East

Rose

IT WAS LIKE THE END of the world. The noise was massive, crashing, ear pounding, as the ice palace broke apart.

I saw it in only an instant. A scorching burst of heat, then the enormous crack in a moment spiderwebbing outward where Tuki had once stood. And the Troll Queen herself, teetering on the edge, only to be swallowed by the monstrous, gaping fissure.

I looked up. Saw the sheer windows shattering, turrets bending, toppling. I knew I was going to die.

As knifelike slivers of ice rained down, I ran. A large chunk of something slammed into my shoulder. I staggered, falling to my knees. More ice fell on me. I crouched, trying to protect my head with my hands, but ice continued to strike me, causing staccato bursts of pain. My head swam. Where was the man who had been a white bear? I had to find him—but I could not move.

Screams echoed all around. Balconies teeming with trolls fell through the air. Death was everywhere.

A strong arm grabbed my waist and dragged me out from under the ice. I was pulled along until I found myself in a tiny cavelike space. And the man who had been a white bear held me tightly. He was looking into my eyes. "Rose," he said urgently.

"Yes," I said groggily. Relief showed in his face.

We were lodged under a great slab of ice, part of the ceiling that had fallen at an angle, knifing sideways into the floor like an immense white sword. It was so thick and strong that it protected us as the ice palace crashed down around us.

I knew as I huddled there, the arms of the man who had been a white bear tight around me, that I would never forget the sound. It went on a long, long time—the cracking, grinding, slamming of fallen ice, and the screams of the dying.

I must have lost consciousness, for I suddenly became aware of his voice again saying, "Rose," in that same urgent tone, as if he was afraid I would not answer.

"Yes?" I said weakly.

"It's over, I think," he said.

We were crammed into a tiny space, only slightly bigger than our two bodies. And everything was silent except for an occasional cracking sound. The entire wreckage of the ice palace lay on top of us. I clutched at his purple waistcoat.

Then I remembered my mother's words as she'd told me the prophecy of the skjebne-soke. "Any north child I had would die—crushed by an avalanche of snow and ice."