by K. M. Shea
Sadness threatened to stab her heart, but Rakel shook it off. I should be used to it by now, after all these years. Perhaps, for once, the terror everyone beholds me with will work to my advantage, and the invaders will leave Ensom alone.
Farrin Graydim tapped his fingers on his desk as he listened to a soldier repeat his report of the attack on Vefsna.
“She’s like, like an avalanche, sir,” the soldier reported, shivering. “She’s wild…and powerful. I ain’t never seen raw power like hers.”
“She killed no one?” Farrin asked, struggling with the idea.
“Yes, sir. Our only casualty was Major Efisco, and one of her guards killed ’im.”
Farrin narrowed his slate-colored eyes. What sort of powerful magic user doesn’t kill their enemy?
“Did you know Verglas had a pet magic user, sir?”
Farrin made a note on a scroll. “No, though I heard rumors.”
The soldier hesitated a moment when he didn’t continue. “About what, sir?”
“The Princess of Verglas locked in a tower of ice on a mountain peak,” Farrin said. Was King Steinar hiding her from us? Though my scouts returned with stories and local legends, they never collected a solid report of her.
“Sounds like a fairy story, sir, but…”
Farrin, sensing his soldier’s unease, leaned forward. “Yes?”
“But…she was beautiful, sir. The most beautiful, ever. And she held herself like a queen.”
Farrin leaned back into his chair. “If the rumors are right, she should have been.”
“Sir?”
“Thank you, ensign. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, sir!” He saluted and left, leaving Farrin to his musings.
A powerful magic user and possibly the rightful heir. I wonder…would she join us?
CHAPTER 4
THE ALLEGIANCE OF THE CHOSEN
“Princess, there is a request for you,” Oskar said, cornering her when he and Captain Halvor delivered her dinner—a steaming bowl of stew and fresh bread.
“I’m not rescuing another village.” Rakel stared at her dinner, thankful that her stomach didn’t choose to embarrass her with an inopportune growl.
“Yes. Unfortunately this request does not come from anyone of Verglas.”
Rakel ripped her gaze from her food and stared at Oskar. “I beg your pardon?”
“This request is not being posed to you by a subject but by a bottom-feeder—the lowest of the low—who has quite a bit of nerve, I must say, to come all the way here with only a few guards.”
Concluding that Oskar wasn’t going to make sense any time soon, she turned her attention to Captain Halvor.
“An invader representative wishes to speak to you,” the captain said, giving Oskar a look of disapproval.
“ ‘An invader representative.’ Where’s the poetry in that description?” Oskar complained.
“In its simplicity,” Rakel said. “Do you know what he wishes to talk about? Do you think he will demand our surrender?”
Captain Halvor shook his head.
“The captain and I suspect he is mostly interested in you.”
Rakel stared at the prism-like ceiling—it had taken her months to get the cut of the ice just right for that effect. “I see. You think I should agree to his request?”
The captain shrugged, and Oskar said, “The choice is yours, Princess.”
“Make the arrangements—I will see him.”
“Very good. He’s waiting just outside the gates.”
She stood, a frown twitching on her face. “You chose not to open with that information because…?”
“I said he came ‘all the way here,’ ” Oskar said as Captain Halvor led the way outside.
When she passed through the entrance of her castle, Rakel wondered how she missed the invaders’ arrival. They were camped just outside the wooden walls of her enclosure, like squatters. They even had a small tent pitched.
Most of Halvor’s soldiers were gathered around them, crossbows trained on them.
When the invaders saw her approach, one of them stepped forward to pull aside a drape of black cloth, giving Rakel entrance to the tent.
She stepped inside, but glanced over her shoulder when she realized Oskar and Captain Halvor weren’t going to follow her.
