by K. M. Shea
Rakel slowly walked in the direction she thought her room was in. But we need him to work with us. What else can we do?
The following morning, Rakel ruefully inspected the ruin and wreckage she had heaped on the palace flower gardens.
Oskar and General Halvor were spending the day in the city—helping with the reconstruction—and Phile had slipped out with Snorri, to do scout work, probably. As Steinar was still hiding, Rakel had nothing to do…until she remembered that she had lain waste to the flower garden while cursed, and it would not do well to have such a reminder of the possible violence of her magic sitting around.
Rakel scowled out at the ruined gardens as she tried to sooth an itch in the crook of her elbow. It’s been a day, and we still have no plans for the future.
“Come on, Frigid,” she said, gliding into the garden.
Frigid grunted and waddled after her, stopping to sniff a savaged bush.
Rakel started by removing the ice pike from the impaled weeping willow. The tree sagged, and she rushed to support it with an ice structure. “Perhaps there is a magic user who could heal trees?”
Frigid chewed a weed he had torn from the frozen ground.
She brushed an iced-over tree with a fingertip, and the ice retreated. The tree groaned with relief, its branches swaying in the little bit of wind that played in the air. She patted it, and gave the neighboring pine tree similar treatment. She was attempting to right a row of bushes that had been torn from the ground when she realized it was a lost cause. Using wind, she blew the shrubbery into a pile and gazed thoughtfully at the giant open spot. She rubbed her hands together as she struggled to remember flowering bushes from her books and her distant childhood memories.
“How about a rose bush?” Rakel asked, cupping Frigid’s velvet muzzle when he stuck his giant head next to hers and breathed loudly in her ear.
Frigid lipped her hair.
With no one to oppose her, she walked in a circle around the open spot, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Like delicate silversmith work, a rosebush of ice slowly formed. The ice branches and stubby trunk grew first, curling towards the sky. Fragile ice leaves opened next, folding out from each branch in individual shapes. She frosted them, so they would be easier to see than clear ice. She finished with wild rose flowers. She made them the size of her fist, though the petals were so thin, they curled. She added buds and a few half-opened flowers, frosting them slightly in the center, and stepped back to survey her work.
It wasn’t bad for a plant sculpture. Rakel mostly enjoyed sculpting animals (plants didn’t vary quite as much, and animal textures were more fun to carve), but this would do for now.
She started to smile but then realized she and Frigid were not alone. She crouched next to the ice bush and discreetly peered over her shoulder. Her heart shuddered when she realized Steinar stood on the palace patio, watching her—and her rose bush sculpture.
Rakel gulped and placed a hand on Frigid to steady herself when she stood. What is he doing? She hurried to a tree and began removing ice from it.
As the ice encasing its roots cracked and began to peel off, she risked another glance over her shoulder. Steinar was staring at the sculpted bush with an indecipherable expression.
It wasn’t fear or anger, but…curiosity, perhaps? Though the corners of his mouth tugged down, it held a hint of a wry smile. Her guess was further confirmed by his relaxed stance and the way he leaned forward against the banister.
Rakel took ice off a bush and mulled over her observations. She glanced at her younger brother again, flicked snowflakes off her hand, and then made her way to another unoccupied hole. She checked the pins in her hair that kept her braid coiled as she mentally paged through the diagrams and pictures she had spent countless hours studying, eventually deciding on an apple tree.
Finally ready, Rakel tapped her magic. A tree trunk shot out of the ground, growing bumps and ridges that resembled tree bark. It was a little more challenging to build as it was easily twice the size of the bush, but she smiled in satisfaction as the branches stretched high above her head and grew small, veined leaves. Last, Rakel made the apple blossoms. They were just a little bigger than the pad of her thumb, each petal individually formed.
