Chapters (35)
- SOMETHING IN THE SNOW
- Books by Richelle Mead
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Copyright Page
“I won’t,” I said, hoping I could keep my word. I gave her hand one last squeeze and then stepped outside, where I was immediately blasted by morning heat. I grimaced, feeling like I was in an oven. “Let’s do this.”
Roland nodded and headed over toward the gate. To the uninitiated, it simply looked like any other place out there in the desert. We knew what signs to watch for, however, and could even sense the gate’s power. It was of moderate strength, meaning it required little effort for us to cross—and was the kind that a wayward person could accidentally get caught up in on a sabbat day. Roland gave me one last questioning look.
“Sure you’re ready?”
“Very,” I said, not feeling sure at all.
We stepped through, and I felt that familiar and always-disconcerting sensation of being stretched, pulled apart, and reassembled again. Knowing what to expect helped a little, and within moments, I was back to myself—just in time to be nearly knocked over by a blast of wind. I caught hold of the first thing I could, which turned out to be Roland. He steadied me as I regained my footing and stared around in disbelief at what I saw.
White, as far as the eye could see. We stood on one of the main roads that traversed the Otherworld. It was covered in snow that looked like it had been packed down somewhat by wagons, horses, and feet. I wondered also if there was some magic to the road that kept it semi-clear because the snow covering it was nothing compared to the drifts on either side of us, which came nearly to my waist. Also lining the road were trees coated in both ice and snow. There was almost something beautiful to their delicate, lacy appearance—yet at the same time, the trees had a stricken and forlorn feel to them. They were imprisoned, struggling to stay alive.
With nearly everything blanketed in the ice and snow, it was difficult to pick out many features in the land. Even the sky was dreary, covered in white and gray clouds. This could have been any place, really. The unique characteristics that normally identified the various kingdoms were obscured in white, but I didn’t need any of them. I knew exactly where we were.
We were in the Rowan Land.