Format: 432 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: November 4, 2025
Publisher: Tor Teen
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult / Dark Fantasy
TWO CHOSEN ONES, ONE CHOICE: THE WORLD OR EACH OTHER.
In Alderland, nothing is feared more than Winter.
For six brutal weeks, Winter raged, destroying towns and claiming lives. Even after it ended, to shiver was a sign of bad luck.
Dom has witnessed the price of power firsthand and sworn never to seek it—but destiny has not granted him a choice. The most feared of Living Wands, Valmordion, has awakened and only disaster will follow. And when it chooses Dom to wield it, he is terrified.
Ellery Caldwell has spent a lifetime diligently striving to live up to all the expectations resting in her shoulders—and yet she’s relieved when Valmordion refuses her. But her comfort briskly fades when she accidentally creates the first Winter wand in existence, a feat no magician has accomplished in known memory.
Now, as the two most powerful magicians in Alderland, Domenic and Ellery are faced with the responsibility of discovering an apocalyptic cataclysm and thwarting it. Icy natural disasters, political unrest, and forbidden romance complicate an already seemingly impossible task—and when they discover a darker truth, they’ll be forced to choose: the world, or each other.
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In Alderland, nothing is feared more than Winter.
For six brutal weeks, Winter raged, destroying towns and claiming lives. Even after it ended, to shiver was a sign of bad luck.
Dom has witnessed the price of power firsthand and sworn never to seek it—but destiny has not granted him a choice. The most feared of Living Wands, Valmordion, has awakened and only disaster will follow. And when it chooses Dom to wield it, he is terrified.
Ellery Caldwell has spent a lifetime diligently striving to live up to all the expectations resting in her shoulders—and yet she’s relieved when Valmordion refuses her. But her comfort briskly fades when she accidentally creates the first Winter wand in existence, a feat no magician has accomplished in known memory.
Now, as the two most powerful magicians in Alderland, Domenic and Ellery are faced with the responsibility of discovering an apocalyptic cataclysm and thwarting it. Icy natural disasters, political unrest, and forbidden romance complicate an already seemingly impossible task—and when they discover a darker truth, they’ll be forced to choose: the world, or each other.
A Fate So Cold is the first installment in authors Amanda Foody and C.L. Herman's A Fate So Cold duology, the same duo that gave us the All of Us Villains series. This book features two narrators: 18-year-old Dominic Barrow and 19-year-old Emery Caldwell. Dominic is the kid in class who has all sorts of potential but plays the part of someone who doesn't care. Emery is at the top of her class, but carries a memory of her past that weighs her down.
A Fate So Cold is a study of contrasts: destiny and choice; duty and desire; isolation and belonging; bitter cold and comforting warmth. The story unfolds in a world divided by eternal seasonal conflict, where Summer and Winter stand as opposing forces locked in a bitter, centuries-old war. When Winter arrives, it arrives with devastation that lasts 6 weeks. Magic revolves around bonding with seasonal champions, wielders who channel immense power tied to heat/light versus cold/darkness.
Dominic (aligned with Summer's domain) and Ellery (tied to Winter) are thrust into roles far larger than themselves—one as a prophesied champion, the other as something more subversive and dangerous, after Ellery somehow manages to create the first new wand in a thousand years. Their paths collide in a training academy-like setting that echoes shades of The Hunger Games arenas crossed with late-era Harry Potter tension, complete with rivalries, betrayals, and a magic system that feels both innovative and deeply atmospheric.
The characters are the heart of the book. Dominic and Ellery are complex, flawed, and deeply traumatized—recovering from past losses that shape their guarded natures. Their slow-burn dynamic (more yearning and angst than outright romance) carries real emotional weight, though some readers have noted the shift from tension to connection can feel abrupt after prolonged one-sided pining. The supporting cast adds depth, with academy politics and rival champions providing plenty of intrigue and moral grayness.
What I appreciated most about A Fate So Cold is its avoidance of the overused enemies-to-lovers trope dominating the market right now. Instead, we get two chosen ones working together with genuine communication, not just with each other, but also with the magic committee—as they piece together prophecies to prevent their world from being frozen over. You can expect some twists and turns and some shocks as well. You can also expect a cliffhanger ending that will lead into the series finale.
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DOMENIC SUMMER
Domenic Barrow didn’t know if he loved magic enough to die for it.
