Page 1 of The Veil of Hollow Gods

I’ve only known the cold.

Frost that clings to everything. Not just the trees or the buildings, but to us—our souls, our lives. Every breath seems taken from a place of scarcity, like we’re all waiting for the next freeze to take what little warmth we have left.

Or to finally snuff it out entirely.

They always come at midday.

Heavy leather boots crunch and squeak on the ice, the sounds too solid, too substantial to belong to anyone native to Tiriana.

Mother and I still, eyes finding each other in the dimness of our one-room hovel. A thin beam of gray light catches my eye, glinting off the silver in her hair. I track it back to its source—a fresh crack in the wood slat wall, crusted with newborn ice.

Dama’s damn chains. I was sure I’d collected enough pine straw to keep the wind out for another few weeks.

"Cover your hair!" Mother hisses as the demon guard passes our door. Each crunch of ice and clang of metal sends a chill through me that has nothing to do with the cold. They never stay this long or venture this deep into town if they aren’t searching for someone.

But Vella, as always, can’t be bothered. Shining, white-blonde hair falls over her shoulder as she carefully prunes the morcuna plant in its meager pot. Her concentration never waivers from the soil, the greenery, the life in front of her.

"Vella!" Mother whispers louder, but my sister, younger by only eighteen moons, doesn’t hear her.

To my knowledge, guards, even demon ones, can’t see through walls. Not even shoddy ones like ours.

Mother tried to train Vella to cover her hair.

She aimed to make it a habit so innate, so routine, my sister could never forget.

But Vella lives in her own world. Full of plants and sunlight and love.

That is all she knows. All she cares about.

She’s always been the hopeful one. Even in this frozen wasteland, she finds beauty.

I used to think she was na?ve, but now… I envy her.

She still believes in spring.

As Mother crosses the small living space, I hop up from my spot in front of the wood stove and throw my scarf over my sister’s head. The chilled air raises goosebumps along my neck.

My gaze goes to her arms, covered, thankfully. Then to the fit of her thick tunic—still loose enough to hide her figure. I check the waist of my own woolen tunic and pull it away from my frame.

The demons keep us near frozen but fed enough to remain fertile and healthy. We couldn’t emerge as the Maiden if we were skin and bones, could we?

They wouldn’t know which of us to murder. Whose line to make sure doesn’t continue.

Whose existence to obliterate from the Shadowed Veil .

I tie the dark fabric under Vella’s neck, tucking all that telltale white hair within, eyes going once more to her arm. Still covered. The contact finally draws her attention from her pruning.

"Amara. Thank you." She smiles—an expression as warm and gentle as the way she tends the plant.

And her eyes— green.

Not just green. A color I don’t have words for.

Nothing I’ve seen in the white-frozen barrens and gray skies ever looked like that.

They gleam like life itself, and sometimes…

I can’t help staring.

"You’re always watching out for me. I will always be so grateful."

I return her smile, though with a fraction of the warmth. "And I’ll always be grateful for the delicious things you let me eat."

Nothing grows in this desolate, frozen kingdom. We eat only what the demons provide bi-weekly and what Vella painstakingly tends.

Last turn, they sent every hovel a single morcuna fruit.

It was juicy and fat, and I’d never seen that shade of brilliant red before.

We haven’t seen one since, but Vella diligently saved each seed before she let us eat it, and now we have two more morcunas to look forward to instead of only dry bread, game meat, and hard cheese.

I suppose the Frozen King enjoys watching the humans under his purview suffer in eternal winter. Though some say it’s to draw out the Maiden more easily. Others say it’s simply his preference.

I say it’s because demons are evil bastards. Perversions of what the First Mother intended; they bathe in the suffering of us lesser creatures .

The crunching footfalls pause, then turn the corner and walk along the other side of our hovel. The side with Vella’s window garden.

I reach past her and snatch the plant from the sill, then pull the fabric curtain all the way down, blocking the only thin scrap of light the plant has to grow in.

Except that in the dark, all the seams and widening holes that need filling sparkle with fresh ice, and for a moment, I’m struck by how beautiful it is. Like a wall of cold, deadly stars.

Damn. It’s more than I thought. I’ll have to travel all the way to the pine forest for enough straw. Mother won’t like that.

Vella’s gaze goes to the morcuna plant in my hands. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at it.

The heavy steps continue, each one tightening the muscles in my legs, my back. Readying to run…or fight. I’m not sure which.

