Heart of Ice (The Snow Queen #1)(27)

Rakel deliberated for a moment, then drew closer to the seated companions. “Why do you call her the Snow Queen? She’s a princess.”

“There’re different sorts of royalty—the most common being those born by blood,” Yngvarr said. “But sometimes, there’s a special sort of person who’s so noble and honorable in spite of personal tragedy that they deserve the same reverence. That would be our Snow Queen.”

“I know she’s noble and honorable because we are bosom friends.” Phile twisted in her chair to glance at Rakel. She nodded to her, and then cast her eyes back on her conversation partners. “But how do you folk know she’s so good?

“You do not have to know a man—or woman—personally to know that they are good,” Tryggvi said. “We know the Snow Queen is noble, or she would stand with the invaders. No, her actions speak loud enough for the entire country to hear.”

“The title is also a result of her magic; she all but rules winter,” Pordis dryly added. “You are quite poetic considering you’re a woodsman, Yngvarr.”

“Thank you,” he chuckled.

Rakel stood in the shadows and felt like a fraud. Their estimation of her character did not make her feel any more inclined to trust—humans were too disposed towards betrayal for that—but she knew she wasn’t noble or honorable. She had been reluctant to take any action at all.

Phile abandoned her chair. “We thank you for your welcome, but I’m thawed out and ready to continue our tour, so we had best take our leave. Right, Kel?”

“I don’t know why you pretend my thoughts count,” Rakel said.

“There’s that bright nature of yours I love so much! Tryggvi, Pordis, it was lovely meeting you. Perhaps I will call upon you again, soon—especially you, Pordis. The sound of a guild interests me.”

“Take care, Robber Maiden,” the merchant said, a half-smile playing at her lips.

Yngvarr’s chair sagged in relief when he stood. “Frida is gone tending to a sick friend; she’ll be sad she missed you. Any idea when you’ll be by again?”

“Soon,” Phile said, her smile was extra toothy and almost savage. “And I’ll bring more companions with me.”

“We’ll look forward to it,” Yngvarr said, his hand on the door.

“Scouting?” Rakel murmured to Phile.

“Ah, right. I don’t suppose any of you know if there are any particularly empty parts of Glowma?” Phile asked as she put on her mittens and scarf.

Tryggvi frowned. “I can’t say I do…. The municipal building is filled to the brim—it serves as a regional headquarters for the Chosen army.”

Pordis sighed. “Merchant’s Lane is abandoned—’tis a sorry sight to see.”

Yngvarr smoothed his beard. “There’s the stables. When the Chosen first arrived, they shipped most of our horses south. There’s a few domesticated animals left, but they stay with the families that own ’em.”

“The stables, wonderful. Thank you!” Phile said in a sing-song voice. “Take care!” Yngvarr opened the door for her, and she stepped outside. “By the King’s toes—it’s wretched out here! Come on, Kel.”

Phile scurried into the street, hopping and jumping like a sparrow searching for food. “You people are crazy for living in a frozen tundra.”

Rakel offered their host a bow, then followed her. “It’s the middle of winter. I’m not sure what else you would expect.”

“The ability to feel my toes, that’s what! Come on. Let’s go get a look at the municipal buildings and the stables—they’re located near each other, and there are two gates a stone’s throw away from them. It might be a good location for you.”

Rakel fell in line with her and, in a rare moment of pettiness, took care to throw her cloak wide—unbothered by the wind that streamed through her clothes.

“You disgust me,” Phile grunted as they turned up a side street. “And if I lose my nose to frostbite, I’m going to blame you.”

“It’s not that cold. You would have to stay outside for several hours to manage that.”

“I, for once, don’t wish to test that time frame—especially as I am a delicate, Baris desert flower.”

“You have the delicacy of a wild boar.”

Phile gave a honk of laughter. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a wicked sense of humor when you allow yourself to stop worrying what people think of you?”

Rakel gathered her cape around her, a little uncomfortable with her own forthrightness. “No.”

“Well, you do. You should let it out more often—let it get some fresh air and sunshine. Though up here, you might accidentally let it freeze to death. Careful, now, we’re almost there.”

When they rounded a corner, a small courtyard opened up in front of them—which Rakel eyed with consideration.

“This is it. The big one is the municipal building Tryggvi mentioned, and it’s the one we want,” Phile said, pointing to the structure that crowned the courtyard. It was two-story, painted white, and supported by dark columns of wood. A tower jutted up from the center of the building—although calling it a tower was generous. Rakel didn’t think it was much over three stories high—the tower of her ice-castle reached much higher.