Summer's Snow

Copyright © 2023 by Carly Humphrey and Valley Bloom Books, LLC All rights reserved. Cover Art and Title Page Art by Angela Rizza Interior Design by Carly Humphrey Chapter Heading Illustrations by Laraswonderlandshop (Nic, scene breaks), Patishopart (Diana, Adrienne), DesignWorkBoutique (Misha, August) from Etsy. Editing by Fiona McLaren No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Author’s Note: This book contains subject matter that might be difficult for some readers, including blood and gore depiction, child abuse recounted, death of a parent, emesis, grief depiction, murder, physical and emotional abuse, sexual content, references to sexual assault, trauma and nightmares, and violence. Contents Title Page Dedication Map 1. Prologue 2. Chapter 1 3. Chapter 2 4. Chapter 3 5. Chapter 4 6. Chapter 5 7. Chapter 6 8. Chapter 7 9. Chapter 8 10. Chapter 9 11. Chapter 10 12. Chapter 11 13. Chapter 12 14. Chapter 13 15. Chapter 14 16. Chapter 15 17. Chapter 16 18. Chapter 17 19. Chapter 18 20. Chapter 19 21. Chapter 20 22. Chapter 21 23. Chapter 22 24. Chapter 23 25. Chapter 24 26. Chapter 25 27. Chapter 26 28. Chapter 27 29. Chapter 28 30. Chapter 29 31. Chapter 30 32. Chapter 31 33. Chapter 32 34. Chapter 33 35. Chapter 34 36. Chapter 35 37. Chapter 36 38. Chapter 37 39. Chapter 38 40. Chapter 39 41. Chapter 40 42. Chapter 41 43. Chapter 42 44. Chapter 43 45. Chapter 44 46. Chapter 45 47. Chapter 46 48. Chapter 47 49. Chapter 48 50. Chapter 49 51. Chapter 50 52. Chapter 51 53. Chapter 52 54. Chapter 53 55. Chapter 54 56. Chapter 55 57. Chapter 56 58. Chapter 57 59. Chapter 58 60. Chapter 59 61. Chapter 60 62. Epilogue Acknowledgements About Author The stars knew how to send a message. Trees beyond the open stained-glass windows stood lifeless, burned black by a fire started during a lightning storm. The following morning, we were hit by a blizzard, a late summer’s snow. Something was coming. I sat perched in one of the window seats of the library and stared out at the palace gardens as I stitched rows of beading on my sister’s gown. I’d hoped that the monotony of the task would soothe my nerves. It didn’t work. The stars’ warning had me fearing for our future, that the peace we’d had in the seventy-seven years since the Blood Treaty would not last. Such shifts in nature always meant great change was coming, whether it was for better or worse was yet to be determined. Lost in my reverie, I lost focus on my embroidery, the needle piercing my finger. As I held it out from the window, the blood ran down my hand. Two red drops landed on the snow outside of my perch. As the red marred the white, images invaded my vision. The walls of the room were black as night, the space empty except for seven mirrors of various types and sizes. In the center was the largest, the most intriguing—the most dreadful. The frame was made from obsidian, inlaid with moonstones and shimmering stardust, a large crystal at its peak. As I stood before my reflection, the glass shimmered. The surface of a still lake broken by a dropped pebble. Broken castles covered in ash and thorns. A drop of poison muddied clear water as it unfurled. A dragon roared as thunder erupted. The earth cracked and broke apart as a piercing scream of agony rang. Then, out of that fractured snow-covered ground, what rose from it… Gods save us all. The images shifted. Two children, little girls about 5 years old. They were familiar, I’d seen them so many times now. Turned away from me, they held hands. One with hair dark as night, the other golden like the sun. They felt like…hope. The flame of a candle in the darkness. In flashes, I watched them grow into adulthood, to their twenty-second birthday—their fates on that day. I went to them and placed my hands on their shoulders. They began to turn to me, but before I could see their faces, before I could warn them, I was brought back to my present. The two girls were my daughters, twins like myself and Alesia, whom I would bear within the next year. The girls already grew in my womb—tiny sparks of light—but I would never know them. I would not survive their birth. There was to be another war, one that would cause total destruction of our continent as it stood. Our way of life, their way of life, would be shattered. My hands shook. I knew that Dominic’s, my mate, and my union would be powerful. The stars had declared it so in the vision I had when I met him. I thought the five years of war for our liberation was the accumulation of that. How wrong I’d been if this was what the stars had intended all along. But there was still hope. Tears blurred my vision as I looked back to the snow. From my fallen blood, a sprout emerged through the ice and slowly unfurled. A blood red rose grew in its place. My daughters would know great heartbreak and tragedy, but they would be as tenacious and strong as a rose sprouting from the frozen ground. The tears streamed down my face as I mourned the fact that I would never get to see them grow, play, love—at least not closely, not as I should have as their mother. It was no wonder now that I had never held them in my visions. I would only ever observe from afar, separated by death’s veil. Though I would never know them, I knew that Dominic, my sister, and