Sacrifice (The Snow Queen #2)(13)

Rakel’s chin shot up. “I did not steal it; I won it.”

“I certainly remember you collapsing.” Farrin stopped an arm’s length away from her. “You dropped so fast. I…”

Rakel kept her face and posture passive, though she was on high alert. After retaking Ostfold, it had become obvious that Farrin had feelings for her. But even if he appears to care for me, I do not trust him. He may believe that it is in my best interests to be kidnapped and hustled out of the country. “As you can see, I am fine. Did you want something?” She would have taken a step away from him—and the intensity he radiated—if it wouldn’t have felt like admitting defeat.

“No,” Farrin said, surprising her.

“No? Then you are here to gather information about the soldiers we defeated?”

“Those mercenaries are neither my men nor my responsibility,” Farrin said.

“I see,” Rakel said. She waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.

Farrin said nothing but scanned her, as if memorizing her. He unconsciously traced his white scar with a gloved finger, and his eyes—which were gray like wet rock—held a passion that unsettled her. Never had anyone gazed at her with so much feeling.

Rakel kept her mouth shut and fought her inclination to babble in the awkward moment.

When Farrin shifted, she almost sagged in relief, believing the intense moment to be over. Instead, she was shocked when Farrin moved in and slowly, as if she were a wild animal, placed his hands on her waist. His eyes were locked on hers, watching for a reaction.

What? Something is bothering him. He isn’t typically so…demonstrative. “What’s wrong?” Rakel asked. Although his hands rested on her hips, he hadn’t pulled her against him, making it easy enough to meet his gaze.

Farrin exhaled. “Everything.”

Rakel opened her mouth to speak, but his pained expression seemed too deep for a few polite words to soothe. She wracked her mind, trying to think of anything she had read or heard that could be of assistance. She came up empty-handed. Why hasn’t anyone written a handbook of appropriate emotional responses? That would be far more informational than some of the trite things I’ve found in the royal library! In her desperation, Rakel recalled the great comfort she found in embracing Phile, or Gerta and Kai.

She peered up into Farrin’s eyes—which were excruciatingly hopeful. I hope I don’t regret this, but I do not think his actions are a ploy. Hesitantly, Rakel drew a little closer to him.

Farrin took her movement as an invitation, and pulled her flush against his chest and tightened his grip on her waist, sliding an arm behind her back.

Rakel let him cradle her, though her nerves prickled. It’s very different—hugging a man…but it’s not an unpleasant difference. Phile’s hugs spilled over with merriment, and Gerta and Kai’s were warm—like freshly baked bread. Farrin’s was…deeper. It felt different, being gently held against his tall, lean body. Rakel was taller than most of her comrades, but Farrin was taller still. His body molded around hers like a shield.

Rakel, recalling the protocol of a proper hug, reluctantly slid her arms around Farrin’s waist. The tension in his body seemed to drain away, and his stance became more lax.

Satisfied her idea had done him some good, she patted his back the same way she patted Frigid—her giant, bull reindeer. Farrin exhaled a faint trace of a chuckle, and his breath tickled her ear.

The longer the embrace stretched on, the more embarrassed Rakel felt. Her cheeks and even her toes grew warm as Farrin draped his arms around her. When her fingertips began to heat up, she cleared her throat and dropped her arms from Farrin’s torso.

He took a step back, his reluctance to let go clear in the slow way he disengaged from her. “Thank you,” he said.

Rakel busied herself with settling her cloak so she wouldn’t have to look him in the face. “You’re welcome.” He seems improved. Good. Though I do not share his affection, he is…what is he to me? She frowned, perplexed by the question. Farrin was not her companion or comrade, but she wouldn’t call him her enemy anymore, either.

“Have you found the mirror yet?” Farrin’s question shattered her thoughts.

“No. Nor do any of the texts in the royal library contain a reference to it.” Rakel gratefully dove into the safer, less emotionally charged subject.

“But you still believe me?”

“Yes.”

A calculating light entered his eyes. “Ahh, so you have Kavon’s chip of the mirror, then?”

They did. Phile had given it to Rakel when she first joined their motley crew. But she wasn’t going to confirm it for his knowledge. “What?” she asked instead.

“I didn’t find out about the mirror shards until recently. Tenebris has one, as does Sunnira—she was the one you encountered in the Palace gardens.”

“What a lovely woman.” Bitterness dripped from Rakel’s words. Sunnira was one of Farrin’s healers, the one who had made it her mission to kill Rakel. She had slapped a curse—one crafted by Tenebris—on Rakel during the Ostfold invasion.

“You might be able to use the mirror shard to find the mirror—though I don’t know how,” Farrin said.

“Magical artifacts are not your forte?”

He shifted, the long lines of his body betraying no signs of fright or nerves. “That, and I am supposed to know nothing of the mirror. No one but Tenebris’s oldest friends seem to have any knowledge of it.”