Sacrifice (The Snow Queen #2)(81)
“When you wake up, Princess, we’ll show you,” Gerta said. “The new parts of the palace are fancy-like.”
“And they’ve got lots of carvings of snowflakes and reindeer!” Kai added, his voice cheerful once more.
Their steadfastness warmed Farrin’s heart—and brought him pain. When would they realize she wasn’t going to wake up? He brushed his fingers across the hilt of his two-handed broadsword.
I love you Rakel—a forever kind. Though you might never speak again, I will guard the people and land you gave your life for.
“And so, I dedicate this day in remembrance of my brave sister, Princess Rakel, and all of those who lost their lives in the War of Ice and Snow.” Steinar’s voice echoed in the quiet square.
Farrin combed the crowd with his eyes, watching for threats—though he suspected if anyone dared to try something during the festival, his fellow citizens would rip him limb from limb. And, of course, there was no need to be concerned with evil magic. Rakel’s border negated it.
To celebrate Verglas’s victory against the Chosen invasion, King Steinar had declared a country-wide, three-day holiday. Many cities and towns were holding their own celebrations, but people had flocked to Ostfold in such numbers the capital city could not hold them all, and a sea of tents and wagons had sprung up around the city walls.
They were there for the express purpose of paying their respects and saying farewell to Rakel—the exiled princess who had given her life for theirs.
A year had passed, and she still hadn’t stirred. No one had any hope left that she would ever wake again.
“Because of their sacrifice, we are free. Because of their courage, we can continue with our lives,” Steinar said. The young king turned slightly to face Rakel, whom they had laid out on a stone slab.
“This looks like a funeral service,” Phile muttered at Farrin’s side.
“It is a funeral service,” Farrin said.
Phile sighed but did not refute the statement. She also gazed at the unnaturally still Rakel, whom she had maneuvered into a final new dress from Inga, a beautiful creation of silvery-blue fabric that reminded Farrin of snow drifts at midnight. Flowers carved out of ice were heaped around Rakel, and she wore a crown crafted to resemble a ring of silver snowflakes pushed into her white hair. She looked deceptively peaceful, but beautiful, like she had fallen asleep just a few minutes ago.
“This day will be honored and remembered henceforth as a day of celebration and respect,” Steinar continued. “Now, I invite you to join me and my household in remembering the fallen.”
The city shook when the people—guards, commoners, and magical—cheered, waving the new Verglas Standard—a flag of light blue with a velvet brown reindeer positioned in front of a white snowflake.
Steinar stood next to Rakel’s dais on a stairway landing. The Verglas Palace—which bore signs of new construction—loomed behind him, and Ostfold opened up in front of him like a patchwork quilt. As the crowds kept cheering, he turned to Rakel and bowed—not a shallow bow of acknowledgement, but a deep bow of respect—and then joined General Halvor and several soldiers who were strategically positioned three stairs below the landing in a guarding pattern.
General Halvor nodded to Farrin, who was posted with Phile halfway up one side of the staircase, with Oskar standing directly across from them. Farrin signaled the soldiers at the foot of the stairs to let the first few well-wishers forward.
They were allowed up in small groups. Those who were fit enough climbed the flight of stairs, stopping near the top where Rakel’s guards halted them, but some folk—injured soldiers and resistance fighters, the elderly, and those with small children—stopped at the base of the stairs for a few moments before they were gently prodded on.
The Ostfold town square teemed with music, food, and dancing—the scent of cinnamon and cardamom tickled Farrin’s nose, and he could hear violin music and horns—but the line to Rakel’s body remained long.
“I didn’t think I would see them,” Phile nodded at the two newest mourners, who were climbing the stairs.
“Who are they?” Farrin set one of his hands on his two-handed-broadsword. The pair nodded to him and Phile as they climbed.
“You should know Pordis; she’s the merchant who helped us in Kiby. Tryggvi is the Glowma constable. I thought they were going to stay in Glowma—it’s having its own celebration.”
“It is their final offering to Rakel,” Farrin said.
Phile quieted. “Yes.”
After Tryggvi and Pordis came Frodi, Eydìs, Tollak, Ragnar, and all the Verglas magic users Farrin had ever met. He was proud to see most of his old subordinates attend, as well. Even Bunny—round with child—made Crow and Dryden haul her up the stairs while Bluff anxiously trailed behind them.
All of those from Rakel’s guard unit—Knut and Snorri among them—filed past shortly after. They saluted her, grief cracking their faces. Soldiers who had worked with Rakel—like Topi and Colonel Danr—were next in their farewells.
Morning stretched into noon, and still the people came. Some folk placed tiny wooden reindeer and carved snowflakes on the stairs; others left small squares of cloth with snowflake embroidery, and many left branches of pine trees and evergreens, making the area fragrant.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Gerta, her parents, her grandmother Hilda, and Kai had their turn to pay their respects. Grandmother Hilda stayed at the base of the stairs, but Farrin could see tears in her eyes. Gerta’s parents climbed to the top with the children.