by K. M. Shea
Sunnira shook her head. “You need to be careful with her, Tenebris. Farrin did well against her because of his magic, but she could trample anyone else.”
If it had been anyone else, Tenebris would have been irritated—no one told him his limits—but Sunnira acted as she did because she had been smitten with him for a long time. It was charming—when she wasn’t getting in his way—and it put him in a good mood. He grinned and pinched Sunnira’s cheek. “You think she’s better than me, you impudent brat?”
“I think she’s a monster,” Sunnira said.
“Well, it’s a good thing I am one as well.” Tenebris pointed to the tent. “Is this it?”
“I hope it meets your expectations, sir,” Farrin said.
“I’m sure it will. Give me a few hours to get settled, and I’ll meet up with you and your little trainees for dinner,” Tenebris said. “That means you, too, Sunnira.”
Sunnira kissed Tenebris’s cheek. “You don’t need to tell me—you aggravating man. I have patients to attend to.” She winked at their leader, waved to Farrin, and drifted off.
Farrin bowed. “Welcome to the First Regiment, sir.”
Tenebris was about to go into his tent, but he noticed that Farrin didn’t leave; he only turned to his subordinates and said, “Dryden and Bluff, you’re on scouting duty.”
Tenebris wanted to groan. Go away. The moment he entered his tent, he was likely to collapse. He didn’t want the Runt around to hear the sound.
“Sir?” the boyish officer said.
“I want you to make a wide circuit of the camp and see if you can sense Princess Rakel. Dryden will be your escort,” Farrin said.
“You think she’ll attack us?”
“It is unlikely, but with Tenebris in our camp, we will take no chances.”
The reasoning produced a slight smile in Tenebris as he gripped the flap to his tent to help him stand. That’s Runt, always…his thoughts trailed off. There was a distant, glittering smear clumped against the top of a mountain. It was beautiful, but what caught Tenebris was the feeling that leaked from it. Hope, purity, and maybe even love. Tenebris tensed, and he felt his dark magic pulse inside of him.
“Say, Runt, what is that shining spot?” he asked.
“That would be the ice-castle Princess Rakel constructed during her exile,” Farrin said.
“She made that?” Tenebris asked.
“Yes.”
“I see.” His magic roared and thrashed like a caged animal, and Tenebris stalked into his tent. The flap barely settled back into place before he sank to his knees—trembling with pain and fury.
He flipped his helm off his head and clenched his hands into fists when air caressed his open, oozing head wound. He clenched his teeth to keep from growling. Curse my price! Curse such a limit! His lips peeled back in a soundless snarl.
Tenebris Malus knew without doubt he was one of the most powerful magic users alive. The trade off, however, was that his price was painful, and it weakened him.
Whenever he used a great deal of his magic, a horrible wound opened on his head. It could not be healed with magic, and it festered and was slower to close than a typical wound. Normally he could avoid activating his price, but the first battle he had with Verglas forces—the Battle of Gaula—required a huge amount of magic from him and had inflicted a serious injury on him as a result. Even now, months later, the open scab had shrunk significantly, but it still wasn’t healed.
It was why he hadn’t come north sooner: he didn’t have the strength to keep up his façade and make the journey north. No one knew of Tenebris’s price. When he had freed himself from life as a slave, he had slaughtered everyone who knew of him—including the healer who had tried to heal his head-wound on occasion. That was before the Chosen, before Farrin, even before Sunnira.
If anyone knew of Tenebris’s price, they probably would have recommended that he travel with Farrin, regardless. With Farrin, he did not have to be on his guard and watch for signs of mutiny as he did with his other colonels. However, if he was honest—a rarity—Tenebris knew it was easier to be around his backstabbing colonels than Farrin.
