The Cursed Queen

by Sarah Fine

  “I guess it’s fair,” I say, touching my hair. “She could call me dunghead if she wanted, as long as she keeps treating my burns as she has.”

  He glances back at my chamber. “You trust her?”

  She’s too complicated to trust—or to betray right now. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “She’s Vasterutian.”

  “Would any of our warriors have spent the last month helping me piss in a pot?”

  He snorts. “Fair enough.”

  We pass the stairs that lead up to the rest of the tower. “Speaking of trust . . . You didn’t bring Carina and the other guards.”

  He looks up the steps. “I don’t know who to trust, Ansa. I always knew where I stood with you, though.”

  “Jaspar said the same to me once.”

  “Because it’s true. And it’s a relief. Heaven, the past month.” He bows his head, and I can see the weariness bracketing his mouth, lining his brow. “We’re fractured, Ansa. I don’t know if we’ll ever be whole. And now that Thyra’s tried to escape . . .”

  “Do they know where she was going?”

  “No, but they suspect. Preben, Bertel, and over a hundred fifty of our warriors have holed themselves up at the eastern quarter of the city, along with their andeners, and they refuse to cooperate until Thyra tells them what to do. They’re surrounded by a squad of Nisse’s warriors to prevent the rebellion from spreading to the populace, but the squad has been ordered not to attack. Word is that Thyra may have been trying to get to them. I don’t think Nisse will be surprised to hear it, either.”

  “Why has he let her live, I wonder?”

  “That many warriors willing to fight to the death, loyal to the end . . . They’ll meet their end before they swear loyalty to a new chieftain, and Nisse knows that.”

  “They’ll starve, if they’re isolated like that.”

  “Nisse’s supplying them with food and wood for their fires.”

  Thyra told me they were running out of supplies. Another lie to manipulate me? “Why is he making it possible to stay where they are?”

  “He wants their loyalty, Ansa, not their blood. He’s hoping some of them will give in. He doesn’t care if he wins in a trickle or a flood.”

  “He might, if he wants them to invade Kupari. We are a large enough force to make a difference.”

  “We are. If only I could puzzle out who we is these days.” He rubs the back of his head. His hair has grown in the past month, and it stands on end as his hand returns to his side. “But that’s why Thyra is still important. Nisse is trying to win her over too.”

  I open my mouth to say that perhaps his warriors didn’t get that message—I just saw them beating the stuffing out of her. Then I remember that I was supposed to be in my room the whole time. “Has he won you over, Sander?”

  He stops and leans against the wall, tapping his skull softly against stone. “Everything is sideways, Ansa. I don’t know where I belong. I’m not built for intrigue.”

  “Me neither.” And part of me hates Thyra for forcing it on me. But another part of me hates myself for not saving her tonight.

  He smiles. “I know.”

  “I thought you hated me.”

  “I hate what you can do. And I have to fit in with Nisse’s guard. Understand? I won’t keep my freedom otherwise.”

  “You want to have liberty to jump in either direction.” Which is probably why he’s not with Preben and Bertel right now.

  He shrugs. “And you?”

  I sag against the wall next to him, winded from all the walking I’ve done today after a month of not setting my feet on stone. My ankles are blistered, but not with fire—with the simple rub of leather and wool stockings. My brain feels blistered too. “I don’t know. It was so simple, before.” But now I can’t stop thinking about who I was, who I am, and there’s nothing simple about it. And that’s before I even begin to think about Thyra and who she truly is.

  “I think there was more going on beneath the surface than we ever suspected.”

  “You’re more right than you know.” I wish I didn’t know the half of it.

  “What do we do, Ansa?”

  “You’re really asking me?”

  He touches the jagged pink ridge at the bottom of his mangled ear. “It matters. And you’ve always been Thyra’s wolf. Are you, still?”

  The image rises like a water spout—Thyra lying, bleeding, in the snow as warriors beat her near to death. “I don’t know, Sander,” I whisper. “Take me back to my chamber, please?”