“Please, Your Highness, sit,” said a man—the only other occupant of the tent. His hair was the shade of black tea—a glossy mixture of black and brown. His eyes were slate gray—like a wet rock. He was tall—not quite as tall as Oskar the stork, though—and sported a lean build and skin tanned by hours in the sun. His features were pleasing and handsome, but he had a white scar that followed the tops of his cheekbones and sliced across his nose, giving his face a hardened edge. He wore the invader uniform, and the large, two-handed broadsword that leaned against the table was most likely his.
He had to be a magic user. His appearance was too different to be untouched.
Rakel raised an eyebrow. “I do not sit with those I do not know. You are?”
The man bent at the waist in a shallow but respectful bow. “Farrin Graydim. I am a colonel of the Allegiance of the Chosen Army, Your Highness. I lead the First Regiment.”
“Allegiance of the Chosen? Pretty name,” Rakel said, keeping her voice cold and detached as she seated herself.
Farrin sat in the other chair and said nothing. Instead, he studied her, his eyes taking inventory of her body. Rakel knew it was not a passionate gaze, but more similar to the stable boy when he’d inspected the reindeer after their joyride to Vefsna.
Am I pretty enough to join your army? Although her thoughts were caustic, she made certain not to betray her irritation and kept her face impassionate. She waited in silence for two minutes before she stood and turned to leave.
“I apologize, Your Highness, for my conduct,” Farrin said. His voice was a soothing, musical tenor. “You are an…unexpected find.”
Rakel settled back into her chair. “You mean to say you haven’t heard of me.”
“Only whispered rumors.”
“You didn’t believe them?”
“No.”
“Hm.”
“That doesn’t surprise you?”
She refrained from shrugging—she wouldn’t give this man the pleasure of making her sink so low as to exhibit body language that could give away her mind. “Though I was exiled, many royal families would have had me killed as child. It’s no surprise they attempted to keep my existence a secret,” she said, reflecting on her life of alienation. As miserable as it was, she was still alive. That was more than could be said for many other magic users.
“Perhaps, but I also found it unlikely that a magic user of your caliber would submit to being ordered about.” One corner of Farrin’s lips curled up, and he shook his head once—as if shoving a thought away.
Rakel stifled the desire to shift. “Why did you seek me out, Colonel Graydim? I doubt it was because you wished to hear my life’s story.”
Farrin pulled his dark-eyed gaze from her and shuffled through a small stack of papers. “The Chosen mean to shape a better future for magic users.”
“By taking over my country? If you are seeking sympathy, you will be spectacularly disappointed.”
“Long have magic users been mistreated and slain for our abilities. If we are not killed immediately after our powers manifest, we are forced into slavery, beaten, starved, or exiled. Though we are human, we are called monsters and are regarded with hatred and fear. We seek to change that.”
“You wish to take over our land to create a safe haven for magic users?” Rakel guessed.
“For people like us. Yes. That is why we are so named: we are a collaboration of those who have been blessed with the gift of magic.”
It is a worthy idea. A country built for those who can wield magic would be an escape for all who are mistreated…or isolated. Furthermore, nations would think twice about attacking it. There is a potential problem, however, besides th
e horrible name.
“What will you do with the citizens who already live in the lands you claim?” Rakel asked.
Farrin’s stoic demeanor cracked just long enough for Rakel to witness a short-lived frown. “Enslave them, of course.”
It took all of Rakel’s self-control to keep from recoiling. The idea sickened her so much her stomach churned and her throat ached.
“They will serve us—as we have been forced to serve them for years,” he continued, as if this plan was natural. “I was instructed to visit you today to ask you to join us. Though we have begun with Verglas, we mean to expand and create more than one such country. You are the true queen—the eldest child of the royal family. If you join us, you would be the legitimate ruler.”
“If I were queen, could I order the freedom of all regular civilians?”
“No,” Farrin said, his fingers twitching. “My leader would never allow it. Too much blood has been spilled for them to be forgiven.”
So much for the true queen. Rakel uneasily tugged on her magic, seeking its cool reassurance. “I see.”
