Heart of Ice (The Snow Queen #1)(41)

“You’re leaving?”

Phile leaned against the doorframe. “Oskar and the captain would flog me if I didn’t tell them you were awake. They’ve been clucking over you like vicious hens until about half an hour ago when they had to make rounds.”

Half an hour? “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Two, almost three hours. We would have worried more, but an herbwoman and an army healer said your breathing was clear and your heart strong.”

The warm water soured in Rakel’s stomach. Three hours? She was uneasy with the idea of being unresponsive for such a time—she was normally a light sleeper and was confident she would wake up if someone disturbed her… It was discomfiting to know that her body could rebel, and she could do nothing to stop it.

“Halvor said you overextended yourself with that wall and hit your magical limit on your powers,” Phile added.

Rakel opened her mouth to scoff at the idea—if her magic was a glacier, she had yet to find the bottom—but she paused, considering the idea. I wasn’t in danger of using all my available magic…but that is the first time I have so extensively used my powers. Fighting Farrin and his associates had already chipped away at me, and the wall was bigger, thicker, and laced with more of my power than any part of my castle. What if it is not my limit…but my price? While Rakel mulled over the idea, Phile slipped out the door.

“I’ll bring you back something to eat, but I suggest you prepare yourself for your big, hairy mothers,” she called. She shut the door, leaving Rakel alone.

Rakel shut her eyes and kneaded her forehead. She allowed herself the luxury of lying down. Soon, after she ate and was able to think more clearly, she would speak to Captain Halvor and Oskar about her…price.

Captain Halvor said most magic users have limits, not prices. Is it good that I have a price, and not a limit? My lack of understanding is frustrating. Considering I am the one who wields magic, it is almost laughable that Captain Halvor and Oskar are more superiorly informed. Perhaps they were briefed in magic when they joined my retinue.

She let her arms drop. Maybe Phile is right. Perhaps my distrust is unwarranted paranoia.

She considered the notion, but the sound of the door clicking stirred her attention. She was about to force herself to sit up and greet her attendant and guard captain but was surprised when only one set of footsteps moved across her room in short, choppy strides. Whoever it was, they didn’t seem to know that she was awake, for they said nothing.

Rakel opened her eyes a fraction so she could see through her eyelashes. It took her a few moments to identify Aleifr. The cheerful, ruddy-faced soldier was breathing heavily, and sweat beaded his upper lip.

Is he ill? All of Rakel’s thoughts stilled when he drew closer to her bed and raised both of his hands above his head, his trembling fingers clenching a dagger. When he started to swing his hands down, Rakel reacted explosively.

She hit him with her ice magic, forming a block of ice around his hands and the dagger as she sat up, avoiding the blow.

Aleifr cried out like a wounded bird, and Rakel shoved him back with a block of ice, sending him crashing into the crude, wooden chair. She lunged for the door and threw her powers at him one last time. She gave him a fleeting glance and watched as her ice magic encased his feet and legs and moved up his torso. She sprang outside, slamming the door behind her.

Snorri and Knut had just rounded the corner, and they both blinked at her sudden appearance. “Princess—” Knut started.

Rakel ran before he could say anything more, her mind racing as fast as her pounding heart. I was right. They want to kill me. The unpleasant thought ran a constant path through her mind.

She sprinted through the encampment, aware and not caring that frost crawled across the buildings parallel to her—an expression of her panic.

“Little Wolf!” Phile yelled.

Rakel kept running. The wind kicked up, and snowflakes spiraled through the sky—lighting up in the last rays of the setting sun.

“Princess, where are you going?” little Gerta shouted.

Rakel still didn’t stop. When she passed the last building, a wall of ice flew up behind her and encompassed half the encampment, giving her a head start. As she ran toward the trees, the whipping wind scattered the snow of the drifts, covering her tracks. A bell rang in the camp, but when Rakel reached the forest, the trees muted it.

The sun was gone, and night fell, but Rakel kept running. Fear and panic dragged her forward. She darted around trees and looked wildly over her shoulder, paranoid she could hear men shouting. She dodged a tree—and Rakel was thrown backwards by a black shape hurtling through the woods at impossible speed.

She braced for impact, preparing herself to hit the ground, but the black shape caught her.

“Rakel, you’re alive.” Farrin’s voice seeped with relief.

Rakel gaped up at him. He didn’t smile—at least, his lips weren’t shaped in a smile—but his eyes were soft with something that considerably emphasized his handsome features. Even the harshness of his scar seemed to soften.

“Were you hurt?” he asked. Rakel tried to scramble out of his grasp, but he held her an arm’s length away and looked her up and down, apparently not trusting her to answer truthfully.

“By your tame snow bear, yes,” she growled.

“Bunny is a magic user—I am disappointed you didn’t realize that.” His eyes lingered on her bandaged side and arm. “So the soldier didn’t kill you?”