Read an Excerpt From Omen of Ice

Keltania Tunne has spent her whole life training to become a bodyguard for a Winter Fae…

We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Omen of Ice by Jus Accardo, the start of a new young adult fantasy series about a druid and the Fae royal she’s been tasked to protect—publishing with Entangled Teen on August 1.

Keltania Tunne has spent her whole life training to become a bodyguard for a Winter Fae. It’s the highest of honors for a druid… only when Tania arrives at the Winter Court for the first time, nothing is what she expected.

Her assignment is the heir to the throne, Valen, and he doesn’t want her protection. In fact, he wants her gone. Yesterday. But Tania will not compromise, even if he is the most arrogant jackass she’s ever met—because something isn’t right in the Winter Court.

Everyone has secrets. From the Winter Lord to the kitchen maids to the rising faction that wants the prince dead—no one is who they seem. And now it’s up to Tania to keep her sacred oath and protect Valen, even when his smart mouth makes her skate the razor-thin edge between love and hate.

But the more she gets to know him, the more she realizes his secret is the biggest of all—and might just get them both killed.

Magic is a funny thing. It can be infinitely powerful yet, at the same time, as fragile as the most delicate bloom. All it takes to lose it is a single sacrifice.

Or a single mistake.

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Omen of Ice

I breathe in deep and do my best to block the chatter from the small crowd gathered across the field. There’s excitement in the air, and even the trees seem eager for the ceremony to commence. Every few moments, showers of red and gold leaves flutter down, coating the ground for several seconds before dissolving back into the earth.

“Are you ready for this?” my cousin, Alainya, whispers. She’s a bundle of nerves and excitement, fidgeting nonstop, more like a toddler than an eighteen-year-old. “Because

I’m not sure if I am.”

“You are,” I promise, then grab her hand and give it a firm squeeze—to comfort her, but also to get her to stand still. The constant movement is making me twitchy.

I understand her enthusiasm. I’m excited, too. I’m just better at containing myself.

We’re barefoot, wrapped in simple white shifts made of silk. Our limbs are adorned with flowers, and vines wind between our fingers, up and around our arms. The elders say the vines signify our connection with the land. To me, the vines represent our bond with the Winter Fae. Our histories are interwoven, our fates connected with loyalty and love. We’re one. Partners, Allies—friends.

We owe them everything. They ensured our survival in the days before—and during—the war. When the rest of the humans fell, the Winter Fae used their magic to make sure the druids had enough food and protection, that our shelters withstood the elemental forces from the other Fae courts.

After the war, after the Great Drain, we began repaying their kindness. Now, some of us stand at their side as guards, protecting them from harm with what little magic we retain.

Alainya turns around again. This time, there’s mischief in her eyes. “What kind of gifts do you suppose they’ll greet us with?”

I roll my eyes. “Shh!”

“I’m hoping for one of those rings I’ve heard so much about. You know, the ones that allow you to change your appearance?” She shimmies her hips. “I bet I’d look fantastic as a redhead!”

Levina, our high priestess, steps to the front of the crowd. She pins Alainya and me with a stern glare, then begins. “Thousands of years ago, Servis, the lord of the Winter Court, fell in love with our high priestess, Aphelian. When war broke out among the courts and the druids were in danger, the Winter Fae protected them. The battle raged for a decade, each court leaving behind charred forests and lands drenched in innocent blood. In the dawn of the eleventh year, the Great Drain started—the depletion of Fae magic.”

“I love this story!” Alainya squeals loud enough to coax my other cousins to shh her as well. “It’s so romantic.”

“Yes,” I say under my breath. “War is so romantic… Add it to the loss of all Fae magic, and you’ve got an epic fairy tale on your hands.”

Levina glares at us again, but this time Alainya bows her head, cowed. “Servis’s magic was, like that of all the other Fae, failing. Though the other courts were just as badly hampered, Aphelian feared total annihilation of her beloved and the Winter Fae. She appeared before the council of elders and begged them to give just a little bit more—half their magic. A normal Fae could never wield druid magic, but a Fae royal? Her beloved would be able. With the survival of the Winter Fae at stake, they agreed so long as Servis returned their power when it was over.

“Twelve days of meditation, and she channeled the land’s power. She harnessed it and forced half of it into a single glass tear, which she bottled and offered to the Winter Lord to give them the edge they needed to end the war victorious. Alas, the safe return of our magic was not to be. After the final battle, as Servis made to return the tear, he and Aphelian were attacked and the tear taken. Badly injured, Servis fought with everything he had to recapture his love’s magic. He sacrificed his remaining power to reclaim the tear… but it was destroyed.”

Soft chatter whispers through the crowd. We all know this story. We can recite it in our sleep. Yet each and every year, on this day, everyone in the village stands riveted, like the tale is new. Eighteen times. I’ve heard this story on the eve of the Fall Harvest Moon each year I’ve been alive. It reinforces the bond we, as descendants of Aphelian, make with the Winter Fae. A sacred partnership forged by our ancestors and carried out across generations.

