by K. M. Shea
“She’s admirable. She is a magic user, but she stands by her countrymen out of her own free will.”
“She’s a princess. Her life experiences are very different from ours. Living in a castle of ice is not at all traumatizing—you and I survived brutalities.”
Farrin mulled over the thought, surprised to realize he disagreed. He recalled the haunted, lonesome fog that consumed her eyes when he first met her, the way she startled whenever he touched her—as if contact were a foreign concept. Even when he was with the worst of his slave masters, he still knew friends and companions.
Being forced to kill is horrific…but living alone for years with nothing but your own thoughts for company—and as a child? That kind of neglect was terrifying.
“Don’t romanticize her, Farrin. She’s not like us,” Sunnira said, standing in front of him so he could see the earnest worry in her doll-like features.
“You’re right,” Farrin said. “She avoids killing at all cost. We spill blood without a thought.”
Sunnira wove her fingers together. “We have a right to seek out a land to call our own.”
“I agree,” Farrin said, testing out his shoulder. “But I don’t think we should ignore the honor in Princess Rakel’s actions just because she chose a different side.”
Sunnira sighed. “It baffles me how you can still be an idealist when a few years ago you lived only to kill.”
Farrin’s facial scar ached, and he eyed Sunnira. She knew he—as most magic users—fought to forget his past. The unwelcome reminder made him tip his head back. “Why are we here, Sunnira?”
She blinked, batting her long eyelashes at him. “What? How can you ask that? The land—”
“Is not ideal for our purposes. We would be better off taking over a coastal country. Furthermore, only a handful of our magic users come from Verglas, and they had no particular vendetta against it besides their exile.”
Sunnira sighed. “You are too curious about the princess. What poison has she been dripping in your ears, hmm? You can’t trust anything she says—she wants us to leave!”
“Sunnira. Tenebris must have told you. Why Verglas?”
“You know why. I’m not having this conversation with you, Farrin. I hope for your sake we are sent south and a new regiment is sent to replace us—one who will properly end the resistance. Now, be sure to rest. Though your wounds are healed, your body is still recovering…” Sunnira chatted on, her usual good humor returning.
Farrin accepted the change with no indication he disagreed with her. He finished speaking with her—taking a few minutes to exchange friendly small talk—offered her a rare smile, and sauntered out of the infirmary.
His face was as rigid as rock. She’s not telling me everything. Though Sunnira was under his command, she was close friends with Tenebris, their leader. She knew the real reason they were in Verglas, and she wasn’t sharing.
Farrin walked through the Ostfold barracks, stopping to enquire after soldiers and officers—taking care to appear unaffected. It took him two hours to reach the other magic users’ quarters. He knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a husky female voice said.
Farrin entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Bunny,” he said, “I have an assignment for you.”
CHAPTER 15
A MILITARY PROMOTION
Rakel forcibly turned her attention from the feast—she had never before experienced such a celebration with music, brightly colored clothes, and so much joy—and focused on her dinner partners. “Thank you for holding this celebration, Constable Tryggvi.”
Tryggvi bowed his head. “It is my pleasure, Princess,” he said as he gave her a bright, genuine smile. “I cannot tell you how honored I am to finally meet you. Since hearing of your actions at Fyran and Vefsna, I have had the impertinence to consider myself your servant.”
His comment made Rakel feel a little awkward. She had decided not to tell him—nor Pordis, who was also in attendance—that she had previously met him under far different circumstances. She wanted the chance to see if they would act differently.
Rakel watched servers deliver food to some of the tables—the room was so stuffed with surfaces to eat upon, there was barely room to walk. “I was pleasantly surprised to receive your invitation.”
Tryggvi leaned across the table, concern etched on his wrinkled face. “I beg your pardon, Princess, but why?”
“I didn’t know how you would feel, having a magic user as your dinner guest,” Rakel said. Phile is detrimentally affecting me. I never would have asked such a question before befriending her.