  He’s frowning as he guides me back, clasping my elbow gently. “I understand. Believe me, I do. But the messenger will return from Kupari any day now. That’s when Nisse will make his decision whether or not to invade.” When we reach the half-open door of the chamber, he glances inside at Halina. “And at that point, we’re out of time. We’re both going to have to decide which way to jump.” He looks down at my feet. “But until then, if you value your life and that of this Vasterutian here, I advise you to clean the mud off your boots.”

  He strides away as my blood runs icy with fear.

  * * *

  The summons comes two days later, two days spent with Halina’s silence and wary watchfulness. I ask her for news—of Thyra, of what’s happening in the city, of how our warriors are faring—but she offers me nothing. She comes back from hours gone, her skin clammy and her hair frazzled, and I know she’s been questioned by Nisse or his warriors, but even then she keeps silent. But she changes my bandages, so gentle that it barely hurts. She patiently walks me up and down the hall to help me regain my strength—Sander, who has apparently decided not to tell anyone about the telltale mud on my boots, got permission from Nisse for such things, as long as a warrior guards the stairs. I suppose they don’t yet know about the hidden doorway that leads out of the tower, and I don’t mention it.

  If I even hint that Halina has helped smuggle Thyra out of the tower, or that she is stirring some sort of resistance, she will be executed, made an example.

  I should. I know I should. But every time I consider it, I think about the little boy and the baby, their round cheeks and big eyes, their faith that their family can keep them safe. I cannot bear to shatter that faith, to fill their world with more grief and blood. And Halina . . . she looks nothing like the mother who haunts my dreams, the red-haired woman on fire, her blood staining the dirt, who reaches for me with only love in her eyes . . . and yet, sometimes my Vasterutian attendant takes her place, and I see devotion that carries a person past fear of pain and darkness and monsters that come up from the water to take your entire world away. . . .

  I wonder what carries a person past the fear that she is a monster. That she delighted in the violence. The magic did not make me this way. I embraced it ages ago.

  I embraced it because I could not bear to be the prey, and my only choice was to become a predator.

  I cannot force these thoughts away—they’re too powerful. I used to take such pride in killing. I dreamed of kill marks to my fingertips. And now . . . I have shed so much blood that it warrants marks down to my forearm, and I don’t want a single one of them. Hulda, Aksel, Flemming, all the others I destroyed . . . Another drop spilled and I might drown in it.

  I may not have a choice, though. Now I will have to jump. Because Nisse has summoned me, and it can only mean one thing—word has come from Kupari. Halina helps me with my boots and clothes. Her hands shake as she fastens the ties. I reach down and touch her fingers. “I won’t betray you.”

  She looks up at me, brown eyes wide. “Will you help us?”

  I straighten. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Same as betraying, then,” she mutters.

  “Not by half,” I snap. “You should be grateful.”

  “I should be grateful for your silence, when it allows the injustice to continue?” She curtsies. “Thank you for not trying to stop my people being turned out of their homes and left to starve in the cold. Thank you for doing nothing while the
best food and fuel is given to the invaders, while the people who built this city grow skinny and weak and despairing. Thank you for being part of the monster that crushes us. You think because you don’t wield the knife, you have no part in the slaughter?”

  “You are bold. Too bold.”

  “Oh, forgive, little red. I should be quiet and sweet all the time, then? Would that make it easier for you?” She throws up her hands. “I’ve tried that. You value bravery, but only in the Krigere, I suppose. And you despise meekness, but you demand it of me if it makes you more comfortable!”

  My heart thumps hard with confusion and frustration. “But I’m not telling Nisse of whatever you’re doing. I won’t cause your death.”

  “If Nisse decides to invade, who do you think will carry your supplies and make your fires? Who will he drag into the winter cold to keep his warriors fed and watered?”

  I step back from her, my mouth open to tell her about the andeners, but then I realize—the andeners always stayed in camp when we raided, waiting for us to return. But this, another invasion . . . “Vasterutians?”

