Prologue

Thirteen YearsAgo

"I don"t want to watch the executions," I tell my birth mother quietly, watching the raindrops trailing down outside the window to my right.

It"s just the two of us in the back of the limousine. We"re running late because she had to make sure my outfit was perfect before I could be seen in public. The rest of my parents are already inside the big courthouse we"re driving to, where the Legacy Council and the Immortal Quintet meet to conduct official business.

At fourteen, I"ve already been to the courthouse too many times to count. I"ve hated it every time.

My mother reaches out to adjust my collar, muttering about wanting me to look flawless when we step outside. I can already see the horde of people holding cameras standing outside the massive front doors of the courthouse, and my stomach clenches.

I hate cameras.

Ever since my parents insisted I make my modeling debut in the human world last year, cameras have followed me everywhere I go outside of the Frost estate. My parents tell me I"m a child modeling phenomenon, but I can"t stand looking in the mirror anymore. It doesn"t help that I look so much like my father.

"You must learn to watch whenever this happens, son," Mother says. "Executions are uncommon but necessary. The council and the Immortal Quintet expect the strongest legacies to support their final decision, and what are we?"

"The strongest," I mumble on autopilot. I know there"s no use trying to get out of this dread pooling in my gut, but I still look at her pleadingly. "Heidi never has to sit through shit like this. Why do I?"

"Don"t use that language. And your sister isn"t a real Frost. You know this."

I"ve heard it too many times to count, but it still bothers me. Alaric Frost is my father and the prestigious keeper of my parents" elite quintet, so they all took on the Frost last name. But Corbin, another of my parents, fathered Heidi with Daphne, my mother. Since Heidi isn"t biologically a Frost from Alaric"s bloodline, they had her take my mother"s maiden name. She"s only eight, but we"ve been raised so differently.

Heidi can"t stand looking at me, either. I wonder if she will always hate me as much as I"ve forced her to. I"ve pushed her away for her own good, just in case my parents ever stooped low enough to try using her as leverage against me, but it still hurts.

"The gods have granted you power and beauty befitting a true Frost," my mother muses, checking her lipstick one last time as the limousine slows to a stop. She turns and levels me with a harsh look, slipping her compact mirror back into her purse. "But it"s up to you to live up to our name. Which means in that courtroom, there will be no more whining, no grimacing, not so much as a sniffle if you don"t like what you see. Frosts are not soft. You will sit up straight, observe, and say nothing. And if you embarrass us in any way, you know what will happen."

My stomach pain worsens, and I look away, tucking my hands into my gray overcoat so she won"t see the frost prickling my fingertips.

It"s true. I do know what happens when I disappoint my family. They punish me, but not by hurting me. Instead, they take it out on anything or anyone I remotely like.

Which is why I pretend to hate everything. Every gift, every hobby, every person.

It"s safer for everyone that way.

Maybe one day I"ll be able to love something, anything, without the fear that it will be ripped to pieces if I step out of line. Even my curse mocks me, reminding me that I"ll ruin any chance at my own future happiness if I care.

"Yes, Mother," I mutter.

She opens the door. As we step out, I look straight ahead through the flashing lights despite the photographers screaming for me to look at them. By the time we make it through the doors and to our seats at the edges of the massive vaulted courtroom filled with legacies, my vision is spotted from all the camera flashes.

I sit with my parents" quintet. My father, as usual, sits with the rest of the Legacy Council. I can"t remember a time when he wasn"t sitting at the front of the room with them. He"s completely focused on something another council member is saying to him. Even here, many legacies eye me from their seats, curious to see the heir of Alaric Frost. Members of influential quintets are here as representatives from each of the four Houses.

My attention lands on two Cranes sitting on the opposite side of the room, the only members of their quintet in attendance today. They wear all black, and their faces are chalky with dark circles under their eyes. I'm pretty sure that shifty-eyed blood fae is Silas Crane"s birth father.

