Frost (The Frost Chronicles #1)by Kate Avery Ellison
Publisher: CreateSpace
Release Date: April 18th 2012
Genres: Dystopia, Young Adult
Synopsis:
In the icy, monster-plagued world of the Frost, compassion might get a person killed, and Lia Weaver knows this better than anyone. After the monsters kill her parents, she must keep the family farm running or risk losing her siblings to reassignment by the village Elders. With dangers on all sides, she can't afford to let her emotions lead her astray. But when her sister finds a fugitive bleeding to death in the forest, a young man from beyond the Frost named Gabe, Lia does the unthinkable. She saves his life. Giving shelter to the fugitive could get her in trouble. The Elders have always described the advanced society of people beyond the Frost, the "Farthers," as ruthless and cruel. Lia is startled to find that Gabe is empathetic and intelligent-and handsome. And she might even be falling for him. But time is running out. The monsters in the forest are growing bold and restless. The village leader is starting to ask questions. Farther soldiers are searching for Gabe. Is compassion-and love-worth the risk? Finally, when a startling discovery challenges everything she thought was true about her life, Lia realizes exactly what she must do.
Frost
by Kate Avery Ellison
A branch snapped in the woods to my left. I
flinched, turning my head in an effort to locate the source of the sound.
But silence wrapped the world once
more. The shadows lay still and gray across the snow. Empty.
“It’s still light,” I whispered
aloud, trying to reassure myself. In the light, I was safe. Even the smallest
child knew that much.
The monsters didn’t come out
until after dark.
I moved faster anyway, spooked by that branch snap even
though a blue-gray gloom still illuminated the path. A shiver ran down my
spine. Despite our often-repeated mantras about the safety of the light,
nothing was certain in the Frost. My parents had always been careful. They had
always been prepared. And yet, two months ago they went out into the Frost in
the daylight and never returned.
They’d been found days later,
dead.
They’d been killed by the
monsters that lurked deep in the Frost, monsters that barely anyone ever saw
except for tracks in the snow, or the glow of their red eyes in the darkness.
My people called them Watchers.
Color danced at the edges of my
vision as I passed the winter-defying snow blossoms, their long sky-blue petals
drooping with ice as they dangled from the bushes that lined the path. They
were everywhere here, spilling across the snow, drawing a line of demarcation
between me and the woods. Every winter, the snows came and the cold killed
everything, but these flowers lived. We planted them everywhere—on the paths
and around our houses—because the Watchers rarely crossed a fallen snow
blossom. For some reason, the flowers turned them away.
Usually.
I touched the bunch that dangled
from my throat with one finger. My parents’ snow blossom necklaces had been
missing from their bodies when they were found. Had the monsters torn the
flowers off before killing them, or had they even been wearing them at all?
Another branch snapped behind me,
the crack loud as a shout in the stillness.
I hurried faster.
Sometimes we found tracks across
the paths despite the blossoms. Sometimes nothing kept the Watchers out.
My foot caught a root, and I
stumbled.
The bushes rustled behind me.
Panic clawed at my throat. I
dropped my sack, fumbling at my belt for the knife I carried even though I knew
it would do no good against the monsters because no weapons stopped them. I
turned, ready to defend myself.
The branches parted, and a figure
stepped onto the path.
It was only Cole, one of the
village boys.
“Cole,” I snapped, sheathing the
knife. “Are you trying to kill me with fright?”
He flashed me a sheepish smile.
“Did you think I was a Watcher, Lia?”
I threw a glance at the sky as I
snatched up my sack and flung it over my shoulder once more. Clouds were
rolling in, blocking out the sun. The light around us was growing dimmer,
filling the path with a premature twilight. A storm was coming.
His smile faded a little at my
expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have called out to warn you.”
“We’re supposed to stay on the
paths,” I growled, brushing snow from my skirt. I didn’t want to discuss my
irrational panic. I’d been walking the paths through the Frost my entire life.
I shouldn’t be jumping at every stray sound like some five-year-old child.
Cole pointed at two squirrel
pelts dangling from his belt. “Quota,” he said simply, adjusting the bow hanging
on his back. He moved past me and onto the path. “Speaking of which, we’re
going to be late for the counting.”
“You’re a Carver,” I said,
falling into step beside him. “Not a Hunter.”
“And you’re a Weaver, not a
Farmer, but you still keep horses and chickens,” he said.
I shrugged, still annoyed with
him for startling me. “My parents took that farm because no one else wanted it.
