Hannah’s voice fills my senses, pulls up from the conduit magic that resides in me. She could talk to me all along, it appears, but didn’t want to risk revealing what I am to Angra, which is why she never stopped us from looking for the locket halves. It was all a cover to protect Winter’s line, and the dreams and visions were meant to ease me into conduits and magic, being linked to her in a way I never thought possible. My mother. I still have trouble adjusting to having a mother at all. I’m not sure where it fits in this new world.
Our city, I amend. We wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for you.
A knot of sadness forms in my head, Hannah’s regret and pain. But you will succeed where I failed. She pauses, and I can feel a wave of her remorse in the silence. I wanted to tell you. So many times, I wanted to speak to you. I couldn’t risk you realizing who you are before you were old enough to use your magic, and if Angra found out what you are when you were still too young . . . She pauses, gasps. Our kingdom would have been lost forever.
I know, I say. It’s all I can say. Today isn’t a day for tearful apologies. Today is a day for inhaling the cold, snowy air, watching the Winterians as I gallop through them, seeing their smiling, radiant faces.
I spot Nessa up ahead, laughing and throwing snowballs at Conall. I see Dendera on her own horse, racing Henn to the wall. Happy and free, like they always should have been. People in the light, not just words in the dark.
It doesn’t feel real. I’ve tried so long and so hard to be just Meira, but who I am isn’t as simple as just anything. It’s like this snowstorm over Jannuari—one flake falls, twisting down through the empty sky. One frozen speck of snow. Then another, and another, and before I know it the roads will be covered in dozens of distinct flakes. All these little pieces combining to create one giant, volatile snowstorm, something beautiful and dangerous and epic.
I’m Hannah’s daughter. I’m Winter’s conduit. I’m a warrior, a soldier, a lady, a queen, and most of all, as I plunge across the snowfield toward Jannuari’s silent ruin, I’m Meira.
And no matter what Angra might try to do, he will not stop me from washing away the ashes of this kingdom’s past and filling our lives with the glorious icy peace of snow.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’M NOT EVEN sure where to begin with this fantastically intimidating thing. “Write your acknowledgments page,” they said. “It’ll be fun.” And yes, it would be fun, except I keep needing crying breaks, because this book is so many things all at once and so many people have come in and out of it and . . .
Oh geez. WATERWORKS.
First and most obviously of all, thanks are due to my severely epic agent, Mackenzie Brady. She is the kind of awesome where everything she says is at once brilliant and infuriating in how right she is. Snow Like Ashes owes much of its greatness to this woman, and without her I’d be lost.
To my editor, Kristin Rens, whose excitement for Snow Like Ashes took my breath away from day one. I still have a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that someone else loves my weird little world as much as I do, and has put so much time and effort into molding it. Kristin and all the people at Balzer + Bray are glorious, shining examples of publishing chivalry and might. Additionally, thanks are owed to Jeff Huang, who gave me the severely epic chakram along with severely epic giddiness. You, Sir, are wonderful.
To my ever-supportive, ever-positive, ever-forever husband (I will never get tired of calling you that!), Kelson. Being with you is the culmination of a lifelong dream every day.
To my writer friends who cheer me on, lift me up, and, when they have to, drag me back to earth in the most gentle and loving ways possible: Jenn “JR” Johansson (because double dates are more fun when our husbands listen to us yell at each other in the kitchen); Natalie Whipple (my cross-country-road-trip fairy godmother); Renee Collins (peachy good times!); Kasie West (the only person I’ll make Junior Mint cupcakes for); Candice Kennington (I will never stop loving Courant); Michelle D. Argyle (Cinders breaks my heart on a daily basis); Jillian Schmidt (Sophie and M are next); Kathryn Rose (you are the Holy Grail of friends); Laura Elliot (I love you so much it hurts a little); Samantha Verant (who, to me at least, is a French princess); Nikki Raasch (blood is thicker than ink); Nikki Wang (for making my first piece of fanart ever—you are glorious); the YA Valentines and the OneFours (debuting with you was an honor); and all the other critique partners, writing groups, Twitter friends, bloggers, and various writer types who have made me laugh, given me advice, and kept me going in this crazy world of ours.
To my parents, Doug and Mary Jo, whose pride and excitement remind me why I’m so lucky to be their daughter. To my sister, Melinda—I wish everyone could have a sister as entertaining and lovable as you, and I will try my hardest to get someone to make Snow Like Ashes into a movie. To my grandfather Don, who makes me proud to be a Raasch. To my grandmother Dottie, who is no longer with us, but if she was, I know she’d be making all kinds of Snow Like Ashes–themed quilts. To my fantastically varied and endearing family—Lisa, Eddie, Mike, Grandma Connie, Debbie, Dan, Aunt Brenda—and all my cousins who grow up way too fast—Suzanne, Lillian, William, Brady, Hunter, Lauren, Luke, Delaney, Garrett, Krissy (and Wyatt), Brandi, and of course, Kayla the Librarian (love you, Older Cousin!).
To all the teachers and friends who have been so excited, so supportive, and so family-like that my eyes get all misty—Kim, Bob, Kayla, Jay, Kelly, and Katelyn; Janet Ross; Terri Thompson; Matt Langston (you will be in every one of my books); Ali (I will love you forever for being the first person who cried over this book) and Ashley (Three Musketeers for life!); Jennifer, Allie, Sarah Black, Diana, Sarah Kucharski, and Lauren (you guys made college worthwhile); and Stevie (the fancy-insole-add-on to the running-shoe-sale of my life).
To all those people . . . THANK YOU. For tolerating my weird writer behavior, for encouraging the crazy publishing ambitions of a twelve-year-old, for being so, so excited for me when those crazy publishing ambitions came true eleven years later. Snow Like Ashes may be the fulfillment of a lifelong goal, but having friends and family as amazing as each and every one of you is an even greater gift.
To properly thank all the people who helped shape this book in one way or another would take a novel in and of itself, so all I can do now is reach out and throw my arms around every single one of you. Yes, you too, who are reading my acknowledgments page and shaking your head in that half-concerned, half-amused way. The reason this book is anything now is because of YOU, magnificent YOU, for picking it up, for giving it a chance, for letting my bizarre world become part of your bizarre world.
You are better than any conduit.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PHOTO BY MICHELLE D. ARGYLE
SARA RAASCH has known she was destined for bookish things since the age of five, when her friends had a lemonade stand and she tagged along to sell her hand-drawn picture books. Not much has changed since then: her friends still cock concerned eyebrows when she attempts to draw things, and her enthusiasm for the written word still drives her to extreme measures. This is her debut book. It does not feature her hand-drawn pictures. Visit her online at sararaasch.tumblr.com.
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