Phile was supposed to be seated with Rakel, but the Robber Maiden hadn’t been spotted since the previous day.
Tryggvi’s forehead wrinkled. “Princess, you are saving the country. No one could begrudge you such an honor.”
Pordis, seated next to him, set down her wine goblet. “Moreover, you are changing our very culture.”
Rakel blinked, surprised by this unexpected development. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, echoing Tryggvi’s earlier words.
Pordis gestured around the room. “Magic isn’t feared like it once was—at least not in northern Verglas. Folk might be uncomfortable around it, but magic users aren’t hated. That would be your doing, Princess. Even the army is more welcoming of magic. Wouldn’t you say so, Colonel Vardr?”
Colonel Vardr, a Verglas officer who sat next to Rakel, focused on his food. “Of course,” he said woodenly.
Struck by the merchant leader’s insight, Rakel looked away to give herself a moment. Attitudes are changing? Does that mean it is as I hoped, and if I throw out the Chosen, magic users really will be accepted? She watched Oskar—whose red hair was radiant in the flickering torchlight as he moved from one table to the next, charming everyone he came across—as she ruminated on Pordis’s words.
“Around here, folk loved you even before you saved Glowma,” Tryggvi said.
Recalling Phile’s advice to show more emotion, Rakel smiled at Tryggvi and Pordis. “I thank you for your compliments. I hope as a result of these new attitudes, more magic users will step forward to help us when we march on Ostfold,” she said, shifting the topic. As much as it warmed her heart to know they didn’t hate her, she found it a little embarrassing to be told so.
“Ahh, yes. I heard the Chosen troops stationed here had to retreat to join up with the rest of their regiment in Ostfold,” Pordis said.
“It is the most likely location they would retreat to, as Ostfold is the most heavily fortified in the region,” Rakel said. “Captain Halvor can better explain the situation.”
Where is he, anyway? Since her initial conversation with the captain after waking up, Rakel had seen nothing of him—which was unusual, as he seemed to live for meetings.
“I could offer my expertise,” Colonel Vardr said.
“Certainly,” Pordis said.
Rakel studied the loud, cheerful crowd of celebrators, her eyes tracing over the faces.
“Are you looking for someone in particular, Princess?” Tryggvi asked.
Rakel hesitated. “Yes, Captain Halvor.”
“Oh, I do not know if he received an invitation.” Tryggvi scratched the back of his head.
“What?” Rakel said.
“We gave the army an allotted number of invitations and let them decide who should attend,” Tryggvi said. “I assume you invited the captain, Colonel Vardr?”
“No,” Colonel Vardr said, his lip curling with distaste. “As he is only a captain, and there were several majors held prisoner in Glowma, we prioritized by rank.”
Rakel, who had her hands lightly clasped on her lap, clenched the edge of the table. “I beg your pardon?”
“Captain Halvor will no longer be in control. Instead, I will be replacing him as your primary military expert.”
Rakel pushed her chair away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, snapping her skirts. She was vaguely aware that Tryggvi and Colonel Vardr hurried after her a
s she sailed through the celebration—people scrambling out of her path.
She approached one of the soldiers standing guard at the doors. “Where is Captain Halvor?”
The soldier bowed. “I believe he is off duty and is in his quarters, Princess.”
“Thank you.” She left the hall and navigated her way down the straight-shot hallways of the municipal building.
“Princess, is everything alright?” Tryggvi asked as they left the building and stepped into the wintery night.
This is why I detest falling unconscious—things spiral out of control, and I’m not even aware of it. “No, but I shall right it shortly.”
“This is nothing personal, Princess. It is how the army operates,” Colonel Vardr said, his voice stiff and unbending. “We have to uphold the system—even in times of war—or rank will mean nothing, and foot soldiers will ignore orders.”
Rakel ignored his useless sputtering and walked towards the barracks. “Knut,” she said, calling out to the gap-toothed soldier as he ambled past.
“Princess!” he bowed.
