by K. M. Shea
“We’re called Snow Men,” he said with a big smile.
“No, we’re not,” another resistance fighter—this one female—joined the conversation. “That’s a silly name.”
The male resistance fighter puffed up. “What would you have us be called? The Order of Snow?”
The woman—she was tall, lithe, and had a beautiful smile—rolled her eyes.
The man cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, then smiled and bowed to Rakel. “It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, Princess Rakel.”
Rakel tweaked the air temperature, making it rise and fall. “Thank you for your help today.”
“’Twas our honor,” the man said.
Oskar tilted his head. “Were you planning to attack the mercenaries alone?”
The woman shook her head. “No. We try to catch ’em off guard and attack one at a time—either when they’re traveling or camping.”
Phile whistled. “Smart warfare. I can appreciate that.”
“We were told you would be coming, so we held back,” the man said.
General Halvor frowned. “Who told you that?”
“Sirpa. She has been in touch with an older woman in Ostfold,” the woman said.
“Grandmother Hilda’s friend,” Rakel said.
“Indeed,” Oskar said.
“Even before we had word from Sirpa, merchants have been keeping us informed,” the woman added.
“Merchants?” Rakel said, surprised.
The resistance fighters nodded.
Oskar smiled smugly. “I told you it was important to impress the Glowma merchants.”
Rakel recalled Oskar’s insistence that she befriend Pordis—the leader of the merchant guild. “I must confess, I did not entirely believe you at the time. I am glad you were right.”
“Ogle-worthy Oskar is usually right. His cunning intelligence is one of his many charms,” Phile said. She winked at Oskar, who chuckled at her frank compliment.
“Please, allow us to travel back with you to Begna,” the man said, bowing at the waist. “We will alert the villagers that it is safe to come out of hiding, and properly welcome you—Snow Queen.”
“Halvor?” Rakel asked.
“It would be good to meet with the leaders and see if we might better work together,” General Halvor said.
Rakel smiled at the resistance fighters. “Then I will gladly accept.”
Phile tossed Foedus up in the air. “We’ll have a feast tonight to celebrate! Give me two ticks to find Snorri, and we’ll go hunting and bag us some game!”
“If you would follow us, please, my Queen.” The woman resistance fighter smiled in delight.
Rakel pulled back, her shoulders stiffening. Queen? No, I must stamp this out before they feed their dreams. “I am honored by your esteem, but I am just a princess. I am not a queen over anyone.”
Oskar’s green eyes were bright and suspiciously innocent. “You’re the Queen of Snow.”
Rakel narrowed her eyes at him.
“Oh, yes!” The man nodded emphatically.
“Please, this way.” The woman squirmed through the Verglas soldiers that had begun to clump around Rakel and General Halvor.
They parted for Rakel, and she was surprised to find the resistance fighters were lined up—straining on their toes to see her. They erupted into cheers and waved and flapped their homemade blue patches with the reindeer and the snowflake in the air like they were flags.
“Princess!”
“It’s the Snow Queen!”
“Bless you, Princess!”
Rakel shifted awkwardly, embarrassed by the show of devotion, but also deeply pleased. She kept her expression guarded until Phile elbowed her in the side. I know this is what I wanted…but I feel like a fraud. What have I done to deserve this?
“It’s okay to smile, Little Wolf.” Phile had to shout directly into her ear to be heard over the whistles and cheering.
Rakel raised her chin and stiffened her shoulders to keep herself from slouching, but she allowed her expression to soften, and a small smile—the tiniest reveal of the happiness that coursed through her like her magic—graced her lips.
The resistance fighters cheered louder, stamped their feet, and jumped in place. The man and woman who had previously spoken led the way towards the crowd. General Halvor walked behind them.
Rakel moved to follow him, but she was surprised when Oskar placed his hand on her arm. “Princess.” He pointed to their sleigh. The white and gray reindeer that had pulled them to Begna were still hooked up to it. They stamped their hooves and rolled their eyes at the cheering crowd.