A cold sweat broke out on Tenebris’s forehead as he forced himself to stand. He’s just a runt. A tool to be used. For the briefest moment, Tenebris was assailed by the image of a younger Farrin, covered in blood—none of it being his own—looking at Tenebris with eyes of adoration as Tenebris held out his hand to him. Occasionally, guilt assailed Tenebris. He had done Farrin a disservice; the Runt would have been better off staying a gladiator slave in Sarthe instead of following him into the darkness.
Tenebris eased himself into a chair and shot a dark glare in the direction of the ice-castle. Even though he couldn’t see it, he knew where it was. It pulsed with purity. “The Runt is mine—heart and soul.” He ground his teeth. But his valiance is a double edged sword. If this princess has magic like that… “I’ll drown her in darkness.” Tenebris muttered. “I’ll squeeze her until her magic runs dry and all hope suffocates with her. This land will be mine, and I’ll not rest until the world pays for the pain they’ve inflicted on magic users.”
Though his words and resolve were rock solid, the darkest part of his soul shuddered. For if he was darkness…the feeling of the princess’s magic was light.
The End
The Throne of the Snow Queen
This short story takes place a few months after the final chapter of Sacrifice, in early summer. It was originally included in the book, but I was advised to cut it and end Sacrifice with the mirror scene—which I agree felt like a better ending. Still, I had Rakel’s throne planned since the days of Rumpelstiltskin, so I’ve been most determined to share this extra with you!
Rakel—surrounded by summer flowers—sat on a bench Knut and Topi had hauled outside for her. She was just a stone’s throw away from the glacier she had created to fill in the gorge to the west of the palace during the previous year’s battle for Ostfold, and was working on melting it and the tributary of snow that fed it.
It was tedious and slow—she didn’t want to turn the entire thing into water in an instant—the ecological side-effects would be disastrous—but it had to be done. During the previous summer—when Rakel had been unconscious—the melting glacier had forced an unusually cool summer on Ostfold. Although it was much smaller now, she still needed to melt it entirely to return the area to its regular weather pattern, or the agriculture would suffer.
She yawned and stretched her bare arms out in front of her. She was wearing another one of Inga’s creations—a gauzy snow-blue dress that was almost alarmingly light and airy—as she channeled her slow-to-respond magic.
The sun was warm on her skin, and the shouts of children and the sales pitches from merchants that seeped out of the city were an unfamiliar joy. The moment was a great luxury for her—to be able to sit in the stillness and use her magic, not for any combative purpose but just because, and to hear the bustle of the city.
I don’t think the sound of people will ever grow old to me. She smiled as the glacier cracked and a piece of it dislodged and dropped, splashing water high into the air.
“Sister—there you are.”
Rakel, recognizing her brother’s voice, twisted on the bench. “Did you need something, Steinar?”
“Yes, and no. I am to tell you—on Oskar’s orders—that you are to stop working and partake in afternoon tea.”
Rakel raised an eyebrow. “Oskar made you—King of Verglas—play the role of messenger?”
Steinar laughed and scratched the back of his head. “I offered. I was coming to fetch you anyway. The construction of the new throne room has been finished, and I want to show it to you. Will you come?” He held out his arm for her to take, his eyes bright and hopeful.
She smiled fondly and stood. He is so much happier now that the war is over. He looks young again. “Of course.” She took his arm and let him lead her back to the palace as she broke off her connection with the melting glacier.
As Rakel walked arm-in-arm with her little brother, she remembered something Farrin had told her prior to his defection to Verglas. Ask him why he kept you on Ensom. She pressed her lips together and glanced at her brother, who still wore a sunny smile.
“Steinar,” she started.
“Yes?” he asked when she couldn’t continue.
“You said once you did not bring me back from Ensom because you were afraid.”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“You were afraid of how I would react after the treatment I had endured,” Rakel stated more than asked as they left the sunshine of the outdoors and entered the palace.
“Partially,” Steinar said. He paused, and indecision flickered in his eyes.
Rakel held her breath, afraid of what he might say.
“It was also because I was afraid for you, and I thought I needed a few years before I would have the power to bring you home.”