“Where are Captain Halvor’s quarters?”
Knut looked behind Rakel, saw Colonel Vardr, and put on a smile that split his face. “Right this way, Princess.” He led her into the stone, rectangular-shaped building and up to the second floor.
The whole time, Colonel Vardr lectured about order and rank. “Really, Princess, you are lucky to have made it so far with a mere captain aiding you. A major was held in the garrison encampment. He should have taken over leadership immediately.”
Knut stopped outside a room.
Rakel decided that if Halvor hadn’t heard Vardr’s lecture as they moved down the hallway, he deserved to be surprised, and she threw the door open with more force than necessary.
Captain Halvor was seated on a chair, in the middle of polishing his boots, so it seemed. “Princess,” he bowed to her and snapped a salute to Vardr. “Sir.”
“Why is it that Colonel Vardr claims he is my new military expert?” Rakel demanded, barely registering when Tryggvi leaned against a wall and rubbed his hands together in glee.
“He is my superior, Princess. It is a natural re-organization,” Captain Halvor said. “There are many in Glowma who outrank me, making them better choices to work with you.”
“So you were going to step aside and place my life in the hands of a man I do not know.”
“No, Princess. I was never excused from my post. My men and I will continue to guard you, under Colonel Vardr’s supervision.”
Rakel’s gaze flicked from Halvor to the smirking Vardr and clenched her hands together to keep herself from taking Halvor by the shoulders and shaking him. “Very well, then. I am giving you a field promotion to the position of general.”
Halvor stared; Knut—who hadn’t left as he hadn’t been specifically dismissed—cheered, and Vardr gasped. “That’s impossible! A captain cannot be elevated to the post of general in a single day!” He sputtered, turning purple with rage.
“Really?” Rakel asked coolly, leveling her glacier blue eyes on the colonel. She took a step towards him. “Even though it is Halvor who aided me in freeing villages and encampments? Even though it is Halvor who organized and led the retaking of Glowma, giving orders to hundreds of soldiers who, while not belonging to his company, followed him gladly? He has more than proven his abilities.”
“I will not follow a captain!” Vardr said.
“Then you will leave,” Rakel said.
Vardr backed up into a wall, still sputtering. “B-but, you can’t just—!”
Rakel smiled—not the pleasant one she tried to show the villagers and soldiers, but an icy cold smile of winter. “Can’t I? I am Princess of Verglas. The only one with the power to overturn my decision is my brother. You are free to take your complaint to him, though reaching him will prove to be challenging. You could always try to physically stop me, which, frankly, will end more poorly for you than if you tried to infiltrate Ostfold alone.”
Vardr choked on his self-importance.
“General Halvor,” Tryggvi said, “if I might be so bold as to offer a suggestion. I feel, as the commanding officer, you might find it in your best interest to hold a re-organization of the army—to promote and demote. I’m afraid to say some officers did not act as they ought to while we were occupied. My staff would be glad to share our observations with you.”
Vardr stared at Tryggvi in outrage.
Tryggvi smiled.
“King Steinar will hear about this,” Colonel Vardr declared as he stormed from the room.
I hope he does…it would mean he’s still alive, Rakel thought.
Tryggvi chuckled and clapped three times. “That was the most fun I’ve had since the start of this wretched invasion—you cannot imagine what a pain that man has been since he arrived in Glowma.” He turned to Halvor and smiled kindly at him. “Congratulations on your promotion, General. You are quite deserving of the position.”
“Thank you,” Halvor said.
“If you will excuse me, I must return to the party,” Tryggvi said.
Rakel started to follow the constable, but Halvor said, “Princess?”
She paused. “I will be along in a moment, Tryggvi.”
“Take all the time you need. Good evening, Princess, General.”
Halvor waited until Tryggvi left, then he gestured for Rakel to enter the hallway. “Knut,” Halvor said. He joined her and closed the door to his bedroom.