He trudged through the forest, the glow of his wand so feeble he didn’t catch the puddle ahead until his loafer sank deep into mud. But he didn’t risk feeding the wand more magic. Already its cheap plywood had begun to splinter, and the grit of its sawdust caked between his fingers, flaking like dead skin. If he’d known the night would require an expedition, he would’ve packed a spare.
“Would you please just tell me where we’re going?” he asked.
“You promised to keep an open mind,” Hanna said, several paces ahead of him.
“That was before I started to wonder if by ‘intervention’ you meant dragging me out here to murder me.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”
“To kidnap me, then?”
“If I’d fancied kidnapping you, you’d already be in the trunk of my car.”
Domenic huffed but didn’t dispute it. After all, nothing about his flimsy training wand resembled the one she carried. Its pale aspen shaft curled underneath itself like an overgrown fingernail, and the dark knots in the handle looked uncannily like eyes, squinting into the golden radiance of Hanna’s enchantment. Whereas his wand’s romantic origins began on a conveyor belt, destined only to be drained and discarded—about the furthest thing from real magic, Domenic had always felt—Hanna’s was so ancient to be called an artifact, so powerful to be called notorious, so singular that it even bore a name.
Syarthis.
Syarthis was a Living Wand, an everlasting instrument that bonded to a sole wielder until their death, then passed onto successor after successor—an honor students such as Domenic devoted their lives to attaining.
Of the 536 Living Wands in Alderland, only forty-two did not currently bear a wielder. And, so Domenic suspected, those forty-two wands were the subject of his intervention tonight.
“So,” Hanna drawled, “how’s school going?”
“Spectacular, as always.” For the fifth year running, Domenic had clinched the title of dead bottom of his class.
“Mhm. You still holding your breath for that random old magician to keel over?”
“I wouldn’t—” He cursed as he stumbled over a tree root. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“Well, how would you put it?”
Domenic had never been good at phrasing his thoughts into words. He settled with: “I think Octorion would suit me, is all.”
“Then kill him.” After a pause, Hanna chuckled. “Kidding. Kidding.”
Domenic wanted to believe her. And he did—he did. But Hanna had changed in the five years since she’d bonded with Syarthis and joined the Magicians Order. Gone was the girl who’d used a faded postcard of Gallamere as a bookmark, who’d insisted their first task upon arrival was hiking up the city’s mountainside to compare the sepia skyline to the real view. Now Hanna didn’t stop to admire much of anything. Redness tinged her brown eyes from nights spent poring over moldy parchment. Her fair skin had gone ashen. Her nails were bitten to their beds, her lips perpetually scabbed, as if she chewed on them past the point of drawing blood.
Of course, wielding Syarthis would change anyone.
“So is that really your plan, to wait for him to die, then wait another year after that?” Hanna asked. A magician could only bond with a Living Wand on the death day of its previous wielder. So unless a student was present for that wielder’s final breath—as Hanna had been—another year needed to lapse before testing whether they were a match.
Domenic cringed as he sank into another puddle. His socks were soaked. “There are worse plans.”
“What about Ravfiri? Its vigil is on the twenty-eighth, isn’t it?”
“Ravfiri is volatile.”
“No, Ravfiri is powerful. Those words don’t mean the same thing.”
This wasn’t the first time Hanna had suggested Ravfiri to Domenic—or Pyrrinisus, or Ulthrax, or Quellbarrow. They were all incredible wands, ones many of his peers dreamed of wielding.
But Domenic wasn’t like his peers.
To the young magicians of the Order’s academy, Hanna Mayes was the prodigy and Domenic Barrow the enigma. His sightings in class were few and far between, but what he did with his spare time, no one could say. Many considered him lazy. Even more assumed him troubled—not that anyone blamed him for it, of course. And though his disheveled russet hair and exceptionally freckled fair skin weren’t handsome in the conventional sense, amid a school obsessed with prestige, he had the unique allure of a bad decision—one that, if you believed the gossip, a great many had made.
Before Domenic could muster a response, the forest ended at a cement tunnel in the base of a cliffside. Ropes crisscrossed its entrance, hung with a sign that warned DANGER–KEEP OUT.
While Hanna ducked beneath it, Domenic asked, “What is this place?”
“You’ll see.”