Rakel blinked as they started up a staircase. “I beg your pardon?”
Steinar kept his eyes on the steps. “I was crowned when I was very young. And even though I wanted you back, I knew it would make the people…uneasy. As a young, inexperienced king, I didn’t have the power to reassure them—or to force them to accept it. But I hoped in ten years, they would trust me, and then you could come back.” He laughed sheepishly as they left the staircase for a hallway. “It sounds foolishly idealistic now, but I hoped…I always planned to bring you home.”
Rakel rapidly blinked to keep the tears that burned her eyes from falling. “I see.”
“It was stupid—I should have done more for you in the present, not just send you pretty things.”
“I loved my maps,” Rakel said with a surprising amount of fire. “I—their loss, and the loss of my books, I feel more keenly than I thought I would.”
Though Steinar and General Halvor had dispatched a number of squads to Ensom Peak—now Fresler’s Helm—to search for the wreckage of her castle and had found nothing, Rakel had insisted on going herself when spring first arrived.
It was as they had warned her—not a scrap of her castle remained. When she shattered her palace, her magic had sheared the top off the mountain. The village, her library, everything was gone…including the books Oskar had sacrificed to give her and the set of maps Steinar had sent to her that perfectly matched his own.
Steinar smiled. “I will have another set of maps drawn especially for you.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“But it is,” Steinar insisted as they stopped by a set of doors adorned with ornately carved reindeer and snowflakes. “You have endured so much, Rakel. You deserve every happiness.”
“And I have it,” Rakel said. “I have you, Farrin, Phile, Oskar, Halvor—I have more people that I love and cherish than I ever dared to dream of.”
“Having people you love and care for is a basic right—it shouldn’t be something special.”
“But it is. I know that because of what I went through, and I am glad. Because of my exile, because of the hatred I experienced, I can see that love is a treasure and that life and goodness must be protected—even if it means blood is spilled. I cherish my life now.”
Steinar met her eyes and stared. “Do you really?”
Rakel smiled. “Of course.”
Steinar’s shoulders relaxed, and he grinned at her. “Good,” he said, and then opened the doors.
The newly constructed throne room was a beautiful masterpiece. Most of the west wall was made of glass windows that overlooked Rakel’s glacier. There were two thrones: a central one constructed out of wood and blue velvet, and a second throne made of glass that was constructed to resemble ice.
The ice throne, unlike the central one, was shifted to the west side of the room and was tilted to afford whoever sat there a view of the room and a perfect view of the glacier. Rakel could see that the back of the throne was fashioned so a large sword—for instance, a two-handed broadsword—could be secured there.
The room was filled with people. Phile, Oskar, Gerta, and Kai were in the front—laughing and clapping at Rakel’s shocked expression.
“Attention—salute!” General Halvor barked. He and a number of the guards who had been stationed with her on Ensom saluted—their posture straight and perfect as their eyes glowed.
Steinar smiled broadly. “I may be King of Verglas, but you are most certainly the Snow Queen. You deserve a throne like any other monarch—perhaps more. Since the room was being rebuilt, I thought it was only proper to have a throne made for you.”
Grandmother Hilda stood with Tryggvi and Pordis and clapped with glee.
“Snow Queen, Snow Queen!” Crow shouted. When he caught her eye, he waved. Bunny—standing at his side and holding their baby—kicked him in the back and glared at him for the loud display.
Bunny wasn’t the only magic user present. Frodi, Eydìs, Liv, and more were scattered about the room—mingling with some of the key resistance leaders.
And standing next to the ice throne with a soft, understated smile twitching on his lips and the light of a thousand stars in his eyes, was Farrin.
Rakel clasped her hands to her mouth to keep her chin from trembling. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Steinar hugged her and patted her back as if she were a fretting child. When he released her, Farrin ghosted up to them.
“Surprised?” he asked with his quirk of a smile.
Rakel laughed. “Very surprised—and very happy.”
