Ice Apprentices - Couverture rigide

North, Jacob

Couverture rigide

ISBN 10 : 1665968729 ISBN 13 : 9781665968720

Editeur : Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2025

Synopsis

Perfect for fans of Skandar and Wilderlore, this “chilling page-turner” (Publishers Weekly, starred review) follows a magical apprentice in a land of ice and snow who must uncover why strange monsters are attacking his fellow apprentices…or else suffer the tragic consequences.

Tundra is the last settlement in a world of ice. Oswin Fields is its only stray—a foundling rescued from the ice who many think is a drain on scarce resources meant for Tundrans. Then Oswin is summoned to Corridor by Grandmaster Yarrow to learn magic, finally giving him a chance to prove his worth.

But Oswin barely has time to embrace his new role before his fellow apprentices start being attacked by monsters. Perhaps even worse, he learns his deceased adopted uncle is considered the most infamous Tundran to ever have lived and might have left followers behind who want to destroy the settlement.

Now grappling with an unwanted legacy and mysterious foes, Oswin must look deep inside himself for the strength to prove he belongs in Tundra.

A propos du livre

À propos de l'auteur

Jacob North was born in South England and grew up with a longing for magical adventures that centered LGBT+ characters. When he’s not butchering the Dutch language or holding out for a snowy winter, he’s crafting whimsical worlds with characters who happen to be diverse.

Extrait. © Reproduit sur autorisation. Tous droits réservés.

Chapter 1: Planting Splinters

1 Planting Splinters Six years later
The first step of growing a log was to plant splinters. Oswin Fields could have thought it the most difficult step. After all, the ground of the produce field was hard packed below the snow. But the second step was also difficult: lugging the logs, now grown to the surface, to the barn. It left his scrawny limbs sweaty, and his white face flushed peach pink. The third step—to magically charge the logs by tucking them under duvets, reading them bedtime stories, or making ticking noises while moving his hands like a clock—was more amusing than difficult. By the time the fourth step arrived, and Oswin rolled the completed logs onto a rickety cart, he barely had the strength to kick the wheels to start the self-moving charm. He’d stand, his sickly lungs huffing, as the cart rattled along iron tracks toward Central Tundra. Thirteen years of life, and all he’d seen was the produce field. Rows of logs and stretching snow were burned into the backs of his eyelids. He’d watch the cart, weighed by the fact the timber would see more than he ever would. It was that step, unquestionably, that was the hardest.

When he traipsed into the family cabin, forcing the door closed against the wind’s onslaught, his adoptive mother was waiting with a small roast potato. Oswin stamped the sleet from his boots before noticing sunflower seeds sprinkled on top. A treat.

“Decent work today,” said Lullia, her haphazard hair a fiery mess around her white, freckled face. She made him think of melting candles.

Oswin’s misery boiled into pride. He’d pleased Lullia enough to get seeds with dinner. Today was a good day, then. He may not get to see the rest of Tundra, but he had to remember how lucky he was. He’d be dead without Lullia’s generosity. At least whenever he did forget, Lullia was quick to remind him of the debt he owed her.

He ate, licked his plate clean, then waited expectantly in case Lullia had anything else for him to do.

“Sleep,” she said, her tone matching the harsh weather. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Every day felt like a long day to Oswin, when splinters infested his hands and his muscles ached yet never had the decency to grow strong. “When isn’t it?” he teased, a smirk clashing with his permanently downturned eyes. Lullia glared at him, and he ducked his head apologetically. He should have known she hated teasing by now.

“Good night,” said Lullia sharply.

She was always cagey, but something felt extra off this evening. “Is something wrong?”

“I said good night.”

That meant he needed to make himself scarce, so Oswin quickly retreated to his room. It was a squeeze; the door banged against the chest of drawers, the room was so small. He wasn’t entirely sure what color the floor was. He liked to think it was painted turquoise, like the lights he sometimes saw in the night sky, but it was probably the same dull wood as the rest of the tiny cabin.

It was the time of year when the snow was nasty, the sun coy, and the nights black. By the time dawn was an hour away, the world outside was still grasped in choking darkness. Oswin was at his bedroom window, working on the locks that Lullia had installed. He could easily pick the two on his bedroom door, but the further three on the front entrance made it impossibly difficult. His bedroom window had just one lock, so was by far the easiest way out to enjoy the quiet night.

Except, as he was halfway out the window, his mother’s door creaked. It took him two silent seconds to relock the window and duck back below his blanket. With a click and a clank, his bedroom door opened. Candlelight spilled into the room. Oswin hoped the horrid glow would stay away from him.

“Get up.” Lullia sounded angrily conflicted, which was a first. She was usually just angry. Oswin peeked out from under his blanket. She stood in the doorway—half shadowed silhouette, half candlelit displeasure. “Pack your things.”

Oswin sat up fully, eyeing the candle’s flame. “I’m already packed.” His only belongings were what he wore. He had stones and fallen buttons that he’d found and collected from the snow, but those fit into his pockets.

“We leave now.” Lullia grabbed a traveling cloak from a hook. “I told you: it’s going to be a long day.”

“Leave?” Oswin half tumbled into the corridor, the blanket left messily behind. “For where?”

“No questions. Just walking.” When Lullia pushed open the front door, the wind outside shoved Oswin’s shoulders as he tried to pull on his cloak.