“But the sign … Are we gonna get in trouble for this?”
“Careful. You wouldn’t want to ruin that whole bad-boy thing you’ve got going on.”
“I’m being serious, Hanna.”
“So am I. Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face when I hear what they say about you? The boy who always carried flowers in his pocket, now apparently arguing with his teachers? Sleeping with half his class? Your reputation suits you less than Octorion.”
Even if Domenic’s persona was exaggerated, he didn’t care. Anything was better than the alternative. “Whatever. First you drag me into the woods in the middle of the night. Then you won’t tell me anything. And now we’re, what, trespassing? Well, I’m done. I only agreed to this because I never see you anymore. And if you were ever around, you’d know I’m fine! I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”
As he spun to storm off, Hanna seized his wrist and twisted him back around to face her.
“I’m sorry I’m never home anymore,” she rasped. “But I worry about you, and—”
“I told you. I’m fine.”
“I know you better than that.”
He wrenched his hand away. “It’s late. I’m going home.”
“Wait. Please, Dom? For me?”
Domenic’s indignation withered, but it didn’t die. He leaned against a tree, pressed his head against it until the bark bit into the vulnerable meeting point between neck and skull. It smelled like Summer out here. Real Summer. Like mountain moss and honeysuckle and whispered secrets that misted the humid air. Not at all like the sweating asphalt and exhaust fumes he’d grown used to.
“The City of Magic” was Gallamere’s nickname. It didn’t live up to it.
“I swear this will all make sense if you just come with me. If you trust me.” When Domenic still didn’t respond, Hanna rummaged through her pockets until she procured a packet of bubble gum. She slid out two foiled sticks, opening the first for herself and offering the second to him. “Are you really gonna make me kidnap you?”
He snatched it and ripped off the wrapper. He chewed unhappily. “Fine.”
They started into the tunnel, the light from their wands shimmering off the damp floor—Syarthis’s a blazing gold, Domenic’s an artificial, almost fluorescent white. Domenic guessed the tunnel burrowed beneath the city, deep within the mountain. And indeed, within minutes, a passing subway rumbled overhead, like the tossing and turning of a sleeping giant.
Domenic Barrow didn’t know if he loved magic enough to die for it.
He trudged through the forest, the glow of his wand so feeble he didn’t catch the puddle ahead until his loafer sank deep into mud. But he didn’t risk feeding the wand more magic. Already its cheap plywood had begun to splinter, and the grit of its sawdust caked between his fingers, flaking like dead skin. If he’d known the night would require an expedition, he would’ve packed a spare.
“Would you please just tell me where we’re going?” he asked.
“You promised to keep an open mind,” Hanna said, several paces ahead of him.
“That was before I started to wonder if by ‘intervention’ you meant dragging me out here to murder me.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”
“To kidnap me, then?”
“If I’d fancied kidnapping you, you’d already be in the trunk of my car.”
Domenic huffed but didn’t dispute it. After all, nothing about his flimsy training wand resembled the one she carried. Its pale aspen shaft curled underneath itself like an overgrown fingernail, and the dark knots in the handle looked uncannily like eyes, squinting into the golden radiance of Hanna’s enchantment. Whereas his wand’s romantic origins began on a conveyor belt, destined only to be drained and discarded—about the furthest thing from real magic, Domenic had always felt—Hanna’s was so ancient to be called an artifact, so powerful to be called notorious, so singular that it even bore a name.
Syarthis.
Syarthis was a Living Wand, an everlasting instrument that bonded to a sole wielder until their death, then passed onto successor after successor—an honor students such as Domenic devoted their lives to attaining.
Of the 536 Living Wands in Alderland, only forty-two did not currently bear a wielder. And, so Domenic suspected, those forty-two wands were the subject of his intervention tonight.
“So,” Hanna drawled, “how’s school going?”
“Spectacular, as always.” For the fifth year running, Domenic had clinched the title of dead bottom of his class.
“Mhm. You still holding your breath for that random old magician to keel over?”
“I wouldn’t—” He cursed as he stumbled over a tree root. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“Well, how would you put it?”
Domenic had never been good at phrasing his thoughts into words. He settled with: “I think Octorion would suit me, is all.”
“Then kill him.” After a pause, Hanna chuckled. “Kidding. Kidding.”
