of Cellerin, would like to offer you an apprenticeship with master lysters.”

  The king coughed. Nora knew he hated being caught off guard like this. Just go with it, Dad.

  Krey put his fork down. “An apprenticeship?”

  “Yes. We’ll connect you with an ice lyster and a feather lyster, some of the best in the country.” She had his attention now, so she hazarded a smile at him. “Just don’t call them magic eaters, okay?”

  He stood, his average height putting him level with Nora. He folded his arms in front of his chest, and Nora’s gaze darted down for a half-second. Yep, definitely some wiry muscles in there.