Heart of Ice (The Snow Queen #1)(2)

The wind mussed Oskar’s red hair. “Your home and Fyran—the village that houses the soldiers and me and supplies your food—are still free. For now.”

Rakel held in a frown. “I see.” It was a shock to learn her homeland was almost no more. “From what country does our enemy come?”

“Not a country, but an organization.”

“Of whom?”

Oskar tapped his chin. “Wielders of magic—though they have armies of foot soldiers who have sworn allegiance to them. Reports say, however, that the armies are mostly made up of mercenaries, bandits, and other such ilk. It’s the magic users who rule.”

Rakel’s knees buckled, making her take a step forward to keep from falling in a heap.

Magic users? People like me?

“My request, Princess, is that you would save Fyran. The invaders have sent a troupe of soldiers—no magic users, just mercenary foot soldiers. They intend to march on it tonight. If it is not properly defended, the mercenaries will rip the citizens to shreds, and the village will be destroyed,” Oskar said.

A war raged in Rakel’s heart.

I should leave them to reap their rewards. They treat me like a monster when all I have done is strive to be unthreatening.

She remembered her lonely childhood, the fear that her family would order her put down—like an unwanted animal. Above all, she could still hear the whispers. Monster. Freak. Darkness-touched.

The soft part of her heart—the side that pushed her to appear as unassuming as possible, the side that longed for acceptance, pulled in the opposite direction. But if I help them…things might change.

Oskar cleared his throat, drawing Rakel from her thoughts. The temperature of the air had dropped under her unconscious influence. Oskar exhaled silvery puffs, and the soldiers now pressed themselves against the wooden wall. The one holding the crossbow shook as he held his weapon aimed in her direction.

“No,” Rakel said, her deliberation over. “I will not aid Fyran.”

Oskar tilted his head and studied her with an uncomfortable amount of scrutiny. “The villagers are innocents, Princess. They will be slaughtered in the most brutal of ways.”

The soldier possessing a spear lowered it into a fighting stance, fortifying Rakel’s decision. No matter what good I do, I will always be feared. “I’m afraid whatever sympathy I had has long since turned to ice in my prison. I will not risk myself for a people who despise me.”

“They despise you because they fear you.”

“And whose fault is that? What terrible acts have I committed—besides having the misfortune to be born?”

“Nothing, Princess,” Oskar said, brutally honest. “I’m aware the request is asking a great deal of you because you have done nothing. But it’s my home. The mindset against magic is the only thing Verglas—and the continent—has known. The invaders—”

“Yes. The magic-using invaders. What of them?” Rakel asked, her snark piercing her armor of apathy.

Oskar was unperturbed by the bitterness in her voice. “They ravage whatever they touch, no matter if they fight against soldiers or civilians.”

“It sounds to me they are likely paying back whatever treatment they encountered before banding together,” Rakel said dryly. “Perhaps I should come with you to Fyran so I can welcome my kindred with open arms.”

“They are not like you, Princess. They seek to kill and destroy.”

She hesitated, caught off-guard by the observation. Everyone in Verglas thought she was a creature of darkness. Why did he disagree? Wasn’t his pleasantness to her just a mark of his character? She took two steps closer to him, studying his open expression. “Do you—”

Click.

Rakel’s ice magic barely reacted in time, raising a spike of ice that intercepted the crossbow bolt aimed for her heart.

The bolt quivered, half-buried in ice, and Rakel looked from it to the petrified guard who had taken the shot.

He slumped to his knees, and his brother-in-arms stepped in front of him, determined to defend him even as he sweated in fear.

Oskar’s charming smile was gone. He had taken several steps towards her and then frozen, staring at the column of ice. He turned to look at the soldiers. Whatever his expression held, it made the one with the crossbow tremble.

Rakel breathed deeply. The cold air made her lungs ache. “Leave.”

“Princess—”

“Just leave,” she hissed.

“As you wish.” Oskar retreated, following the soldiers out of the enclosure. When the wooden gate swung shut behind them, Rakel let herself cry.

She didn’t howl or scream in her grief, even though her heart wanted to. Instead, she sank to the floor and slumped against the wall, her magic a cold comfort as a few tears slid down her face and froze to her cheeks.

No matter how many times people had tried to kill her, the realization that they wanted her dead never hurt any less.

I’m glad for the invaders, she thought darkly. I hate this land!



At dusk, Rakel stood on the balcony of the smallest tower in her self-constructed ice-castle. The temperature dropped with the winter sun, but she wore only a Bunad—a linen shirt, black wool skirts, and a black vest—and a black cloak that fastened at her neck and fell to her thighs. Her massive castle sat nestled against the peak of the mountain, and pine forests spread around it like a dark blanket, but she could see the gap in the treetops where Fyran stood.