by E. Latimer
My breath quickened as he leaned forward. His fingers brushed the back of my neck and then his mouth pressed against mine, fever hot and desperate. I could taste the salt from his tears. Just as abruptly, he drew back, his eyes wide.
"I'm sorry." He took his glasses off and set them on the table before running his hands through his hair, making it stick up every which way. Then he took a deep breath and let it out. There were two bright spots of color on each cheek. "I shouldn't have done that."
I pressed my lips together, feeling them tingle where his mouth had met mine. "That's okay." My voice came out shaky, and I placed my hands flat on the table top so he couldn't see them tremble. "It's okay. Really."
We sat without speaking for a minute, and I tried to think of something to say to break the silence. "She sounds...amazing. I think I would have liked her."
Erik smiled. "Everyone did. I mean, aside from Prince Asshole."
I laughed, relieved that his voice sounded almost normal again. Time to change the subject.
"I was going to ask you a while ago. In training, I picked a..." I racked my brain for the word. What had Leif called it? Something the Samurai had used.
I fished the word out from some dark corner of my brain. "Katana. Leif practically fought me over it. He was really weird."
A wide smile lit Erik's face. "That was Amora's sword. I mean, not the same one, but the same style."
My mouth dropped open, and I quickly snapped it shut again. "Wow. No wonder he freaked out." It made sense. Something had drawn me to it. It felt right in my hands.
"She was lightning with it in battle." His eyes were far away again. "It was like an organic extension of her. I remember it so well. All you saw as she passed through was the flash of the sun off that blade and the bloody trail in the snow. There was no one who could stand in her way."
It was strange the way he spoke about her, about something as bloody as war. His words were like poetry, and it was disturbing how strongly it reminded me of the dreams. Especially the dying dream. The strange thing was, it had seemed so much hazier than the other ones. I wasn’t even sure what had happened to her.
I felt my throat tighten. "How did it happen?"
His face hardened. "How did what happen?"
"I-I mean...how did she...uh, die?" I stammered.
"In battle." Short and clipped. Dismissive. But there was something in his face. Emotions he was trying to hide. Grief mixed with anger.
That wasn't the whole story. I ignored the unease blooming in my chest. “How exactly?”
"Battle," he said sharply, "is all anyone need say." He stood abruptly and gave me a crooked smile. "Tell me if Leif pulls any more stunts like the one with your shoulder. And come see me here after lunch tomorrow. He may be teaching you the basics of fighting, but there are other things. Our history for instance. And we need to keep up with your ice training."
I couldn't hold the anger back this time. It washed over me like a wave and pulled me under. He'd just kissed me, and now, he was withholding information.
"Well history class is good. Maybe you’ll actually tell me something for once."
Erik only smiled, the expression somehow sad, and it made me instantly regret snapping. My face flooded with heat. “I’m sorry.”
“Goodnight, Amora."
I watched him walk out of the library, my eyes fixed on his broad back until he was out of sight. Almost subconsciously, I traced one finger over my lips. I hadn't had many kisses, but his had been...odd. Full of passion and grief and...tears. I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.
I sighed and rested my forehead on the table.
Had he kissed me because he liked me or because I reminded him of her?
Because I wasn't Amora. No matter what the Erik saw in me, I could never be like her.
Chapter Thirty
We didn't make much progress in the ice lesson the next day. It was weird trying to concentrate on freezing something while Erik hovered nearby. I kept remembering the feeling of his lips on mine, the taste of his tears.
Lying in bed later on, staring at the canopy overhead, I found myself wishing I'd stayed longer. Sure, it had been awkward, but if we got sidetracked by stuff every time I had a lesson, I'd never learn anything, which meant I'd never be able to protect myself from Leif.
Not just Leif, a little voice in my head added. Gunnar too. And who better to do it than an assassin?
The way things stood now, I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell against him.
So I would have to work harder. That was all there was to it.
Easing myself up slowly—and trying to ignore how stiff I was from my last lesson with Leif—I stretched one hand out, palm facing up.
“The key is accepting yourself,” Erik kept saying. “Embracing yourself.”
It was hard to do when my chest went tight with fear at the thought of Leif and his pack of wolves. They thought I was lower-than-dirt. Human, not jotun. Something that didn't belong. How was I supposed to accept myself as jotun when no one else did?
But Erik does. And so does the queen.
Of course, I wasn't sure if the latter was a good thing, since the queen’s believing in me seemed to mean everyone else had turned against me...
Not the right thoughts.
Trying to shove the negative stuff down, I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. I am jotun. They wouldn't have brought me here if I wasn't. I made it through the pass. Erik believes I can do this.