Encouraged by the beauty, Rakel made a bed of icy, frosted daisies. Each flower was so delicate, the stems could be broken like crystal. She moved farther into the gardens and made a white pine tree and rows upon rows of heather—a brightly flowered, unassuming, but sweet-smelling plant…and one of the few flowers Rakel had seen since her mountain exile. She turned around, intending to ask Frigid what he thought of the heather—it was difficult to build as the flowers and leaves were tiny—and was surprised to discover that Steinar had followed her deep into the gardens and was perhaps twenty feet away, studying the bell-like flowers of a lily of the valley she had made.
When he noticed her gaze, he stood up, his expression guarded.
Rakel pulled her eyes off of him and set about building an ice fountain—only half-paying attention to the sculpture.
What could I build that would reassure him? Done with the ice fountain, she fussed over Frigid’s halter—making the reindeer snort when she accidentally pulled on his cheek hair. She ignored his reaction and tugged on her magic. Her power in hand, Rakel began to mold a human-shaped statue, first building the torso, arms, and legs, then creating the head, giving it muted features to start with. Thinking back to some of Oskar’s outfits, she clothed the statue in an icy outfit that was a perfect copy, down to the embroidery and the velvet texture.
Next, she placed a sword in one hand and a scepter in the other, then turned her attention to the face, giving it a hawkish nose, a strong chin, and high cheekbones.
Behind her, Steinar stirred.
She continued her work, giving him slightly mussed hair, and finished the statue with an ornate crown. Rakel couldn’t remember what the Verglas crown looked like, but she had seen several drawings of various crowns, so she fashioned a new one for him, cutting the ice into prism shapes so it glittered.
She took several steps back and, in a practiced gesture she hadn’t used in a while, clasped her hands together and pressed them into her stomach. She held her breath as snow crunched under Steinar’s feet. It took him several minutes, but eventually he joined her so they stood shoulder to shoulder, close enough that their arms would brush if either moved.
Steinar studied the statue, his eyes tracing his features, the crown, and the sword.
Rakel’s throat stuck, and she had to swallow twice before her voice obeyed her and she was able to speak. “You don’t have to fear me, Steinar. I mean you no harm.”
“I know,” he whispered. He moved, and Rakel felt a butterfly touch on her arm—the lightest of brushes. Steinar left her, trudging through the garden and towards the palace.
She watched him leave, her slight smile threatening to bloom into an idiotic grin. “He can be reached,” she whispered. “Not today, and maybe not tomorrow…but soon.”
Her laughter broke free, and she threw her arms around Frigid, hugging the unimpressed reindeer. When she released him, he trotted off, intending to leave her behind, and then bellowed in shock when Rakel threw herself onto his boney back.
Joy and laughter bubbled in her heart. She had friends; she had managed to save her brother—not to mention that she beat Farrin—and they had recovered Ostfold. She couldn’t recall a happier time.
CHAPTER 18
REALIZATIONS
“Both of your mothers gave you permission to travel to Ostfold with your grandmother, Gerta?” Rakel asked, allowing Kai to cling to her arm. Gerta’s bright yellow cloak bent next to a tree. She must’ve found entrance to the rabbit’s warren she’d been searching for.
They were strolling across the flat plains that jutted between Ostfold and the forest, supposedly to give the children a chance to play, but also so Rakel could relax and stop worrying about all the palace servants and refugees watching her.
“I am surprised your mother allowed it,” Rakel said.
“I had to do many chores and voice many appeals before she said yes.” Kai said, his little-boy voice as grave as ever.
Phile cut into a block of cheese with Foedus as she walked. “Why did Gerta’s grandmother need to come to Ostfold in the first place?”
“General Halvor sent for her,” Kai said. “She was in contact with some of her friends even after the cities were occupied by Chosen forces. And General Halvor wants her to tell him how she did it.”
Phile handed Kai a piece of the cheese. “That is an impressive feat. I shall have to ask her myself how she accomplished it.”
Kai let go of Rakel so he could eat. Gerta’s marigold hood bounced farther into the forest as if she were skipping.
“Grandmother Hilda is very wise,” Kai said.
“So I gathered. Cheese, Little Wolf?”