Mother sees where I"m looking and whispers, "Their keeper just committed suicide. Rumor has it that Somnus DeLune"s bastard son got inside his head and drove him to it. Quite the scandal—needless to say, we won"t be associating with any of them anymore. But pay attention. Even in mourning, even with their curses returning, the Cranes know to heed when the Immortal Quintet extends a call. We Frosts are just the same. Loyalty is everything."

She goes quiet along with everyone else when the large double doors at the head of the room open, and the Immortal Quintet strides in.

I"ve seen them in person before, but it"s still hard not to shrink in on myself when their intimidating presence fills the room. It"s impossible to forget that they have ruled legacies for centuries for a good reason—we legacies might be descended from the original monsters who escaped the Nether, but they are monsters who escaped it. They're frighteningly powerful.

Especially their keeper, Natalya, who calls the court to order before she turns to address the Legacy Council. When she does, I stare at the keeper emblems that are etched like a crown across her forehead, curtained by her copper-colored hair. Each emblem represents one of the Four Houses—one for each of her quintet members.

"Bring in the dissenters," she says.

Several uniformed legacy security guards drag two shifters and a caster into the room, all beaten to a pulp. I don"t recognize any of their bloodied, bruised faces.

But then my eyes widen when a human is brought in, too.

He also looks like he took a beating, but he holds his head high despite limping from a mangled ankle. When they shove him forward to stand in front of the Immortal Quintet, he doesn"t flinch back like the others do. Instead, he looks at the room and the crowd around him with a curious, dazed frown.

I"m not the only one surprised—after all, humans have never been permitted in legacy proceedings. Murmurs roll through the rest of the audience as an elemental council member stands to begin the address.

"Brought before us today are three of our own who have been captured and charged with unlawful casting of forbidden spells outside of the borders of the Divide, disturbing the peace among humans, and supporting acts of?—"

One of the Cranes stands and interrupts him, looking down her nose at the human. I realize she's probably Silas"s mother.

"Get to the point. Why is there a human in our midst? They"re not permitted here."

Rumbles of agreement echo around me. The elemental looks nervous as he reads from the official document.

"Ah, yes…also brought before us today is one Pietro Amato, whose final hearing and punishment have been left to our discretion by the human government. Over the last seven years, he has been found guilty of multiple offenses, including fear-mongering among humans, spreading propaganda about the Nether, acts of violence against legacies?—"

"That was in self-defense only," the human insists over the angry murmurs filling the room.

"And most disturbing of all, forming alliances with demons and other convicts of the Nether to…willingly volunteer in necromantic rituals on multiple accounts."

The court is in an uproar before the council member finishes speaking. I duck down into my seat, wide-eyed as I watch the powerful legacies stand and scream over one another. I"ve been here too many times, but I"ve never seen a hearing blow up like this. Even my father is standing, his cool demeanor replaced by disgust as he glowers down at the human.

Despite slurs and screeches from all around, Pietro Amato holds eye contact with the keeper of the Immortal Quintet. When Natalya speaks, everyone else goes silent, but the room is filled with tension so thick that I can barely breathe.

"So his final hearing begins," she announces in a bell-like voice. "Tell us of your crimes, human, and we will choose how you shall be executed."

Sick smiles of excitement spread on the faces of the legacies leering down at the man. But the longer I watch him, the more my stomach twists. He"s been charged with a lot of severe crimes, but he doesn"t look like a threat.

He looks…desperate. Distraught. Tears gather in his eyes as he takes a step forward.

"All that I have done, I did to rescue my daughter from the Nether. Seven years ago, she was stolen away by shadow fiends, and I have been doing everything possible to try to get her back?—"

My father"s loud, condescending scoff interrupts him. "Insanity! Fiends don"t take humans—they slaughter them. Your daughter is long dead."

"She is alive!" Amato insists, facing my father. The courtroom quiets as everyone"s interest rests on the unexpectedly brave, bruised, bloodied human. "I know she is. The charges against me are true on one account—I did volunteer in necromantic rituals, but only to find her. Only to trace my bloodline in her to learn whether she"s still alive. And she is. My daughter…"

His voice breaks as emotion clouds his face. He turns back to the Immortal Quintet. They all watch him coldly, except for the earth elemental, who frowns at the sight of the human with tears on his cheeks.