  She nods. “Able-bodied men and women whose backs can bear the load, whose legs can carry them far away, into the land of magic and treachery. Me included, and who cares about what happens to my baby boy? He’s just a Vasterutian, after all.” She lunges forward, so quickly that I fall back onto my bed with her standing over me. “Think I’m going to let that happen? Think I won’t fight?” She grimaces and steps back. “Think I won’t die?” she adds softly. “Think you won’t have killed me, just because you didn’t speak out against me? Thank you, then.”

  I edge to the end of the bed and stand up. “Stop it. We don’t . . . we don’t even know what’s going to happen yet.”

  She stares at me for a long moment, then laughs and shakes her head. “Right. Well, then.” She gestures to the hallway as the sound of footsteps reaches us. “I am eager to find out.”

  Still reeling with her sudden brashness, I step into the hallway, relieved at the familiar sight of warriors, even ones who look at me with suspicion. Sander gives me a tight, barely perceptible nod as he steps behind me. Carina, on the other hand, keeps her fingers wrapped tightly around her sheathed dagger as she walks beside me. It’s a tense journey up to the top of the tower. I’m dying to ask Sander if there’s word of Thyra, or Preben and Bertel and the warriors who hold the eastern part of the city, but I know it’s not safe here.

  When we reach Nisse’s council chamber, the guard steps back and lets me walk in alone. Nisse and Jaspar look up from the painted table as I enter. Nisse smiles. “Our rider returned from Kupari this morning. Their city looks worse than ours, apparently. Not the wealthy stronghold we expected.”

  “Does that mean there is no witch queen in the temple?”

  Jaspar shrugs. “Apparently there is, but they delayed her coronation.”

  “Why?”

  “Their politics are a mystery,” Nisse says, a smile pulling at his mouth. “But perhaps we can still uncover the truth. They have invited us to witness her ascension to the throne.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “So will you invade or not?” I hate the thoughts I’m having, of Halina and the other Vasterutians being taken away from their children, just to supply our force.

  “I haven’t decided,” says Nisse. “But I think, in this case, I will follow the path my dear niece is always urging. We’ll be cautious.”

  My eyebrows rise. “So you won’t invade?”

  “Not immediately.” His green eyes are full of eagerness. “So—what do you say?”

  “To what?”

  “Will you come with us?” Nisse asks. “You could be our hidden weapon.”

  “But you said you weren’t invading.”

  “Not yet, but if you were to come with us, perhaps you could . . .” He waves his hand toward me. “We’ll be very close to the queen. She won’t expect magic to come from one of our own. If she is just being crowned, it is likely she is new and young and inexperienced.”

  “You want me to assassinate her. With magic.”

  He smiles. “It would clear the way for our warriors and save many lives. It would make them all indebted to you. No one would remember what happened in the fight circle.”

  “And it would be your chance for vengeance,” says Jaspar. “Perhaps not on the queen who cursed you, but certainly on her heir.”

  I turn toward the fire, thinking of my fantasies ever since that horrible day on the lake, of striding into the witch’s throne room and ramming fire down her white throat. Heat courses down my arms, a powerful rush of cursed magic. But the pain follows hard on its heels, raising new blisters that burst and weep. I cry out, tears starting in my eyes. “Something has gone wrong with me,” I say between gasping breaths. “The curse has turned against me. It’s killing me.”

  “What?” Nisse asks in a hard voice. “I saw you in the fight circle. You had complete control of it.”

  I shake my head. “I think it controlled me.”

  “I don’t believe that,” says Jaspar. “Ansa, you knew what you were doing. The elements obeyed every wave of your fingers.”

  “My head, then. It’s . . .”

  Nisse’s fists clench. “Thyra hit her so hard that it damaged her ability to wield the magic.”

  “I’m not blaming her,” I say, not even sure why I’m defending her, only that I cannot help fearing for her when I hear the blade of his voice. “I’m sorry. I know I’m disappointing you. If I had a little more time to recover . . .” I don’t want him to punish her for this. But also—if I don’t figure out how to control this magic inside me, I’ll never have a place within the tribe again.