Rakel let Oskar lead her away. “What is it?”
“You have been holding onto your magic this entire time, have you not?” Oskar asked.
“Yes,” Rakel admitted.
“Then it’s time you let go and accept the price of your magic.” He smoothed the furs he insisted on piling the sleigh with—even though Rakel was resistant to the cold due to her powers—and fluffed up a back cushion.
“But the resistance fighters—” Rakel started.
“Will still be here when you wake up. He’s right, Little Wolf. You better take a rest,” Phile said. She untied her horse from one of the other army sleighs and mounted up. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out while you slumber.”
Rakel frowned. “You make it sound peaceful.”
“You look peaceful—no one would ever guess how jumpy and suspicious it makes you. Mind you, as paranoid as you are, I think it’s a wonder you sleep at all,” Phile said.
“I’m getting better.” Rakel let a bit of a pout seep into her voice as she lowered herself into the sleigh.
“You are,” Phile agreed. “But you have a ways to go.”
“I’m not so sure extra caution is a bad thing,” Oskar said as he tucked a fur around Rakel’s legs. “Caution keeps you alive.”
Phile adjusted the red kerchief she wore over her hair. “But fear can make a man live a shell of a life.”
“If you say so. Princess?”
“Yes?” Rakel settled into the sleigh.
“Let go of your magic,” Oskar ordered.
Phile snorted. “You sound like her parent.”
Oskar raised an eyebrow. “And what does that make you? You frequently lecture her as I do.”
Phile batted her eyelashes. “If you’re her father, I will volunteer to take the role of mother.”
Oskar ignored the flirtation and smiled at Rakel. “I’ll take note of tonight’s events and inform you of anything you missed when you awaken.”
Rakel exhaled and dropped her grip on her minty magic. In a few short moments, her muscles fell out of her control, going slack as her vision became fuzzy.
It’s an uncomfortable price, Rakel thought, her mind still under her control. But it is a small thing compared to the joy my magic gives me.
Before Rakel could further ruminate, unconsciousness stole her mind; her breathing deepened, and she sagged on the sleigh, unaware of the world.
CHAPTER 3
CONFIDENCE FROM THE ENEMY
“They have an impressive structure, given that only a few of them ever served in the military,” General Halvor said, caught in a rare moment of chattiness. “It seems they use merchants as a method of communication. It is a risky move as the Chosen could shut down supply trains at any time, but it allows them to communicate with one another in a timely manner.”
“I see.” Rakel walked shoulder to shoulder with the general and felt invigorated by his passion. Very little could bring out such pleasure in Halvor; meetings and tactics occupied the highest place in his life. It seems the resistance fighters had embraced both, gaining his respect.
“I believe it would be in our best interests to support them,” he continued.
“You wish to send them some magic users?” Rakel asked.
“No,” General Halvor said. “As I stated previously, we cannot spare them. I plan to send several officers and a small
number of troops. Their superior knowledge of weapons and warfare will be a boon to the resistance.”
“You know,” Phile said, walking on Rakel’s other side. “My heart has been shattered.”
Rakel furrowed her brows. “Why?”
Phile chewed a hunk of bread and gave Halvor a reproachful look. “Because I’ve spent weeks buttering up to General Halvor, and this resistance has captured more enthusiasm from him in a day than I have in the length of our relationship.”
General Halvor stared at Phile, his upper lip twitching in what was most likely disgust.
Rakel shook her head when Phile offered her a chunk from her loaf. “Calling your interactions a relationship may be a strain.”
Phile sighed. “Neither of you are any fun. Snorri! I know you’re skulking around. Let’s go spy on someone or steal something!” She turned in a circle, searching for the taciturn scout.
Rakel glanced at Halvor to gauge his reaction. “Do her comments bother you that much?”
General Halvor’s face was as smooth as paper, but his enthusiasm was gone. “What comments, Princess?”