It’s too far from the village, too isolated. We keep animals because we have
room. I don’t bring them into the village on quota day.”
“The quota master gives my family
a little extra flour if I slip him a pelt,” Cole said. He glanced down at me,
his smile mysterious. “Besides, the forest isn’t dangerous this close to the
village, not in daylight.”
“The Frost is always dangerous,”
I said firmly.
Cole tipped his head to one side
and smiled. He refrained from disagreeing outright out of politeness, I
supposed. Having dead parents usually evoked that response from people. “I can
take care of myself,” he said.
I looked him over. He was tall,
and he carried the bow like he knew how to use it. He might be called handsome
by some, but he was too lean and foxlike for my taste. He had a daring streak a
mile wide, and his eyes always seemed to hold some secret. His mouth slid into
a smirk between every word he spoke.
Our gazes held a moment, and his
eyes narrowed with sudden decision. For some reason, his expression unnerved
me.
“Lia—”
“We’re going to be late,” I said,
dodging, and hurried ahead.
I could hear him jogging to catch
up as I rounded the curve. Here the path crawled beneath a leaning pair of
massive boulders and alongside a stream of dark, turbulent water. I scrambled
around the first rock, but then what I saw on the other side of the river made
me freeze.
Shadowy figures in gray uniforms
slipped through the trees, rifles in their hands. There were two of them,
sharp-eyed and dark-haired. Bandoleers glittered across their chests.
Cole caught up with me. I put up
a hand to quiet him, and together we watched.
“Farthers,” I whispered.
“What are they doing this close
to the Frost?” Cole muttered.
I just shook my head as a shiver
descended my spine. Farthers—the people from farther than the Frost—rarely
ventured beyond the place where the snow and ice began. They had their own
country, a grim and gray place called Aeralis, and we knew only rumors of it,
but those rumors were enough to inspire fear in us all. I’d been as far as the
roads that ringed their land once. I’d seen the horse-drawn wagons filled with
prisoners, and the sharp metal fences that marred the fields like stitches
across a pale white cheek.
The men crept down to the bank and stared at
the dark water. They hadn’t seen us.
Describe Frost in one sentence.
A fierce girl learns falls in love with the enemy while struggling to protect her siblings in her icy, monster-filled world.
How did you get the idea for The Frost Chronicles?
Frost was originally supposed to be a short story set in the world of another book series that I have yet to write. In that version, Gabe’s character had magic abilities, and Lia started out as an orphan living alone (eventually I added a brother, Jonn, but he was much younger). In the first version, the Frost wasn’t very frosty either. It was an evergreen, mountainous region, not the frozen wasteland from the final version. Basically, the whole thing was unrecognizable except for the core story of a girl who helps a boy fugitive despite her misgivings about it and her social conditioning to fear him.
There are 5 books in the series. How many books did you plan to write?
Frost started out as a short story, but it kept growing and growing until I had enough content for a book, then several books. I thought I would write a trilogy, but by the time I’d finished Thorns, I knew there would be more story. I planned to have only four books in the series up until I was half way through Bluewing, and I realized there was no way I’d get it all wrapped up in that book. So, I never planned to write five books, but I’m glad I did.
What’s your favorite thing about the main character, Lia?
She is kind of ruthless, and I like it. She’s strong and determined to do what needs to be done. I admire that. She lives a hard life and she’s a survivor, but at the same time, she’s able to change and become a better person because of her experiences. She isn’t brittle or inflexible.
Are you anything like Lia, personality-wise?
Not really, other than the fact that we’re both logical in our thinking, and I think we share a fierce desire to protect the people we love. I’m a lot more like Ivy. I love taking care of animals, reading books, and daydreaming. Growing up, I was always that kid wandering around with her head in the clouds. Not very Lia-like.
The series is finished. Are you writing anything else for the Frost world?
I’m actually planning to work on one more novella set in the Frost, told from the perspective of Anne, Lia’s friend. Her story evolved into something very interesting over the course of the series, most of it behind the scenes, and I think it’s something that would be fun to explore further.
I've been making up stories since I was five years old, and now I'm thrilled to be able to do it as a full-time job. I have an obsession with dark fantasy, dystopian futures, and Pride and Prejudice-style love stories full of witty banter and sizzling, unspoken feelings. When I'm not writing, I'm creating digital art, reading funny blogs, or watching my favorite shows (which include TVD and BSG). I live with my geeky husband and our two bad cats in Atlanta, GA.
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