“No, thank you. Gerta!” Rakel called. “Stay where we can see you!”
“Not hungry?” Phile asked.
“I am, but I would prefer not to eat anything that has touched Foedus’s blade.”
“See, here! I wash it thoroughly whenever I use it,” Phile complained.
“I don’t see you eating that cheese,” Rakel said.
Phile rolled her eyes and stuffed a piece in her mouth. “Happy?” She swallowed and wiped her lips. “Do you still see Gerta?”
“No, I’ll go get her,” Rakel said. “We should begin walking back to Ostfold anyway.” She glanced over her shoulder where the capital sprawled.
“I won’t argue.” Phile cut a large chunk off the block of cheese and popped it in her mouth. “I’m getting fiercely lonesome for Handsome Halvor and Ogle-worthy Oskar.”
“What does ogle mean?” Kai asked.
Rakel thrust a finger in Phile’s direction. “You will not explain that to him,” she forbid. She stepped into the shade of the forest, following Gerta’s tracks.
Gerta had apparently moved much faster than anticipated, for Rakel followed her tracks for five minutes until she found the little girl, talking to a tall man who had hair the color of black tea.
“Gerta.” Rakel clenched her hands into fists and tapped her magic.
Gerta and her companion—Farrin Graydim—turned to face her.
“Princess! There you are—Mr. Graydim said he was looking for you,” Gerta said, skipping towards Rakel.
Rakel caught the little girl her by her shoulders. “Gerta, I want you to follow your tracks back to Phile, and tell her you met Mr. Graydim. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Princess!” She bowed and hopped on her way.
“Run, Gerta,” Rakel said, not daring to turn her back to Farrin. Though she hoped this would be like their other private meetings—civil, not hostile—she wasn’t willing to risk her welfare and relax.
Farrin held his hands up as he drew closer to her. “Your Highness,” he said.
“Colonel Graydim, what brings you this close to Ostfold?” Rakel asked, forming five ice swords and setting them spinning in a circle around Farrin.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“I find that unlikely,” Rakel snorted. “You came back to spy—or for your sword.”
“Before you took Glowma, you asked me why the Chosen wished to take over Verglas. I told you it was to claim a land for our own, and you—”
“Won’t believe it any more now than I did then,” she warned him.
“I have since found the real reason for my superior’s Verglas aspirations.”
Rakel regained some of her poise. “Oh?”
“Indeed. I had to assign one of my men—pardon, women—to spy on Chosen officers in order to ferret out the information.”
“Why would you do that? You seemed to hold great confidence in your superiors’ goals,” Rakel warily asked.
“Because what you said had some sense to it. Tactically speaking, Verglas is not a good country to take as our first land. Yet, since the beginning of our conquest, our leader has said again and again that it must be Verglas we take.” Farrin took a step closer and ignored the ice-swords that glittered like diamonds as they spun around him.
“What did you find?” Rakel asked, only half-believing he would share the information with her.
“The Chosen marched upon Verglas because there is a particular magical artifact that can be reached only by traveling through here. It is a mirror, and it is located in the northern mountain range, past the borders of your country.”
“A mirror?”
He nodded. “Several key leaders of the Chosen possess shards of the mirror,” he said, reminding Rakel how Phile had presented her with a mirror shard, claiming one of the Chosen leaders always looked at it. “I do not know why they want it, but I imagine it has something to do with power.”
Power? If they are only in Verglas for the mirror, what is their end goal? How much land will it take before they are satisfied?
“Why are you telling me this?” Rakel asked. “If anything, this strengthens my conviction against your cause.”
“I thought it would. If you didn’t find land a good reason to invade, it was even less likely you would approve of a mirror.” A smirk played on his lips.
“Then why?”
Farrin tilted his head, and she felt as if he were staring straight into her soul with his gray eyes. “I’m telling you because I respect you. Don’t you respect me?”
“Yes, but with the same respect I hold for the edge of a sword,” Rakel said.
Farrin smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I also wanted to warn you. If you insist on war, there is something you need to know.”
