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Back Seasons of Chaos Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. Epilogue
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. About the Author
  68. Books by Elle Cosimano
  69. Back Ad
  70. About the Publisher

“Take the Spring to my suite.” Doug talks about me to his Guard as if I’m not even in the room. “Make sure that air vent is sealed and every inch of the place has been checked for other possible escape routes. No one is to lay a hand on her. If a single hair on her head is harmed, there will be hell to pay. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He bends to pick the black sash off the floor. I bristle at the sudden, dark urgency I feel inside him as he reaches for his staff. I wedge myself in front of the door, blocking his path. “Where are you going?”

He shoves me into Lixue’s arms and walks past me out the door.

42

Snow for Dust

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DOUG

Flame in hand, I move through Névé Onding’s darkened dorm room. According to the personnel records Bradwell uncovered, Névé’s been dead for more than a year and a half, killed by Amber Chase while Jack and his friends were on the run. Névé’s Handler, detained along with all the others who had hunted for Jack, was given a custodial job after the hearings, and was moved to a room in the staff quarters, leaving this one abandoned.

I trail a finger through the dust on Névé’s desk. Oddly, nothing on Névé’s side of the bunk room has been removed. Either Lyon was too busy to bother with it, or he wanted someone to find it like this. Messy. Lived in. Warm, even though the room still smells stubbornly like Winter. The blue paint on the walls feels distantly familiar, from hall parties when I was a Season in the same wing.

I drop into the fuzzy blue reading chair in the corner and rest the staff across my lap, grateful not to be holding it. The damn thing feels heavier every time I touch it, and in my rush to get here, I forgot all about my gloves. I wince as I rub the chill from my palm. The cut Fleur gave me is still angry and raw. When I left her in my office, her shouts had given way to a persistent pounding against the walls of my mind that I’d felt all the way to the Crux. I still feel her there, seething in a remote corner of my thoughts, but the farther away she is, the easier it is to think, and the weaker my ability to sense her seems to be. Still, I find myself checking to make sure she’s there.