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PROLOGUE

BACK THEN

“ B ut, Mama, why? Why do we gotta go in the pods again? I don’t want to go to sleep for a hundred months every turn!” I flung my seven-turn-old body on the rickety wooden chair in our kitchen for dramatic effect, in case Mama didn’t understand just how serious I was.

The storm outside sounded furious, rain thrashing against our cottage’s tiny round windows. I must have upset the Ancients because the rain was thumping against the glass as if they were trying to break through it with stones.

I squirmed in my seat, waiting for Mama to finish braiding my little sister’s flaxen hair, curls fleeing from her fingers with every crossover. My chair creaked impatiently with each second that passed without a satisfactory response.

Mama sighed when sections of hair escaped her hold as Alette squirmed to look back. Alette promptly shouted in the way only a four-turn-old can, “A hundid months every turn, Mama!”

“Maya, why are the girls causing such a racket? Hush now, girls. I’m trying to concentrate on fixing this leak,” my father Gideon called from my parents’ bedroom.

Our cottage wasn’t large. Sound carried through the open-plan kitchen and sitting area to the two bedrooms and washroom in the back. Father was always fixing something. He also didn’t appreciate it when I was being too loud. In solidarity, the wooden walls groaned with exertion; grumpy storm winds relentlessly shoving against them.

“Sorry, Father!” I replied and then turned to look back at Mama with eagerness in my gaze.

Earlier this week, my best friend Kaden said our teacher, Magister Barden, told him what snow was. About how slippery it was and that you could slide down the big hill in the woods if it was covered in the cold, white stuff.

We never got to see snow because we always went to sleep in the pods every turn. Honestly, it was the most unfair thing I had ever heard in my entire life.

My ice-blue eyes glared toward the back of the cottage, imagining them burning through the walls to the backyard's overwintering shed—a detached conservatory made of glass and shiny metal—where the closest Dormancy pods were sheltered. That glass shed never needed repairs for Father to fix.

I grumbled, “Mama, I just don’t understand why we gotta go to sleep for so long. I’d rather be playing with Letti and Kaden in the snow. Kaden said we could slide down the big hill if bunches of snow were on it. You know, the one by the meadow with all those froggies and butterflies in the summer.”

Mama let the rest of Alette’s golden curls slip from her fingers as she looked at me with a soft smile. “That does sound lovely, Seryn. Remember when we talked about the Elder Laws?” Mama sat between Alette and me; her eyes softened as she looked at each of us. She wrapped her arms around our shoulders, cradling us. “For the last century, the mortal realm has followed them. When it’s Autumn Equinox, everyone goes into Dormancy pods and rests inside until the Spring Equinox.”

“I knoooow, Mama. But why do we gotta? I’d be really good and not do anything to upset the Elders if I could stay awake.” My cheeks flushed with determination.

“I know you would, my little star, but it isn’t a choice. If a person doesn’t go into a pod, it’s reported to the Elders, and they’re put to sleep forever,” Mama said while smoothing her palm down my deep-auburn curls. She continued when I opened my mouth to ask another question, “And, yes, the Elders know all, even though they live far away from Evergryn on Pyria Island. They have a whole lot of”—Mama looked up and scrunched her forehead—“helpers who ensure the Dormancy is done correctly … so no one is hurt.”

Mama’s hand paused on the back of my neck under the thick curtain of my hair, then traced along the small scar beneath my hairline. She stared straight ahead at the front door, her hazel eyes glassy and reflecting the lightning flashing through the windows.

I jolted when Father appeared behind us, my chair croaking in surprise. He placed a hand on Mama’s shoulder and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. Her scarlet-colored hair gleamed in the cottage’s candlelight as if it drew power from the flames. Mama leaned into him for a moment, and then Father put away his tools in the nearest kitchen cupboard.

Without moving, Father added, “Besides, girls, you wouldn’t want everyone in Midst Fall to starve because you wanted to play in the snow. Would you?” He turned around and arched one eyebrow, looking at me. My eyes shifted to focus on my toes curling in my worn stockings. My shoulders hunched inward as if a heavy pile of wet blankets were plopped onto my back.

Mama made a clicking noise and swatted her arm in the air toward Father. “Don’t be so harsh, Gideon. You don’t need to scare them.” Father’s mouth tipped up on one side as if he was trying to smile but was also sucking on a bitter lemon. He often looked like that, but more so when looking in my direction.

“I don’t want everyone to starve!” Alette shouted as her eyes glistened with upset. Her hazel eyes, so much like Mama’s, appeared more golden when she was distraught. I leaned over and grabbed Letti’s little hand, squeezing gently.

Mama kissed the top of my sister’s now frizzy curls and tightened her arms around us. “What your father meant was that we need to participate in the Dormancy every turn because it’s everyone’s duty. We must ensure everyone has the resources to survive when we’re not in the pods. It’s just the way it is, my loves.”

I thought about this for a moment, concluding I wouldn’t get anywhere else by asking more questions tonight. I let go of my sister’s hand and blew out a soft breath. “All right, Mama.”

Like a cat stretching after a nap, my shoulders uncurled. I leaned against the back of my chair as straight and tall as I could, taking care not to tip it over. I wanted everyone to be safe. Mama said it was what we needed to do and had always been done, so I’d do it. Still, I wouldn’t stop wondering how it would feel to live without being forced to sleep half of my life away.

The thunder cracked through the silence in our home, lightning flashing through the windows for one brief moment. One day, I hoped we’d all dream when we wanted to. I didn’t realize then that nightmares could be mistaken for dreams. And by the time you realized what was happening, it was already too late.