It was so quiet. The only sounds were the faint trickling of water somewhere beyond the walls of my room and the murmur of faraway voices.
This was a safe place. I was alone.
Slowly, the ice in my chest melted, and I sat up a little straighter, breathed a little deeper. At first, nothing happened when I concentrated and tried to remember the feeling of freezing flowing through me. Then, slowly—very slowly—a familiar tingling sensation swept into my arms, my palms, and my fingers.
I heard faint crackling sounds, and my eyes flew open. The center of my palm was slick with a very fine layer of frost.
I actually laughed out loud, delighted. Then the feeling started to slip away, and I tried to turn my thoughts inward and make that sensation continue, pushing the coolness downward. The frost coated my hands, creeping to the ends of my fingers. Now my arm.
Thrilled, I pushed upward, and the sensation shot up my arm. It wasn't actually cold, but it did tickle. I couldn't keep the giant grin off my face as the frost crept up and up. Once it had reached halfway to my elbow, I lost it. I grappled internally for a few minutes before figuring it out again. When the frost reached my upper arm, I forced the feeling back down.
Thankfully, it was easier to turn it off than it was to find it in the first place. The idea that I might flip some kind of internal switch and not know how to turn the ice off again was terrifying.
The fine layer of ice on my arm sparkled white under the lights, and I moved my hand back and forth, stunned. My chest swelled with elation as I admired my work.
An opera glove made of glittering frost.
I walked into the bathroom and ran my arm under the warm water, watching the ice melt away into nothingness, still smiling so wide that my cheeks ached.
Now that I’d stopped, I felt exhausted, like the concentrated effort had drained me of energy. But this was good. It was something to report back to Erik during our next lesson. Imagining the look on his face, how he would beam at me, made me smile.
Of course, it was also the beginning of being able to defend myself if Leif tried something.
Or, according to Karina, when he tried something.
~ * ~
The tides of war are starting to turn. We are pushing them back.
They are falling, stumbling, going down with bloody wounds, with my sword thrust through their middles.
Finally, we press against the city walls.
Their archers try to take us down, showering us with flaming arrows, screaming threats and raining rocks and hot oil
on us. But we have shields of ice that cannot be penetrated, that cannot be set ablaze.
We bring the ladders and scale the walls.
I grab a soldier's tunic and send him tumbling down and down. His screams ring in my ears. Below me, a surge of white crashes through the black walls of the city.
Someone succeeded in opening the gates.
We are in. We will bring it down stone by stone.
I sat up so fast my head spun, breathing hard, as if I'd actually been scaling walls instead of doing it in my dreams. It had felt so real, I could almost feel the stones of the walls scraping my palms. I looked down at my hands, but they were smooth and free of marks.
Of course they were. They weren’t my memories.
The clock on the nightstand read seven, and I groaned, forcing myself out of bed. It had been a week of lessons with Prince Leif, and my entire body felt like one giant bruise. It seemed like, with every lesson we had, he got worse. It was shocking that he was teaching me anything at all, since he hated me so much. I did notice that he occasionally glanced around like he thought the other trainers might be watching him though. Maybe that was why.
Things in the dining hall weren't getting any better, either. It didn't help that the queen had actually shown up for dinner one night, accompanied by much fanfare and excitement. She'd sat at the high table, but when she and her entourage had swept past me, she'd stopped, put her hand on my arm, and asked how my lessons had been that week.
The mocking and name-calling had only grown worse since then, and I’d had to force myself to keep my mouth shut and not retaliate.
Leif’s insults were a different matter. They were harder to ignore, especially when they were whispered in my ear as he taught me the proper grip on my sword or grunted at me while we were sparring. He couldn't seem to get enough of the hand-to-hand combat, which was why I felt like I'd been run over by a dump truck.
I had reached a point where I was ready to snap and drive my katana right through him if he made one more biting remark. One thing was true though. It had only been seven days of lessons and I was already much better at blocking punches.
I climbed out of the shower, got dressed, and made my slow and painful way through the bedroom, shooting one last envious look at Charlotte, who hadn't so much as stirred.
Being up this early meant the hallways were empty. The only noise was the scuffling of my feet echoing along the corridor.
When I arrived at the big double doors I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. There was no way I would give him the satisfaction of chickening out.
When I walked in, the familiar sounds of practice hit me like a wall.
Leif was waiting in the corner, his arms folded. His usual expression of smug disgust was absent. Instead, he looked almost…sullen. The queen stood off to the side of the training room, absently looking around, fanning herself with a blue jewel-encrusted fan. Her hair was piled on her head in curls today, and she had a number of noble ladies with her, all dressed to the nines, all with similar hairstyles. They talked behind their hands and made eyes at the practicing soldiers.