And it was a long day. They walked in darkness, following the iron tracks until the sun inched over a distant towering wall of ice. When Oswin asked Lullia where they were going, she told him to be quiet.

They followed another set of tracks in a different direction. By the time they were traversing empty fields of snow, the sun was overhead and Oswin’s stomach was grumbling. He asked where they were going for the twenty-second time. “If you tell me, I’ll shut up.”

Lullia, worn down, turned her eyes skyward. “Corridor.”

Oswin stopped abruptly. Lullia didn’t bother to slow. With hurried footsteps, he caught back up. “Corridor? Really?” Lullia’s silence was confirmation enough, and Oswin’s breath was stolen, he was so stunned. He’d never imagined it possible that a stray could go to Corridor, where ice apprentices were trained to contribute to Tundra’s survival.

“I’ve answered your question; now shut up.”

Oswin only lasted three paces before bursting out, “Why, though?”

Lullia’s shoulders sagged.

By the time the sun was drooping, they were following a snow path that ribboned through the ice floor of Shemmia Woods. The woods lay between the produce fields and Corridor, the trees reaching out of the ice and scraping at the sky. By then, Oswin had lost count of how many times he’d asked Lullia why they were going to Corridor. (That was a lie. It was eighty-seven times.) She’d always maintained he could never be an ice apprentice, so the frail hope that he might become one was hinging on her answer.

Lullia’s response was a rant of all the things Oswin was not to do until they arrived. Mainly, not asking questions.

“But why are we going to Corridor—”

Lullia growled. “Repeat what I just said!”

“You said a lot.” He’d meant it as a joke, but Lullia clearly didn’t care for his grinning humor. That was true even on a good day.

“I said, I’ve had enough of your questions. Stop tossing that stone you picked up and keep your mouth shut. No How long until we get there? or Does Corridor have indoor toilets? or Will a stray like me be treated well? What a ludicrous question. You’re the only stray in the settlement. You should be grateful that Tundra took you in in the first place, regardless of how you’re treated.”

“But I really would like to know about the indoor toilets. Walking to the outhouse on the produce field nearly froze off my—”

“Be quiet, you insolent boy!”

Oswin hung his head. Even if he felt warm at being called a boy, he felt guilty for upsetting his mother. He was a stray, after all. He should focus on being valuable, not getting Lullia to joke with him.

“I’ll say it once more: keep your mouth shut. Don’t even look at me until we reach Corridor. Understood?”

Oswin didn’t need the repetition. He’d already memorized her words. Not because she’d said it before (though she had; the journey had been long, and Oswin was nothing if not an asks-too-many-questions fidgeter), but because his mind hoarded information.

Lullia put her hands on her hips. “Repeat it.”

He attempted just one more joke. “It.”

Lullia’s irises flickered with outrage. She stepped off the snow and onto the ice floor of the woods, marching away. It wasn’t the amused reaction he’d hoped for.

“I’m sorry,” he called. Nothing. “Where are you going?”

“Away from your resting sad face and incessant babbling. Stay there.” Lullia disappeared between the trees.

Oswin tossed the stone he’d found. Despite his itch to explore, he intended to do as she asked. He knew better than to break Lullia’s rules when she could find out—he preferred to break them when she couldn’t. But then he caught a murmur of voices coming from the opposite direction Lullia had gone.

A voice said in an unsettling rumble, “I’ll be there when you plant it. I’ll ensure all goes according to plan.”

Oswin stepped off the snow path toward the voices. His boots slid on the ice, forcing him to grab a tree for balance. But he didn’t slow—he wasn’t going to let a few tumbles stop him. Bruises faded. Unanswered mysteries would bother him forever. He hated himself for disobeying Lullia. She’d only just told him to stay on the snow path—and who knew when she’d get back—but not investigating wasn’t an option.

He traveled deeper into Shemmia Woods, unused to the feeling of trees and pine needles, having spent six years in a field of snow. He didn’t hear the voices again, but he did gain a heavy sense of wrong. It settled over his shoulders, constricting his neck. He glanced behind him. He could have sworn some of the trees’ roots had moved. Were they resting in different formations than before? He thought back and grew certain of it.

Pushing down his unease, he hurried on, hoping to overhear more of the mysterious conversation. This wasn’t the same as when he’d sneaked by the neighboring field’s gristles—thistle-like alarm creatures who growled when approached. This was different. Someone was up to no good, but as he trekked through the ice-floored woods, his only companion was silence.

He did find lines on the ground, though, as if someone had scored knives across the ice. He was so busy peering at them that he almost missed the root snaking for his ankle. At the last second, his eyes caught the movement, his heart freezing. Quickly, he lifted his boot, just as a root speared the place his toes had been.

“Splitting splinters!” he breathed in disbelief. He knew wood could be magical. He planted splinters that bloomed into logs after all, but he’d never seen the logs move. It wasn’t just one root either. As far as he could see, tendrils were inching toward him. He jumped to the only reasonable conclusion.

The roots were going to eat him.

Détails de l'édition

• Éditeur: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
• Date d'édition: 2025
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN 10: 1665968729
• ISBN 13: 9781665968720
• Reliure: Relié
• Nombre de pages: 304
• Coordonnées du fabricant: non disponible
• Personne responsable: Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV; info@simonandschuster.nl; ; Herculesplein 96; Utrecht; 3584 AA; Pays-Bas