Oskar was right. The invaders were truly evil. They were brutal to innocents; they planned to enslave others, and she didn’t believe for a second that they were in Verglas to claim territory. To begin with, Verglas was the least vicious in their treatment to magic users—particularly since she had been born. It was no longer a death sentence to be born with powers. Magic users were still horribly mistreated, yes, but on the entire continent, Verglas was among the least wretched. It made no sense to begin with Verglas—which would further alienate the other countries.
Farrin poured a red drink from a silver pitcher into a goblet and offered it to Rakel.
“No, thank you,” Rakel murmured.
I know better than to take sustenance from the opposition. Also, not five minutes ago you told me no one believed I existed, and now you want me to be queen? They cannot possibly care about lands or ruling. There is something this Chosen Army wants, and it’s here, in Verglas. What they really want to come out of this meeting is for me to stop opposing them.
She kept her face still, as if it had been carved from ice. “I regret to say I must decline your offer.”
Farrin, who had taken the goblet for himself and sipped from it, blinked. “You do not wish to be the monarch of a country that is rightfully yours?”
“That is not my concern. What I cannot—and will not—agree to is the proposed treatment of the civilians.”
Farrin’s air of tranquility evaporated as he leaned forward. The pressure with which he loomed over her made Rakel certain he was a very powerful magic user. The planes of his face hardened, and his eyes were sharp as knife blades. “If the rumors are correct, your own parents cut you off from the outside world. You were denied your birthright and exiled. You were attacked in Vefsna after repelling my army. You wish to let these kinds of people go unpunished?”
Rakel filed away his admission that he knew she was attacked—she would have to tell Captain Halvor there was a spy about. “If we attack them and force them into the savage treatment we encountered, we will be as bad as they believe,” Rakel said.
“You are an idealist.”
She chuckled. “Hardly. I am perhaps as hard-hearted and unforgiving as you. But if we reverse the roles, nothing will change. Civilians will still hate us, and we will hate them. Additionally, I cannot stand the thought of allowing another human to be imprisoned as I have been. Quite frankly, that reflects poorly on your organization.”
“It seems we are at an impasse.”
Rakel stood and spoke in a voice as frigid as a blizzard. “Perhaps, but I will be clear. If even one of your men sets foot on this mountain, I will come for you, and I will crush you.”
“Your words are brave, considering you would face an army of magic users,” Farrin said, his eyes glittering dangerously.
“Yes, but you forget. It is my country you stand in. Though I do not rule its people, I certainly rule its land. Good day to you, Colonel Graydim,” Rakel said. A bit of her anger got the best of her and kicked up the wind, sending snowflakes spiraling through the air. It snapped her cloak, making it fan around her as she glided from the tent.
Rakel scowled, irritated with herself for letting some of her magic slip from her control. She stalked to her enclosed castle, barely noticing Captain Halvor and the soldiers that hovered around her. “Make certain they leave the mountain,” she barked.
One of the soldiers—Snorri, she thought—saluted, and melted into the shadows of the forest. The rest followed her past the wooden walls. She was beginning to wonder why, when she almost collided with Oskar.
“What did they have to say, Princess?” he asked.
“Ugly, unacceptable things,” she grimly said, pausing at the entrance of her castle. She looked back to see Farrin standing just outside his tent, watching her. “After today, if there is even a sign that one of their soldiers has been on any part of Ensom Peak, I wish to be notified. Immediately.”
“Yes, Princess,” Captain Halvor said.
“So you will not join them?” Oskar asked.
Rakel turned to Oskar in surprise.
The attendant shrugged. “It was not hard to guess. Much of their army is composed of magic users, and you are a magic user.”
She stalked into her castle. “I will never side with them.”