When Queen Eira saw me, she smiled and inclined her head. Then she waved a hand at Leif, and he turned his sullen expression on me. "She's here to see you practice."
"What a shame," I said, being sure to keep my voice low. "You won't be able to beat the crap out of me and insult me nonstop."
He gave me an openly hostile look and pulled his sword free of the scabbard. "Ready yourself."
I carefully took the katana down from the pegs. My skin tingled, and I was hyperaware of the crowd of royal gawkers. Was the queen there to judge how far I'd come along? What if she didn't approve?
I swallowed hard and set my feet apart in the "on guard" stance Leif had taught me. The movements were easier now, and the sword felt so natural in my hands that my body relaxed of its own accord.
I thought we were going to go through the motions he'd taught me, guarding, blocking. Maybe a brief sparing match at low speed like we'd practiced.
Instead, Leif flung himself forward without warning, his sword swinging straight for my head.
Something slammed into place inside me with a jolt that shocked my entire body. My arms seemed to move on their own, swinging my sword up. The broad sword crashed down on the katana, and my arms shook with the impact.
I clenched my teeth and pressed forward to keep from falling.
Leif’s smug smile vanished. He lunged again, aiming for my left arm. Again I moved subconsciously, controlled by something I couldn't identify, blocking each move he made.
My heart hammered in my chest, and I was flushed and shaking, but I wasn’t sure if it was fear or elation. Maybe both.
Part of it felt like me, because I wasn't fighting the movement—I was leaning into it—but it wasn't me. There was something else in charge. Telling me where to step, how to swing, where he was going to strike next. Something had taken over, and I should have been afraid. Petrified.
But there was no time to think about any of that.
He struck again and again, coming at me faster and faster. His face twisted with rage. Every time I countered another blow, he looked angrier. Less in control.
Control. If Leif had none, I was the opposite. Something moved me, and I let it happen, passing through the steps as smoothly as a river flows around rocks. Vitality coursed through me, filling my chest, making my body vibrate. Some part of me lived for this.
Leif was livid, his face a brilliant shade of red. His chest heaved, and he grunted with fury each time he swung. Though I met every blow, he managed to drive me backward. Some age-old instinct told me to duck and dance back the way we'd been advancing.
Leif stumbled, his expression slack with surprise. He'd been pressing me toward the wall, counting on it to block my retreat so he could pin me.
My arms were burning now. I ground my teeth as another blow trembled through me. His sword pressed down on mine, steel grating on steel.
"You grow tired, Amora." His eyes were wide, glittering.
I didn't answer. Instead, something charged my muscles with wild strength, pushing me forward. I flung myself at him.
Leif shouted in surprise as I drove him back, swinging at his head and shoulders so fast that he was barely able to get his heavy sword up in time. I aimed for his head, and our swords crashed together. The blow vibrated through my arms, but I pressed down on his blade, forcing him to struggle for a few desperate seconds before he managed to throw me off.
He swung at me, and hot adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I danced back. I found myself smiling, a death grin, teeth bared, chest swelling with a strange, fierce happiness.
I ducked low and swept my foot out and Leif stumbled, off-balance, his arms pinwheeling. His broadsword fell from his grasp, clattering to the cement floor.
He hit the ground a second later and landed on his back with a sharp grunt.
A smattering of applause jerked my head up, and the room snapped back into focus. My limbs felt heavy and strange now that they belonged to me again. Numbly, I lifted one hand and stared at it.
What the hell had just happened?
The ladies of the court clapped, some tittering behind their hands. They swept their skirts up and exited together in a rustle of silk, still giggling and darting looks behind them, leaving a heady wave of perfume in their wake.
The queen remained behind, and she beckoned to me, a smile on her pale face.
My sword suddenly felt foreign in my hands. It was alarming, like I'd suddenly discovered that a part of my body didn't actually belong to me.
I looked at Leif, who was still sprawled on his back, clutching his head. Had I really done that? A thin sheen of sweat coated my skin, and it had started to turn cold and sticky.
Panic crept in. My hands felt numb, and I wanted to drop the katana. I gripped it firmly instead, stumbling over to where the queen was standing. I stayed silent. If I said something, my voice would shake and give me away.<
br />
The queen smiled, and though her face still looked carved from marble, her eyes shone. Were those tears?
She placed one hand on my arm. "My daughter has truly returned. My dear, Erik told me about your genetic memories. Today, you clearly accessed them. Leif is talented, but there is no way he could have taught you so much in one week." Her gaze roamed over my face like she was drinking me in. "You are truly ready for battle."
Ready for battle?
My breath hitched, and cold terror slithered down my spine. Fighting Leif was one thing, but there was nothing in me that felt like I was ready to start chopping heads off.