Sacrifice (The Snow Queen #2)(65)

“Here, Frodi. You should try heating this.” Tollak held up the potion.

“We’re in the middle of a battle, old man. This isn’t the time to satisfy your curiosity,” Frodi snarled.

Rakel let a smile bud on her lips and relaxed when she saw Steinar deep in discussion with Halvor.

I think I’ll start with helping the soldiers—and possibly Farrin if I can split my attention. Rakel turned towards the dirt monsters, grimacing when she tapped her magic and reached for the snow in the area.

As the temperatures had continued to rise, the snow melted and created a slushy mess. She never liked dealing with slush—it made everything cold and achy and squelched through any cracked surface—and the ash from the destruction made manipulating it feel even more gritty and unpleasant than usual. Still, Farrin said I should get them wet.

Rakel raised her fingers, and a soggy snow-and-slush-drift poured over one of the smaller golems like an icy wave. Wet, the creature was considerably slowed down, making it easy for her to scoop it up with ice and encase it in a thick coating, immobilizing it.

The creation wiggled in its casing, but it couldn’t break out.

Good. Rakel set her eyes on another one of the sculptures—this one was already contained by several Verglas troops who had surrounded it with their enchanted shields—thanks to Tollak.

Rakel shuddered in revulsion as the chunky feeling of slush washed over her when she reached for a nearby mound of snow.

“Got you!” A man who would have looked at home with Pordis among a merchant caravan clasped her wrist.

Rakel reflexively swung around and threw her magic outwards, creating a carpet of dagger-sharp ice slivers.

The ice made the man jump. “No you don’t!” he said.

Something pricked her wrist, and Rakel felt her magic start oozing out of her. It didn’t curl around her as it normally would; instead it was diverted—like aqueducts from a river.

“Careful, Rakel, that one drains magic.” Dryden shouted from her den of wolves. “He’ll suck you dry!”

Her friendly-looking captor smiled. “It’s true,” he said cheerfully. “I’m like a leech.” He must have pulled harder, for Rakel felt a little more of her magic trickle away.

In spite of the chaos of the battle, she felt confused. Why is he so smug? Should it matter if he takes some of my magic? Will he use it against me?

Rakel was still trying to decide how to react as she raised an ice cage around three wolves, locking them inside.

“Careful, Princess,” the magic-drainer said. “I don’t want to hurt you. If you keep using your magic, I can’t promise I won’t tap you dry.”

“What does that even mean?” Rakel asked.

“It means you won’t have a drop of magic left—as if you’ve scraped the bottom of your abilities—and then you’ll be helpless. So it’s best if you don’t struggle.”

The bottom? What is he babbling about? I have never reached the limit of my abilities. The only time I ever felt boundaries to it was with the mirror, and then I could feel the magic left in all the ice structures I had built.

Dryden drove her elbow into a wolf’s neck. “Frodi—Eydìs, someone’s gotta help the princess!”

Phile snorted. “No, they don’t. Haven’t you seen what Rakel did to Bluff whenever the poor boy got it in his head to create a storm? In fact, I think we should back up. Who knows what she’ll do to him—or what Farrin will do when he realizes someone is touching her.”

Rakel glanced at Farrin—who was still battling it out with the air magic user—although the other magic user was worse-for-wear, and Farrin was just as sharp and clear moving as always. She could still feel a trickle of her magic, but it was like a snowflake among a blizzard. Hardly noticeable.

“You want my magic? Very well,” Rakel turned back to her opponent and started gathering her powers. She could feel the vastness of her magic, and as she took more and more, she grew aware of it. She could feel her castle on Ensom Peak, and the wall she had built on the Mullberg border.

The magic-drainer’s smile flickered. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you more,” Rakel said. She felt for the stream he was leeching off, and then pushed more of her magic through the line, turning it into a frothing, whitewater river.

He yelped and dropped to his knees—even though he clung to her hand still. “S-s-stop!” he begged. He shivered, and his skin was cool—though not as cold as hers.

“You were the one who wanted my magic,” Rakel said.

He shouted and yanked his hand away. Rakel—thinking of Farrin’s move on the archer—created an ice sword and swung it hilt first, hitting him in the head and sending him sprawling to the slushy ground. She flipped him over on his back and nudged him, but he was out cold.

General Halvor bellowed over the fight as he shouted orders to the various teams. “Frodi—leave the alchemist to Eydìs and Tollak, and get on those golems! Use your fire—make it hot enough, and you should be able to bake them. Angry owls, I want you on those wolves—drive them to Phile, Dryden, and Bunny. Blue Fire, back Frodi up—and stay out of range of the alchemist!”

Rakel swiveled, intending to help Farrin, but froze. Her body wouldn’t move. It was as if she had been enclosed in a block of ice.