Rakel patted his shoulder, unsure why she was consoling him but feeling the need to regardless. Since leaving my exile on Ensom, I have come to learn that emotions can be tangled and complicated. Black-tea-colored hair and gray eyes lurked in her mind. She ruthlessly shoved the thought away.
She was relieved when the path narrowed, and she could see the ice-dam—sparkling in the afternoon sunlight—up ahead. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be a moment.”
“Call if you need anything.” Phile tucked her loaf of bread under her arm. She tossed Foedus in the air and caught it with the same hand, then turned to face Halvor. “As we spent the night in Begna to speak with the resistance fighters, I imagine the news will have piled up in Ostfold. Do you know where you want Snorri and me to scout next?”
Rakel smiled back at the stationary pair, walked farther down the path, and approached the road block.
She placed her hand on the ice wall, feeling out its strength and structural integrity. It seems the Chosen mercenaries tried to break through it. She felt several cracks and dents in the ice. I think they have given up and left, but I had better strengthen it anyway. She tapped her magic and repaired the ice, channeling her chilly powers through her fingertips. She added a few inches of ice to thicken it up, made a few structural improvements to the base, and smiled in satisfaction.
“You won’t fall unconscious this time?”
Rakel, on sheer instinct, formed several ice swords as she whipped around and steeled herself for a fight.
Colonel Farrin Graydim of the Chosen Army stood a few horse-lengths behind her, watching her. His skin was tanned from hours in the sun, and his tall, lean body was clothed in the black and crimson Chosen uniform. He was handsome, but he had a slightly intimidating air to him due to the white scar that followed the tops of his cheekbones and sliced across his nose.
When he had her attention, he sauntered closer. “You must have to use a great deal of power to trigger it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Farrin raised an eyebrow at her, and the wind ruffled his hair—which was a fascinating shade of black and brown. “You do not recall falling unconscious after successfully stealing my sword?”
Rakel’s chin shot up. “I did not steal it; I won it.”
“I certainly remember you collapsing.” Farrin stopped an arm’s length away from her. “You dropped so fast. I…”
Rakel kept her face and posture passive, though she was on high alert. After retaking Ostfold, it had become obvious that Farrin had feelings for her. But even if he appears to care for me, I do not trust him. He may believe that it is in my best interests to be kidnapped and hustled out of the country. “As you can see, I am fine. Did you want something?” She would have taken a step away from him—and the intensity he radiated—if it wouldn’t have felt like admitting defeat.
“No,” Farrin said, surprising her.
“No? Then you are here to gather information about the soldiers we defeated?”
“Those mercenaries are neither my men nor my responsibility,” Farrin said.
“I see,” Rakel said. She waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
Farrin said nothing but scanned her, as if memorizing her. He unconsciously traced his white scar with a gloved finger, and his eyes—which were gray like wet rock—held a passion that unsettled her. Never had anyone gazed at her with so much feeling.
Rakel kept her mouth shut and fought her inclination to babble in the awkward moment.
When Farrin shifted, she almost sagged in relief, believing the intense moment to be over. Instead, she was shocked when Farrin moved in and slowly, as if she were a wild animal, placed his hands on her waist. His eyes were locked on hers, watching for a reaction.
What? Something is bothering him. He isn’t typically so…demonstrative. “What’s wrong?” Rakel asked. Although his hands rested on her hips, he hadn’t pulled her against him, making it easy enough to meet his gaze.
Farrin exhaled. “Everything.”
Rakel opened her mouth to speak, but his pained expression seemed too deep for a few polite words to soothe. She wracked her mind, trying to think of anything she had read or heard that could be of assistance. She came up empty-handed. Why hasn’t anyone written a handbook of appropriate emotional responses? That would be far more informational than some of the trite things I’ve found in the royal library! In her desperation, Rakel recalled the great comfort she found in embracing Phile, or Gerta and Kai.
She peered up into Farrin’s eyes—which were excruciatingly hopeful. I hope I don’t regret this, but I do not think his actions are a ploy. Hesitantly, Rakel drew a little closer to him.