“Yes, sir!” Knut saluted him and retreated down the hallway. He remained within shouting distance.
Rakel blinked at the change in location. “You’re not concerned that we’ll be overheard?”
“I trust Knut, and as you are a princess we can never be too careful in guarding your reputation,” Halvor said.
Rakel furrowed her brow. “My reputation?” Is he forgetting I was the most infamous being in Verglas until this invasion? I don’t think being spotted alone with him could blacken my status more than that.
Halvor awkwardly cleared his throat. “The pureness of your character, Princess.” The pained expression in his eyes begged her not to question him further.
“Oh. Oh.” Rakel said when she finally understood. “I see. Thank you.” She was tempted to also awkwardly clear her throat, but instead she plunged forward. “You wanted to speak to me, General?”
“I cannot accept this promotion.”
“Oh?”
“To be a major, perhaps, but a general? I would never make such an auspicious post in normal times.”
“Perhaps, but these are not normal times.”
Halvor shook his head. “It’s not right, Princess.”
“Do you think I can trust Colonel Vardr, Halvor?”
“Of course, Princess.”
“With my life?”
Halvor hesitated.
“Do you think I can trust him to guard me when I sleep for hours on end after using too much of my magic?”
He had no answer.
“Do you think he will understand my reluctance to fight? Will he mercifully use the other magic users and me, or will he attempt to wield us like weapons?”
Halvor stared at the floor.
“Perhaps you are right, General. Normally, you would never make such a rank because it seems the Verglas army does not reward those who act with honor. Unfortunately—though both the army as well as myself are reluctant to admit it—I am the driving force behind this resistance. In order to face the Chosen army, I—and other Verglas magic users—are necessary. If ranking officers and liaisons of the army cannot work with us, we will fail, and Verglas will be taken. I chose to make you a general because I am confident in your skills, and I know you are a man to be trusted and respected. So, you have a choice, Halvor. Do you want to free Verglas, or do you wish to follow protocol?”
The silence after her words was long and heavy, and she soon started to feel uncomfortable. Did I say something wrong?
“I’m not worthy, Pr
incess,” Halvor said. Rakel opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “Because I shouldn’t have kept you locked in the mountains for the five years I stood watch. I should have let you go.”
The fight went out of her. “You have no reason to feel guilty. I could have escaped any moment I wanted to.”
“That’s no excuse. I was wrong—our country was wrong.”
Rakel offered him a fragile smile. “If I thought you had wronged me, Halvor, I never would have stayed with you through Fyran, and I certainly wouldn’t have made you general.”
“Thank you, Princess,” Halvor said. He smiled at her, and then offered her a salute—not a bow, but a salute: his personal mark of respect.
Rakel hesitated, then reached out and touched the fingertips of his free hand, squeezing them. “I should return to the party. Oskar will lecture me for skipping out. You should come as well. Oskar can tell you everyone you need to talk to.”
Halvor brushed at his clothes—which were smudged with boot polish. “I shall follow you in a few minutes.”
“Good—oh, but Halvor?”
Halvor paused, halfway into his room. “Yes, Princess?”
“Do you know where Phile is?”
“I believe she said she was going on a hunting trip.”
“So you are talking to her again?”
“No, Princess. She announced it to the room.”
Rakel held in a snort, but she expressed her amusement through a small grin. “I see. Thank you, General.”
“It is my honor, Princess.”
Rakel smiled—refreshed with the bright sun, the chilly air, and the gleeful laughter of Gerta and Kai—and let her shoulders relax.
Halvor and Oskar were hard at work, taking inventory of the army supplies, stock, and soldiers, leaving Rakel free for the day.
“Let’s make snow angels, Kai!”
Free to enjoy the winter weather.
“Your clothes are too thick to make a proper snow angel. It will appear misshapen.”
Free to not have to think of her magic and the deadly ways she could wield it.
“Then how about a snowman?”
“The snow is too light and will not pack—though I believe we could petition Princess Rakel to change this.”