One by one, the girls ahead of me, my cousins, step up. There are four of us this year. Two fewer than last. Heads held high and shoulders squared with barely contained excitement, they move with the grace of the wind. Well, all except Alainya. She’s a skilled fighter and has a knack for herbal remedies, but sometimes it’s hard to believe she’s my age. She practically bounces forward with the enthusiasm of a small child riding a sugar-cane high.

“Are you excited?” Alainya lets out a soft giggle. “I’m so excited!”

I give up trying to quiet her and gently nudge her forward. We grew up together, and though her unbridled and irritatingly persistent optimism is annoying, I’ll miss her. She always balanced me. Where I was narrowly focused on training—her words, not mine—she remained light and full of humor. I’m the boring one—again, her words, not mine—and she’s the fun one. Night and day. She would say she’s sunshine and I’m the violent storm that rolls in from the mountains, drenching our rain-starved fields. Merciless yet healing.

Alainya always had a flair for dramatics.

When it’s my turn, I breathe in deep and step forward.

Alainya giggles, and Levina’s gaze meets mine. She holds it several seconds longer than she did the others’, and I wonder if anyone notices. We’ve always been close, and on more than one occasion, the other girls accused me of getting preferential treatment. An extra roll at dinner time, the better bunk in the dormitory tent. I’ve never seen it before, but looking at her now, seeing not only the pride in her eyes but pain as well, I know it’s true.

“Aphelian’s golden heart and Servis’s noble sacrifice are what bring us together today. Though our magic was destroyed in the war, we honor her bond with the Winter Kingdom. The past has proven that if we stand together, we can overcome anything. I, as one of her descendants, feel great joy in sending you into the loving hands of the Fae. I pray that the Goddess shines her grace upon you.”

“May the Goddess grant me her favor,” we say in unison. I’ve waited my entire life to speak those words. The thrill is nothing short of euphoric.

“Keltania Tunne.” Levina bows her head and offers me the slightest nod. “You are by far the most skilled fighter I have seen in over a decade. Your agility and cunning, as well as your superior knowledge of our most obscure inkings, are an assurance to me that you will do well in their world.”

I hike up my garment and kneel before her, sinking into the soft earth. Its comforting embrace calms my fluttering nerves.

Levina rests her hand atop my head. “You are no longer Keltania Tunne. You are Aphelian, an extension of the selfless Priestess Aphelian. You are nature’s fury and her sword and the embodiment of the bond. Wield them well.”

Levina smiles and bends to retrieve the last burlap sack at her feet. It contains my share of our people’s most prized possession. Our blood ink, the last small bits of our magic. Dipping her pointer finger into the bag, she traces a symbol onto my forehead. Our crest. A large circle with a vine of ivy wrapped around it. It’s the sacred mark that will identify me as a Fae protector, an agent of honor and respect. The sigil of Aphelian.

The sensation is unpleasant, like a million tiny needle pricks breaking my skin at once. It steals my breath away, making me dizzy. But, as fast as it comes, it dissipates, leaving me with an all-over warm feeling as the magic absorbs into my skin.

“I will make our ancestors proud,” I whisper.

We call it ink, but it’s dirt. Scraped from a sacred section of earth and mixed with deep red pigment, it’s blessed by the acting high priestess and imbued with a tiny kernel of the remnants of our power. Every descendant of Aphelian gets her own share, for times of crisis when we need a boost of power or strength. It allows us to channel what’s left of our people’s magic and temporarily reclaim a small bit of the glory we once knew by tracing sigils onto our skin with the ink.

From somewhere behind me, Alainya lets out another excited squeal. Levina’s lips quirk, and my other cousins whisper for her to stay quiet.

Levina steps back and closes the pouch, careful not to spill any of the ink. “You have all been marked and have the ink of Aphelian in your veins. Make our people proud.”

From this day forward, each sigil I use will mark my skin with a red tattoo. The marks are alive, churning and shimmering with power. It’s unsettling to some who see them, but our sigils are worn with pride, symbols of bravery and unyielding loyalty. Like Aphelian before me, I’ll use the magic to protect the Fae as they once protected us. With their own power gone, the Fae of the Winter Lands— once called Aroberg—are vulnerable. Their prosperity breeds hatred among the nomadic survivors from the other courts as well as the magic-starved creatures that border their lands.

Levina takes my face in her hands as the crowd around us cheers. “Go with the Goddess, my child. I know one day we will meet again.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” Because of Levina, I’ve trained harder than the others, studied longer, and pushed myself further. Because of Levina, I earned one of the most coveted assignments the Order has ever received. “I will make you proud.”

“My dear…” She brushes her hand across my cheek and smiles. The pride I see in her eyes, the confidence in me, makes my chest ache. I just hope I can live up to her expectations. “I know you will.”

I smile and move to turn away, but Levina holds tight. For a moment—just a moment—I swear I see a flicker of regret in her eyes.