Farrin took her movement as an invitation, and pulled her flush against his chest and tightened his grip on her waist, sliding an arm behind her back.
Rakel let him cradle her, though her nerves prickled. It’s very different—hugging a man…but it’s not an unpleasant difference. Phile’s hugs spilled over with merriment, and Gerta and Kai’s were warm—like freshly baked bread. Farrin’s was…deeper. It felt different, being gently held against his tall, lean body. Rakel was taller than most of her comrades, but Farrin was taller still. His body molded around hers like a shield.
Rakel, recalling the protocol of a proper hug, reluctantly slid her arms around Farrin’s waist. The tension in his body seemed to drain away, and his stance became more lax.
Satisfied her idea had done him some good, she patted his back the same way she patted Frigid—her giant, bull reindeer. Farrin exhaled a faint trace of a chuckle, and his breath tickled her ear.
The longer the embrace stretched on, the more embarrassed Rakel felt. Her cheeks and even her toes grew warm as Farrin draped his arms around her. When her fingertips began to heat up, she cleared her throat and dropped her arms from Farrin’s torso.
He took a step back, his reluctance to let go clear in the slow way he disengaged from her. “Thank you,” he said.
Rakel busied herself with settling her cloak so she wouldn’t have to look him in the face. “You’re welcome.” He seems improved. Good. Though I do not share his affection, he is…what is he to me? She frowned, perplexed by the question. Farrin was not her companion or comrade, but she wouldn’t call him her enemy anymore, either.
“Have you found the mirror yet?” Farrin’s question shattered her thoughts.
“No. Nor do any of the texts in the royal library contain a reference to it.” Rakel gratefully dove into the safer, less emotionally charged subject.
“But you still believe me?”
“Yes.”
A calculating light entered his eyes. “Ahh, so you have Kavon’s chip of the mirror, then?”
They did. Phile had given it to Rakel when she first joined their motley crew. But she wasn’t going to confirm it for his knowledge. “What?” she asked instead.
“I didn’t find out about the mirror shards until recently. Tenebris has one, as does Sunnira—she was the one you encountered in the Palace gardens.”
“What a lovely woman.” Bitterness dripped from Rakel’s words. Sunnira was one of Farrin’s healers, the one who had made it her mission to kill Rakel. She had slapped a curse—one crafted by Tenebris—on Rakel during the Ostfold invasion.
“You might be able to use the mirror shard to find the mirror—though I don’t know how,” Farrin said.
“Magical artifacts are not your forte?”
He shifted, the long lines of his body betraying no signs of fright or nerves. “That, and I am supposed to know nothing of the mirror. No one but Tenebris’s oldest friends seem to have any knowledge of it.”
“And you are not?”
“I am trusted, but I’ve only known Tenebris for a few years. Sunnira is his childhood friend.”
“I see.” Rakel stored away the fact to ponder later. “Why are you telling me this?”
The corners of Farrin’s lips quirked down. “Because you asked.”
“No, I mean the mirror. Telling me about it because you respect me is unlikely, but believable. Suggesting ways for me to find it due to respect is out of the question. Unless…” Rakel squinted up at him, struggling to judge the situation. Knowing that he likes me, I don’t think he would set a trap for me…and the mirror is supposed to be north—which we hold.
Farrin sighed. “It is not a plot against you.”
Rakel blinked in surprise. “I didn’t say it was.”
“No, but you had that accusing edge to your eyes. I’m informing you because I know you will not use the mirror for your own gains. You will destroy it.”
“Why do you believe that?”
Farrin rested his hands on his sword belt. “You are content with your powers. If you longed for more, you would eye your brother’s throne, but you haven’t—in spite of the zealots in your resistance movement.”
Rakel drew back her shoulders and studied Farrin with newfound respect. I always respected his combat abilities, but even some of my friends and self-professed followers haven’t realized how little use I have for power. Is he that observant of everyone, or is it just a result of his…feelings?