Domenic wanted to believe her. And he did—he did. But Hanna had changed in the five years since she’d bonded with Syarthis and joined the Magicians Order. Gone was the girl who’d used a faded postcard of Gallamere as a bookmark, who’d insisted their first task upon arrival was hiking up the city’s mountainside to compare the sepia skyline to the real view. Now Hanna didn’t stop to admire much of anything. Redness tinged her brown eyes from nights spent poring over moldy parchment. Her fair skin had gone ashen. Her nails were bitten to their beds, her lips perpetually scabbed, as if she chewed on them past the point of drawing blood.
Of course, wielding Syarthis would change anyone.
“So is that really your plan, to wait for him to die, then wait another year after that?” Hanna asked. A magician could only bond with a Living Wand on the death day of its previous wielder. So unless a student was present for that wielder’s final breath—as Hanna had been—another year needed to lapse before testing whether they were a match.
Domenic cringed as he sank into another puddle. His socks were soaked. “There are worse plans.”
“What about Ravfiri? Its vigil is on the twenty-eighth, isn’t it?”
“Ravfiri is volatile.”
“No, Ravfiri is powerful. Those words don’t mean the same thing.”
This wasn’t the first time Hanna had suggested Ravfiri to Domenic—or Pyrrinisus, or Ulthrax, or Quellbarrow. They were all incredible wands, ones many of his peers dreamed of wielding.
But Domenic wasn’t like his peers.
To the young magicians of the Order’s academy, Hanna Mayes was the prodigy and Domenic Barrow the enigma. His sightings in class were few and far between, but what he did with his spare time, no one could say. Many considered him lazy. Even more assumed him troubled—not that anyone blamed him for it, of course. And though his disheveled russet hair and exceptionally freckled fair skin weren’t handsome in the conventional sense, amid a school obsessed with prestige, he had the unique allure of a bad decision—one that, if you believed the gossip, a great many had made.
Before Domenic could muster a response, the forest ended at a cement tunnel in the base of a cliffside. Ropes crisscrossed its entrance, hung with a sign that warned DANGER–KEEP OUT.
While Hanna ducked beneath it, Domenic asked, “What is this place?”
“You’ll see.”
“But the sign … Are we gonna get in trouble for this?”
“Careful. You wouldn’t want to ruin that whole bad-boy thing you’ve got going on.”
“I’m being serious, Hanna.”
“So am I. Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face when I hear what they say about you? The boy who always carried flowers in his pocket, now apparently arguing with his teachers? Sleeping with half his class? Your reputation suits you less than Octorion.”
Even if Domenic’s persona was exaggerated, he didn’t care. Anything was better than the alternative. “Whatever. First you drag me into the woods in the middle of the night. Then you won’t tell me anything. And now we’re, what, trespassing? Well, I’m done. I only agreed to this because I never see you anymore. And if you were ever around, you’d know I’m fine! I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”
As he spun to storm off, Hanna seized his wrist and twisted him back around to face her.
“I’m sorry I’m never home anymore,” she rasped. “But I worry about you, and—”
“I told you. I’m fine.”
“I know you better than that.”
He wrenched his hand away. “It’s late. I’m going home.”
“Wait. Please, Dom? For me?”
Domenic’s indignation withered, but it didn’t die. He leaned against a tree, pressed his head against it until the bark bit into the vulnerable meeting point between neck and skull. It smelled like Summer out here. Real Summer. Like mountain moss and honeysuckle and whispered secrets that misted the humid air. Not at all like the sweating asphalt and exhaust fumes he’d grown used to.
“The City of Magic” was Gallamere’s nickname. It didn’t live up to it.
“I swear this will all make sense if you just come with me. If you trust me.” When Domenic still didn’t respond, Hanna rummaged through her pockets until she procured a packet of bubble gum. She slid out two foiled sticks, opening the first for herself and offering the second to him. “Are you really gonna make me kidnap you?”
He snatched it and ripped off the wrapper. He chewed unhappily. “Fine.”
They started into the tunnel, the light from their wands shimmering off the damp floor—Syarthis’s a blazing gold, Domenic’s an artificial, almost fluorescent white. Domenic guessed the tunnel burrowed beneath the city, deep within the mountain. And indeed, within minutes, a passing subway rumbled overhead, like the tossing and turning of a sleeping giant.