Rakel was walking to the library—intending to reshelf her book on flowers—when she passed a window and saw a pack of children giggle and run around the courtyard. She froze, copying the stillness of one of her ice sculptures as the children tumbled past. They spotted her through the window and stopped long enough to give her short, choppy bows and curtseys. Next, one child dropped snow down another child’s back, and they were off, racing around the corner of the castle.
Rakel placed the book on a sideboard and rerouted for the shortest path outside. When she slipped out of a side door, the sun was bright, and a whisper of a breeze stirred the chilly winter air. Normally, this would amplify the stillness of Rakel’s castle and home, but so many people meandered in and out of the grounds, Rakel wondered if this is what a festival felt like. Why, there must be at least twenty people present!
She set her back to a castle wall and watched—with clasped hands—as Gerta’s grandmother talked and chatted with another village woman, knitting mittens and scarves as they watched children careen around the snow-covered yard and ride the life-sized reindeer ice sculptures Rakel had made when winter first visited.
“Oskar,” Rakel called when the red-haired man strolled across her path, holding a book in one hand and a sword in the other.
The attendant smiled. “Good morning to you, Princess. I trust your morning has been pleasant?”
“It has. Please explain why the number of castle residents has jumped significantly.”
Oskar twitched his shoulders up and down in a shrug. “If I had to guess, I would say it’s a combination of the open gate and your heroics.” He gestured to the wooden gate, which was tied open.
Gerta and Kai, crammed on their sled, flew down the roof of a lower ice building and landed in a large pile of snow.
“I am not convinced such trivial acts would make this significant of a difference,” Rakel said, watching the pair climb from the snow with rosy-cheeked grins.
“Saving their home was not a trivial act, Princess,” Oskar smiled. “Although, it might also have something to do with the villagers knowing you won’t side with the invaders.”
“Oskar—there you are,” a soldier shouted, waving his hand in the air as he passed through the courtyard. “I thought you might be in the library—books pull you like fat calls to cats—but you weren’t there—Princess.” He threw himself into a deep bow, but not before Rakel recognized him as the snowshoe/almost-killer soldier.
“Princess, please allow me to introduce you to Knut, one of your loyal guards,” Oskar said. He kept his voice so light and genuine, Rakel almost doubted her memory.
>
She glanced at Oskar and caught him eyeing the soldier, his face a cold mask of warning. When he realized she was watching, the expression flickered, and he smiled again and nodded at her encouragingly, knowing what he was asking of her.
“Good day, Knut,” she said.
“It sure is, P-Princess,” Knut said, offering her a weak grin. His smile was crooked thanks to a gap between his front teeth, but he had pleasant and easy manners that, she supposed, gave him an extra dose of charisma. He struggled to swallow, but with obvious effort, he planted his feet and asked, “Did you two hear about the Chosen scout?”
“No. What happened?” Oskar asked.
“Snorri caught sight of one halfway up the mountain. He’s telling the captain now, but I reckon the meaning is clear: they won’t leave us alone.”
“Princess,” Captain Halvor said. He approached her with one of his soldiers—Snorri, she thought. “May we speak in private?”
“A scout was spotted on the mountain,” Rakel said.
Captain Halvor gave Knut a disapproving glare. “Yes.”
“They will try to take the mountain again?”
“Most likely.”
Rakel nodded and watched the children play in the courtyard. Her vow to refrain from saving another village had weighed on her mind since her meeting with Farrin. The children playing in her castle didn’t deserve enslavement…but neither did those who grew up in other parts of Verglas. In a way, she was thankful Farrin sent his snooping scout. Now she had an excuse.
But, if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t going to throw herself against the Chosen just because they were carrying out evil acts. It was also because she fostered a deep-seated hope that maybe, if she was heroic enough, the citizens of Verglas would see beyond her powers and welcome her.
“Captain, if I were to use my…talents, do we have a hope of casting them out of Verglas?” Rakel abruptly asked.
“Yes,” he said without a moment of hesitation.
“Very well. If that is so, I wish to go to war. What do you advise?”