Sacrifice (The Snow Queen #2)(3)
When Tenebris had saved Farrin some odd years earlier from a life of slavery and slaughter, Farrin thought Tenebris the most powerful magic user on the continent. He’d always assumed the heavy atmosphere that followed Tenebris was because of his immense power. After all, besides Rakel, Farrin had never met another individual so saturated with power.
But Rakel does not have the same air. She commands respect without fear—and she is not heavy. She is light—and very bright.
Farrin’s shoulders lost some of their stiffness as he pictured the beautiful, snow-haired princess and her expressive blue eyes. Is it because of the difference in their powers, or in their characters? Farrin grunted in disgust. She has addled me. The midnight flavor of Tenebris never bothered me previously.
“Forgive me if I’m out of line, Colonel, but do you agree with Tenebris’s plan?” Bunny’s voice was hushed as they passed a campfire.
“To kill Princess Rakel?”
“No. To slaughter Verglas citizens.”
Farrin stopped walking.
“Yeah.” Bunny scuffed her boot in the trampled snow. “That was my first time seeing our leader up close.”
“I see.” Farrin stretched his memory and recalled that Bunny had been recruited in Farset and had served as his head scout in his regiment ever since. He studied their surroundings, searching for any spies who would sniff out a whisper of doubt and drag it back to Tenebris. There was no one except for Bunny and himself. “What did you observe?”
“He reminds me of a snake,” she said.
Farrin adjusted the cuffs of his uniform, buying time so he could construct a careful reply. “He is very cunning.”
“Forgive me for my words, Colonel, but I don’t like gettin’ up close with something that could eat a bunny for breakfast.”
“He’s different,” Farrin said. “He wasn’t always this…”
Bunny smiled grimly. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
Farrin reached for his broadsword—which still wasn’t there—and settled for rubbing the white scar that sliced across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. I joined Tenebris because I respected him, and I owe him my life. But I never imagined—
He ruthlessly cut his thoughts off when he realized he was staring at Ensom Peak. I must live with my decision. Even she would be hard-pressed to extend mercy to the killers of her countrymen.
“Sir?” Bunny asked.
Farrin sighed. “Have two horses prepared. We’re going on patrol as well.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And then the Chosen army officer—who was the size of a tree—kicked the man. He would have killed him, but the brave and beautiful Princess Rakel stepped out of the snow. ‘Cease,’ she told him, ‘and leave these hallowed lands,’” Phile said.
Rakel looked up from her book—a very slim, tattered volume Oskar had tracked down for her that contained one of the few written references of elves—and raised her eyebrows at her friend.
The olive-skinned Robber Maiden stood in front of a crowd of spellbound children. She was holding storytelling court in the middle of the Ostfold square, but none of the adults—who still went about their daily chores—seemed to mind the obstruction. She was a bright spot of color with her red kerchief that covered her dark-colored hair, her white linen pants, and her thick, red coat.
“Her white hair as wild as a blizzard and her eyes like a frozen sky, the Snow Queen parted the snows. With a flick of her finger, the Chosen soldiers were swallowed up by drifts of snow, utterly defeated!” Phile held the children captive with a highly editorialized version of Vefsna’s liberation, gesturing wildly and waltzing between giant ice sculptures she made Rakel carve for her. During this particular exposition, she circled a giant sculpture of a Chosen soldier.
“No wonder legends and myths sound ridiculous.” Rakel returned her attention to her book. “If the original storytellers took half the liberties Phile does, it’s a surprise all heroes of old didn’t ride dragons and exhale flowers and money.” She read on.
“I said utterly defeated!” Phile shouted.
Rakel barely noticed.
“Ahem!”
Rakel realized Phile was glaring at her, and belatedly remembered the stage instructions she had been given. “Sorry.” She tugged on her magic, and the oversized ice statue of the Chosen soldier shattered, drawing cheers from the children.
Phile nodded in satisfaction, then returned her attention to her audience. “But this was only the beginning…”
Rakel turned a page in her book—being extra careful not to tear the fragile pages—but put the volume aside when she caught sight of who was approaching her. “General Halvor, Snorri, good afternoon.”
General Halvor bowed. “Princess.”
Snorri mumbled.
Halvor was a little shorter than his scout, but his wiry frame and perpetual shadow of whiskers made him appear to be gruffer—like a wolverine. “We have news to share.” The set of the general’s lips was grim. “Snorri just returned from a scouting trip at a Chosen encampment.”
“And?” Rakel asked when General Halvor seemed hesitant to continue.
“Tenebris Malus has arrived. He is camped with the First Regiment. Colonel Graydim’s unit,” General Halvor said.