"My little miracle of a daughter was just two years old when she was taken from me in the surge that destroyed my hometown. Please, I have to get her back. I know in my very bones that she is still alive in the Nether. I need to rescue her. Please," he begs raggedly. "You must believe me!"

Somnus DeLune, another member of the Immortal Quintet, arches a lazy brow, observing the frantic father as if he"s studying an injured ant.

"Even if I did believe that the Nether is spiriting away humans—which I don"t, by the way…go on, amuse me. How could your little mortal runt have survived for seven years in that hell?"

It sounds so impossible that even I shake my head. I"ve never been to the Divide, but I"ve heard the stories. I know it"s otherworldly and deadly, even for powerful legacies. And that"s only where the Nether starts to seep into this world.

A child surviving in that lifeless plane of existence? Impossible.

But Pietro Amato seems to believe it with every fiber of his being. Why execute someone for choosing to believe his daughter is alive when he has nothing else to believe in? Can't they just put him in a cell so he doesn't do anything else against the law?

Watching these monsters judge a desperate human who has no power to fight back just feels…wrong.

I wonder if I can leave the room, but when my mother notices that I'm compulsively readjusting the same sleeve over and over, she shoots me a savage warning look that makes me go still.

Pietro looks at each council member and the unforgiving Immortal Quintet before straightening. Sudden confidence punctuates each of his words.

"My daughter is far more precious than you can possibly imagine. I don"t know how she has survived, but she has. And if I am not permitted to pass through the Divide and fight to get her back…the wrath of the gods will be upon you tenfold. They will smite your kind with fury unlike anything you have ever seen."

Insulted gasps and outcries flood the room once again. One of the angry casters hurls a magic attack at Amato. The guards beside him do nothing to stop the flare of light, and I cringe when the human is hit by the spell, crumpling to the floor with a hoarse, pained cry.

Corbin, my other father, grips the back of my collar in warning. He doesn"t like that I reacted. The courtroom is still filled with yelling and swearing, but Pietro gets to his feet again anyway, grimacing.

"Behold, the lies a desperate madman clings to," Somnus muses as things finally die down.

"A madman who dares threaten us with a pretended knowledge of the will of the gods themselves," Melvolin Hearst adds with a sneer on the other end of the Immortal Quintet.

Natalya holds up her hand, and everyone goes deadly silent. She slowly moves to stand right in front of the pleading human. Her words are soft as rose petals, as usual, but the look on her face has me shrinking into my seat even more. My hands are covered in frost inside my pockets now, and I"m getting increasingly sick as eagerness sparkles in the eyes of all legacies watching, including my cool, collected parents.

"All parents think their children are precious," Natalya says, studying Pietro with no empathy on her face. "That is not reason enough to get involved with demons. Yet you did. And before you die for your crimes, I will tell you the truth. The demons lied to you. They misled you so they could use you as a tool to stir up mistrust and violence among humans and our kind. You are nothing but an easily manipulated pawn for those who prey on the innocent."

He shakes his head. "No, I know the truth. My daughter is?—"

"Dead. No human could survive in the Nether, least of all a toddler. The crimes you have committed far outweigh the insanity you claim to believe." She raises her voice slightly, circling him like a shark. "I call all legacies present to vote. Shall I put this mad human to immediate death for the atrocities he has committed against our law and our kind?"

Screams of assent permeate the air that I can no longer breathe as the dread in my stomach builds. I want to hide my face. I want to run out of the room so I won"t have to see this. But showing weakness in front of my parents is not an option, so I force myself to sit still and watch.

I watch as the desperate father turns his pleading face to the rest of the room, his gaze connecting with mine momentarily.

I watch the hopeless tears falling from his dark gaze, his heartbroken, silent plea cutting into my chest until moisture wells in my own eyes.

And then I watch as Natalya rips Pietro Amato"s head off in front of a room full of cheering, bloodthirsty sadists.