Farrin dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. “Good. May your reign be long and blessed, Snow Queen.”
She hid her face in his shoulder when Phile hooted and whistled at them. “It will be.”
The End
Mages
This short story takes place after the events of Sacrifice, and was supposed to show how attitudes towards magic were changing, paving the way for the system that has been put into place in the Timeless Fairy Tales books.
When General Halvor found her, Rakel was in the library, curled up in an oversized chair, paging through an old book.
“Princess.” He saluted. “There is a matter in the south that requires your attention.”
Rakel set her book aside and stood. Halvor rarely sought her out personally when there was a military question that needed her input. It must be serious. “Why? What is wrong?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Have the borders failed?”
“No, it is nothing of the sort. Your magic stands strong, and our borders are protected.” His voice rumbled deep from within his chest. “It is merely…we’re getting magic user refugees.”
Rakel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Since the War of Ice and Snow, we’ve gotten the occasional refugee, but it seems that word of your awakening has traveled to the corners of the continent, and an entire caravan arrived earlier this week.” Halvor said. He took a breath and met Rakel’s gaze squarely. “The citizens of Verglas now rejoice in magic, but the arrival of a caravan of foreign magic users is taxing the southern citizens’ trust in it. These magic users are not from Verglas; the civilians fear they may be more like Tenebris and his ilk than you.”
Rakel nodded. “I cannot blame them for their apprehension, but if the refugees successfully crossed our borders and passed through my magic, there should be nothing to fear.”
“I agree with your appraisal, but both the villagers and the refugees have requested your presence,” General Halvor said. “King Steinar heard their requests this morning and agreed to ask you.”
“Ah, so it is Steinar’s proposal, not yours,” Rakel said.
“He said it would be a good opportunity for you to take on students,” General Halvor said dryly.
Rakel had casually mentioned starting a school for magic users. She had the loyalty of the country, but she wanted to gather support—both financial and emotional—before she started such a venture. “I did not plan to open a school for several years. Gathering students now seems…premature.”
; Halvor raised an eyebrow. “With all due respect, Princess, I don’t believe you will have the ‘several years’ you desire. I do not think this will be the last refugee caravan we will receive. You may as well begin drawing up your plans, or unpreparedness will be your ruin.”
She chuckled. “Thank you for the frank answer, Halvor.”
Halvor bowed.
“Very well. I’ll go south. Farrin—would you make the necessary security preparations?” Rakel asked. She turned around and smiled at a darkened corner of the library.
Farrin stepped out of it, as silent as a shadow. “Of course.” He ghosted over to the pair and pressed a kiss to Rakel’s temple, then turned his gaze to Halvor—who didn’t seem the least surprised by his presence. “You will give us a guard?”
“And a magic user team, yes. I believe Oskar, and Phile, and her guild plan to accompany you, as well,” Halvor said.
Rakel smiled a smirk. It seems Halvor still resents Snorri’s defection to Phile’s Thieves’ Guild. “Thank you. You will not be joining us?”
Halvor shook his head. “I will remain with the King.”
Farrin laughed—a quiet exhale of his breath. “You mean you’ll be staying with the King to see that he does not run after us.”
“Precisely,” Halvor said flatly.
Rakel chuckled. “Thank you, General Halvor, for your loyalty. I don’t know what we would do without you.”
Halvor blinked and saluted her, but Rakel saw the faint smile twitch on his lips. “Princess.”
Rakel turned away from him with a smile and instead swept her gaze through the library. “Refugee magic users, you say…. Do you have any idea what condition they are in?”
“No,” Halvor said grimly. “But given what they are fleeing from, I don’t imagine they are well.”
Rakel combed her fingers through the tuffs of fur Frigid was still shedding, trying to calm her nerves. She had spent the majority of the trip in carts and carriages, but as they were about to arrive at the refugee camp near the village of Vatn, Phile had all but thrown her on Frigid’s back.