Rakel pushed a tendril of her snow-white hair out of her face. “Oh?”
“The leader of the Allegiance of the Chosen Army is a man named Tenebris Malus. The loss of Ostfold hasn’t been reported yet, but when he finds out, he will travel north. If he meets you, he will kill you.”
Rakel’s heart faltered, until she used icy dignity to calm herself. “For most of my life, I have dealt with death threats.”
Farrin shook his head. “Not like this. Tenebris won’t be satisfied with merely ending your life; he will rip your mind from you piece by piece. The curse you were inflicted with? That is his power.”
“And you willingly follow him?” Rakel asked, finding it difficult to accept. Whenever she encountered Farrin, she was usually flooded with fear, but not because she thought he would do something foul to her. If she was being honest, he reminded her a little bit of the knights in one of her few storybooks. Why would he follow someone so twisted?
“He saved my life. Without him, I would be dead—or worse,” Farrin said.
As Rakel wondered what the ominous “or worse,” was, his eyes flickered beyond her, and she heard a faint “Little Wolf!”
“I see it is time for me to go,” he said. In spite of his words, he drew closer to her. “Do not worry; your capital is safe, for now. Though I would appreciate it if you would return my property to me.”
“No,” Rakel said flatly.
Farrin breathed out in what might have been considered a hushed chuckle. She eyed him as he leaned into her, and she was about to point out the ice swords floating around them when he surprised her by kissing her on the cheek. He lingered longer than was friendly, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. It was foreign, strange, and gentle like sunlight. Just as the warmth of his lips threatened to spread through Rakel’s body, he withdrew.
Rakel stared blankly at him. The bestowal of his kiss had caught her entirely off guard and unprepared, and it made her realize there was another reason why he gave her information. Yes, he very much resembles a storybook knight. Her eyes traced the scar that crossed his nose and cheek bones. But what kind of terrible things has he seen that have given him such a strange combination of formidableness and vulnerability?
“Be well, Your Highness.”
Finally aware of the bit of power she had over him, Rakel let her minty magic flood her for reassurance. Farrin was only two steps away from her when she asked, “Why do you return to them?”
Farrin turned around, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.
“You obviously disagree with whatever nefarious business is involved with the mirror—and with the actions of your leader. In spite of your protests, I do not think the idea of enslaving non-magic users pleases you. Why work with them?”
“Because they are all I’ve ever had.”
Rakel felt a moment of empathy. She would do much to keep Phile, Oskar, and Captain Halvor safe. But even I—starved for acceptance and friendship—am not stupid enough to befriend someone as evil as his leader!
Recalling the tenderness of his kiss, Rakel asked, “And could nothing entice you to leave them?”
Farrin raised both of his eyebrows and shook his head, although the corners of his mouth curled up gently. He looked beyond Rakel again and, with a swirl of his cloak and a bit of his speed magic, disappeared.
Phile skid to a stop at Rakel’s side. “Are you alright? Did he try to shake you down for his sword?”
“No,” Rakel said. “He came only to give me information.”
“That man. He’s not very innovative,” Phile sighed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“We need to return to Ostfold to tell General Halvor what he told me.”
“Alright, let’s go. I left the children with Frigid. They’ve probably pulled his tail by now. Ugh, running in all these clothes has made me sweaty,” Phile complained as she set out back the way she had come.
Rakel, however, stared off to where Farrin had disappeared. He liked her—romantically. It had taken the kiss for her to realize it—though in her defense, she had never encountered nor entertained thoughts about romantic love before. It seemed trivial when her greatest desire was that people would stop trying to kill her—but his every touch and look declared it.
He couldn’t possibly love her—he didn’t know her well enough to delude himself into that emotion—but Rakel suspected that with a little encouragement, he would likely be open to the idea. And if that were true, perhaps he could be convinced to leave the Chosen. It was a calculating thought, but Rakel also suspected that luring him away from the Chosen would save him—as Phile, Oskar, and Captain Halvor had saved her.