Fantasy of Frost (The Tainted Accords Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

and every time I visit these children, I’m reminded of just how dangerous fire is. Nothing is more feared on Osolis.
    “You’re hungry,” I say. She nods. Picking up an apple out of a large crate, I begin slicing it into chunks, trying not to laugh at her unwavering attention. She accepts the pieces I hold out after a cautious moment. I watch her crunch away. Apples always remind me of this place, it is why I love to eat them.
    “Why you wearing that?” The small girl points to my head. I am so used to this question from the orphans by now, it hardly bothers me. Though the first time I was asked I’d nearly run out of the place.
    “I don’t know,” I reply. She nods at this and resumes her apple. I work the rest of the day, staying longer than I usually do for reasons I don’t want to examine. I clean and play with the children, keeping my guard up for hands trying to grab at my veil. If mother knew what happened here I would be locked away forever. She thought I read stories to them. The matron knew what to say if she was ever asked.
    I stand and move through the small orphanage and call goodbye to the Matron.
    “Thank you Tatuma,” she says, but does not curtsey. She has only just stopped after three years of me requesting it. She still refuses to stop thanking me, which has always felt backwards to me. I always feel I should be the one thanking her.
    The top of my head just clears the door of the orphanage. This building, and other houses in this area, are made from the dried grass harvested from the second. Every revolution these homes burn down and are then rebuilt in the fifth. I cannot imagine always having to do this and think it is a waste of their time, but I understand there must be a certain number of Kaur trees left standing to be able to clear the smoke. There had been incidences in our history where this balance had been upset and resulted in great loss of life.
    The village has always had the effect of putting my life in perspective. The thin, weathered people around me wear loose trousers and tunics, dirty with the soot of smoke and ash. They are happy though. Children run between carts and wagons in bare feet, hair unbound, squealing when they are caught. One boy trips and falls in front of me. I crouch down. He must be about a revolution old. I’m reaching to put him back on his feet when he snatches a hand out and grips the bottom of my veil. I whip my hand forward and grip the veil in front of his hand and then pry his fingers off with the other.
    I look up.
    The village has lost its bustle, every person is watching us in horrified silence. A woman and male sprint out from a thatch building to my side. I let go of the boy’s hand and the woman grabs for him while trying to keep as far away from me as possible.
    The man sinks down onto his knees in front of me.
    “Mercy Tatuma, please don’t harm my family. I will take any punishment on their behalf,” he pleads with me. He has the accent of the villagers, rolling the ‘r’ in his words. The private tutors hammered this out of me, and I know the court was taught the same in the palace classrooms.
    The pair are lean, obviously hard workers from the tired hang of their shoulders. It’s the first time this has ever happened to me. There are so many people watching.
    The man is still on his knees. His wife huddles over the boy weeping. If I ever needed reminding of the fear my mother instilled, this was it. The Tatum’s word was absolute and I was the next in line.
    I place a hand on the man’s shoulder. He is at least three revolutions older than myself, or appears it anyway. “He is a young boy and did not know any better. I am not going to harm your family,” I say. “What is your name?”
    “Turin. It’s Turin,” he stutters.
    “Well Mister Turin, return to your wife and your son. There has been no harm done,” I say.
    It takes a while to leave. I eventually get away, a bit sickened after they pledge everlasting gratitude and