Long May She Reign(96)

Sten stepped out of a large tent as we approached. Good. The more eyes on us, the better.

“Freya,” he said, as we approached. “You’ve come to surrender?”

“Torsten Wolff.” Say the person’s name first, make them feel known. Madeleine had always said it helped people to like you, but perhaps it might be unsettling, too. “I’ve come to negotiate.”

“I don’t negotiate with murderers.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a murderer. And neither, I think, are you. Stop this, Sten, before more people die.”

“If they die, it’ll be because of you.” Sten stepped forward. The light of the campfire flickered on his face, emphasizing the gauntness of his cheekbones. “You are outnumbered. And you still want to fight?”

“I don’t want to fight. You’re the one attacking the city.” The words were rehearsed, uninspired, but that was fine. As long as he acted as we’d predicted, I’d be fine. “Where is my father?”

“Safe. And well. But not here. He’ll be dealt with justly.”

“If you are just, then you will take your men away and surrender now. I have done nothing to hurt you.”

“Nothing? You have torn this kingdom apart. You killed my friends.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.” But Sten’s expression did not change. He was convinced that I was the murderer, that he was doing the right thing. He truly wanted justice for his friend. It would destroy him, I thought, to know his cousin had been the one who poisoned them. For him to be so convinced, and so wrong . . . but I couldn’t change his mind with words now. I had to stick to the part I’d written for myself.

“Aren’t you afraid, Sten?” I stepped closer to him, fear and anticipation thrumming through me. “The Forgotten protected me, put me on the throne. Aren’t you afraid they’ll punish you for trying to fight me?”

Sten stared back at me, nothing but hatred in his eyes. “You were not built for threats, Freya.”

“Yet you claim I’m built for murder.” Don’t flinch, I told myself. Don’t blink, don’t hesitate, don’t react at all. I simply had to wait. “You are a fool, Torsten Wolff.” I let the words hang in the air, fighting the urge to fill the quiet, waiting for my men to take the signal.

Sten’s soldiers gasped. It had begun. I couldn’t let myself turn my head, couldn’t break the image of defiance I was creating, but I was dying to look. I could only picture what was happening around me, the magic of it. The shadowy images moving across the tents, the way they shuddered and scampered and grew. Ghosts, or the angry forms of the Forgotten, flitting around the camp like creatures from their nightmares.

“The Forgotten will not like you attacking their queen, Sten,” I said. The words echoed through the camp.

One of the images danced across the tent behind him, clear in my field of vision, and I fought the urge to grin. It was perfect. So perfect. A few men hidden about the camp, some small magic lanterns, a few words from me on how to make the images seem to grow or move. They were just shapes on card, just pictures, concealed images dancing in the firelight, but by using the tents as lit screens, by making the figures move and loom, I’d created something new. No one seeing them could know they were a trick, not for certain, not in the dark fear of an army camp on the night before battle. It would be enough to put them on edge, and that was all I needed, for now.

“There’s no need for bloodshed,” I said, my voice ringing through the camp. “Anyone who stands down will be welcome in my kingdom. But the Forgotten are here, and they do not have pity for traitors and blasphemers.” I stared straight into Sten’s eyes, my face like steel, and saw a flicker of uncertainty there.

Then the flicker was gone, and he spat at my feet. The whole camp seemed to recoil. “Get out.”

“It’s your choice, Torsten Wolff. I hope you choose well.” I walked away, leaving my guards to follow. Every eye in the camp watched me leave. I did not stop until I was beyond the edge of the camp, until I was past the city walls, up the hill, and into the Fort. It was only when I was in the dungeons that I let out a shaky breath and slumped against a wall, my nerves shuddering through me. My hands, so steady when confronting Sten, would not stop shaking.

It went well, I told myself. It went well. But I kept reliving it in my head, going over every word, trying to recall Sten’s expressions, the gasps from the crowd. Had they believed me? Or had they been mocking me, a whole crowd seeing through my disguise?

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. I had to carry on regardless, to fight the only way I knew.

Naomi and Fitzroy were already in my laboratory, preparing for the second part of the plan. “Did it work?” Naomi asked, when I walked through the door.

“I don’t know.” I couldn’t think about it anymore. I had to move. I braided my hair as I walked toward my leather gloves. “There’s a lot more to do. Time to get to work.”





THIRTY-TWO


DAWN APPROACHED, AND I WAS READY. MY SPIES HAD harried the camp all night, sending phantoms crawling across tent walls and creating strange, haunting noises, preventing anyone from sleeping.

The Forgotten were not amused.

I worked through the night in the laboratory, too focused to feel even slightly tired. I had too much to prepare, too many theories to test and test again. Now I caught a glimpse of my reflection as I pulled off my leather gloves. I had soot on my nose, and my hair was a tangle of frizz around my face. I should have been afraid, should have been terrified, but all I felt was calm. Calm, and focused. It was finally time to do something, to act, to fight. I stroked Dagny, taking strength from her presence.