  Nisse lets out a long breath. “Of course. You must stay here and continue your recovery. We must get you strong so that you can be the fearsome force of vengeance we saw only a month ago!”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I know this was a good chance to go and assess their capabilities.”

  “Oh, we’ll still go. This is too important, for many reasons other than the opportunity you presented.” He calls for the guards. “Bring her in!”

  I turn toward the door as Thyra is led in. She looks pale and walks stiffly, though she is not shackled. I stare, wondering what has been done to her in the last two days. Though I despise her for lying to me, for not being who I always thought she was, I take no pleasure in the pained look on her face. “Thyra?”

  Her gaze lingers on mine for a long moment before shifting to her uncle. “How nice to see you again, Uncle. Your warriors have faithfully—and frequently—offered me your greetings these past few days.”

  Nisse smiles. “I’m so glad we were able to bring you back into our circle of protection, Thyra. You’re lucky we found you before you stumbled into a dangerous part of town.” He approaches her, and she tenses but refuses to backtrack as he nears. “And you’ll be seeing a great deal of me over the next few days, it seems.” He lets that sink in before adding, “We’re riding to Kupari. We leave immediately.”

  Her eyes go wide as he instructs her guards to take her back to her chamber and help her pack for the journey. Nisse’s hand settles on my back. “See? Despite her betrayal and ongoing treachery, I respect your chieftain.” There is a question in his eyes, though, as if he is wondering whether she still has my allegiance.

  “Is she your hostage?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “What an unpleasant way of putting things. I am merely keeping my niece close, because I recognize her importance. Though I also recognize that she may present . . . a temptation.”

  I swallow hard. “To me?”

  He smiles. “To many.” He pats my back. “Now. You go rest. We’ll be back in a few days, and I want to see your progress.” The mirth in his eyes disappears, replaced by determination. “You could be our salvation, Ansa. The treasure of the Krigere. I hope you recognize how much you mean to us. Do not question your worth. And don’t let anyone else do it, either.”

  He
calls Sander and the others to escort me to my chamber, and once again I trudge away from his council room, my head packed so full of information and questions that I can’t think straight. Do not question your worth, he said. But right now—with Thyra being taken to Kupari, with Halina glaring at me as if I’m failing some important test, with the entire future of the Krigere depending on my ability to control and wield a cursed magic that I don’t understand and that might well kill me, against a people I once belonged to—I am questioning everything.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I am moved to a chamber on one of the top floors of the castle, in time to have a view of Nisse, Thyra, and a squad of his warriors leaving the protection of the tower and the stake-wall to ride through the city, on the road to Kupari. Thyra has been given a helmet and new cloak, as well as a sword that is probably too heavy for her to wield competently.

  But Nisse wants to put on a show, I suspect, and so he gives her the weapons they fear, because they don’t understand us. I hope it works. He is taking a tiny force into enemy territory.

  I am left behind with all my questions, fearing the march of the sun through the sky. Halina is back to being quiet and cautious, gentle but remote. I tell her that Thyra has been taken, and she doesn’t seem surprised.

  She says nothing more to me about helping her, and I am glad. In knowing her, I’ve come to wish no harm on the Vasterutians, but they cannot be my people.

  Truthfully, I don’t know who my people are anymore.

  I fit with the Krigere so neatly, or so I always told myself. I took so much pleasure every time a true Krigere told me I was one of them. I took pride in being a victor, and security in being part of a tribe so strong that no one could tear us apart and take me away.

  Like they had torn me away from my Kupari family.

  I don’t know where I belong now. The loss eats at me, loneliness with teeth.

  Jaspar comes to see me only a few hours after his father leaves the city. I look at him with surprise as he enters my chamber. “I thought you would go with them.”

  His smile contains a hint of bitterness. “Someone had to be in charge while the chieftain was away.”