Just as people aren’t sure why the Frozen King keeps us in a snowy wasteland, they also don’t know why the Maiden is important. What she’ll do for or to the demons that rule over us once she’s found.

Prophesies are sometimes more vague than useful.

Anointed in light and life

She remembers spring’s first quick

The crown will split, shadows bend

The Maiden binds what was broken

I put little stock in a few lines that hardly make sense, but the demons do. So this is our routine.

Hiding my sister’s light hair and the supposed Mark of the Maiden, a purple birthmark smeared across her forearm, which people and demons alike conveniently forget, isn’t in the prophecy.

Because even if she is the supposed Spring Maiden, even if Vella can end the sleeping Frozen Kings’s siege of wintery hell in Tiriana, I won’t let a single demon lay a cursed hand on her.

I’ve known that since the day the frost took our father.

Vella’s brow wrinkles in protest. "There’s no law against growing an indoor plant, Amara. Put it back. It needs the light."

"Hush," Mother warns, and the demon’s footfalls stop.

Vella looks to me for comfort. I nod slightly, and she stays silent as my gaze stays trained on the curtain and the scant silhouette of that demon’s profile.

The hazy sky doesn’t make the sharpest shadow, so I can’t tell why he brings his hand to his mouth, but not long after, the smooth, slightly bitter smoke of dried wraithbloom makes my nose twitch.

I don’t know what possesses me, but instead of moving downwind of the mildly hallucinogenic herb demons favor, I shift closer to the window and all those gaping seams, and I take a deep breath.

The smoke burns my nose, the back of my throat, but I hold it in to keep from coughing.

Vella’s eyes widen. "Why?" she mouths.

I lean into her, cupping my hand over her ear, already feeling the bloom loosening the tension in my muscles. "Those things destroyed our home and left us to live in the ruins. The least they can do is share their fun herbs."

Vella pulls away, the corners of her eyes crinkling with silent laughter. She quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Thank the Dama," Mother whispers as the scent of smoke reaches her. She disapproves of the herb, but now she knows why the demon stopped in front of our hovel.

I nod at my sister and move back slowly so she can get a whiff as well. But not before telling her with my gaze to be careful.

Mother won’t like it. I say silently.

She blinks in agreement, and I shift behind her, blocking her from Mother’s sight.

"Why the ghastly thing has to partake right outside our window…" Mother grumbles quietly as she takes up my place at the fire and pokes the embers into a few small flames.

"Captain!" A second demon scolds the first. His voice is sharp but measured. Quiet. It drifts to me as easily as the wraithbloom smoke. Through me, settling somewhere beneath my skin.

It’s strange, unsettling. Just as strange as not hearing his approaching footsteps.

No clang of metal.

No crunching snow or ice.

"I’m certain that is not your post. As certain as I am that you’ve snuffed out a perfectly good cigarillo."

The voice reminds me of…

"I’m sorry, Lord—" The guard’s words stop abruptly, like his superior stole the air from his throat.

"Get to your assigned station, Captain." He spits out the demon’s title, and the sound of his voice again burrows deep. A shudder runs through me.

Of the times I think I can feel something…watching. Like the world itself is holding its breath. Waiting for something. And sometimes, when it’s quiet and dark, I swear it’s waiting.

And I wish I didn’t feel like I owed it an answer .

Two sets of heavy footfalls depart, growing more distant. I stay locked in place until I can’t hear them.

And then, a small giggle burbles in my throat. Likely the bloom taking effect, so I engage Vella’s plant curiosities because if it’s affecting me... "Are you sure keeping the plant in the window is the best place for it?"

Vella takes the small pot from my hands. "Of course. It’s not as though we have another window to put it in."

"Right." I dare a glance over my shoulder at Mother, still preoccupied with trying to get more flames from the lump of ashes and embers. "It’s time to get another log, Mother."

Her shoulders sag. "It’s too soon," she whispers, head shaking slowly.

"Yes, well, that may be…" I say, pulling my shirt collar up and striding for my coat on the hook. "But your lips are blue." I shrug into my coat and button it to the neck. "So, I’m getting another log."

She’s about to protest, but I cut her off. "I have to go to the forest tomorrow to gather more straw, anyway. I’ll scavenge for more dry branches then and replace what we use tonight."

She hugs herself tight, meeting my gaze. We share the same dark brown eyes and hair. The same pointed chin and full mouth.