Sacrifice (The Snow Queen #2)(77)

It was almost time. She could feel almost every spark of magic she possessed. The end—for Tenebris and for herself—had arrived. But there was one more thing she wanted to say. Rakel leaned forward and whispered. “You shouldn’t have harmed Farrin. Not now, and not when you arrived in the north and punished him for failing,” Rakel said. Her voice sounded odd, like the wind spoke with her.

Tenebris gritted his teeth and tried to push a curse at her—her magic shattered it before it could brush her fingertips. “He told you?” he growled.

Rakel lifted an eyebrow. “I love him. Do you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Tenebris howled as the blood in his body—exposed to Rakel’s magic—began to freeze.

“Never again will dark magic blacken these lands.” Rakel’s voice carried across the field, even as many of the Chosen magic users fled across the Verglas border, screaming and shouting. “It will be up to the people and the king of this land to see that they do not hoard it in their own hearts, but if anything of magic bent on death and destruction tries to enter these lands, it will be cast out!”

The entire country shook, as if bearing witness to Rakel’s words. Huge, icy gates the size of a hill formed in the gap on the border. They slammed shut with the muted roar of an avalanche. The ice formations that walled the country chimed like crystal, then shattered, lighting the sky with a rainbow of colors.

Tenebris’s gold eyes shone with fear and hatred as he died, frozen and burned by the purity of Rakel’s powers.

Rakel yanked her hand from his frozen claw, wincing when the ice took off some of her skin with it. Shaking with pain and cold, Rakel shouted and ripped out the last of the ice magic she had, creating an explosion of snowflakes as she shoved it from her. Dry of her magic, Rakel felt empty and hollow. She caught a snowflake on her hand and smiled when she saw the heart at the center of it.

I did the right thing.

“Rakel!”

She heard Farrin’s shout, but the dark void of her price was already claiming her. She fell, cradled by the ground, and smiled when she felt her icy magic—which was now embedded into the land the way it had danced in her ice structures—brush her. Every part of her screamed with raw pain, but she couldn’t move her lips.

The Chosen are defeated. It was worth the sacrifice.

Her eyes closed, and Rakel knew nothing.



Time seemed to stretch on for hours until Frodi finished burning a path to Rakel—though Farrin knew the young man had risked a bad burnout and melted almost everything in the area after she fell.

Farrin tapped his magic and was at her side before the melted snow touched the ground. She was in terrible condition. Her lips were faintly blue; her complexion was ashen, and she was as still as a grave. It took Farrin a few moments to assure himself she was still breathing.

He ripped off his coat and tenderly wrapped it around her as he knelt at her side and drew her up into a sitting position. He stripped his gloves off and placed them on her much smaller hands, flinching when he touched her skin. Rakel had always been cool to the touch, but now her skin felt as frigid as mid-winter ice.

“Is she gonna be alright?” Frodi asked around a wad of jerky as he fell to his knees.

Farrin stiffened. He wanted to say yes, Rakel could recover from this, she just needed time and warmth. But it was the awareness of her minty magic that kept him from saying useless niceties and made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Ever since he realized he could feel Rakel’s magic at a fairly far distance, he’d enjoyed it. It was refreshing to feel her magic cover an area like snowfall, and it always tugged on his senses like a puppy wanting to play.

He could feel it now, brushing at his bare hands and lurking on the frost-covered ground.

The feeling offered no comfort, only dread. If that much of Rakel’s magic was active and aimlessly floating around, it was not a good sign. He—along with every other magic user in the area—had felt when she thrust her powers into the ground. How much magic did she use?

“Rakel!” Steinar—King of Verglas—tripped and fell as he ran across the cleared path. His guards skidded to a stop behind him and tried to help him stand. Steinar waved them off, scrambled to his feet, and closed the remaining distance, dropping to his knees next to Farrin. “What happened? None of that was part of our plan.” With an expression of horror and fear, he motioned to the border, where great piles of ice lay.

Farrin shook his head.

“Princess!” Oskar was next to run down the path. He dragged Phile in his wake. As Farrin looked from the attendant to the Robber Maiden, his hackles rose. Oskar wore an expression of fear and anxiety—which was not surprising. The only times he had ever seen Oskar worried were times when Rakel was harmed in some way. What was unusual was Phile. Her eyes were darkened with dread.

She knows something…

“Frodi, signal for General Halvor,” Oskar said as he descended upon them. “The princess must be moved to camp immediately—we’re not waiting to finish clearing the Chosen.”

Frodi swallowed his food and unsteadily rocked to his feet. He shot off the signal—three tiny fireballs followed by one big one—and sat down hard.

“How is her condition?” Oskar asked.

“Poor.” Farrin shifted Rakel in his arms so Steinar could wrap his cloak around her as well.