Sacrifice (The Snow Queen #2)(83)

“Did you plan this?” Rakel tried to shift on the stone slab she was perched upon, and the exertion made her shake. Farrin aided her. He hooked an arm behind her knees and eased her legs over the side of the stone slab.

“I declared there would be a celebration, yes, but I did not think you would wake up in the middle of it.” Steinar laughed.

“Nobody did—except for Gerta and Kai.” Oskar rested his hands on the children’s heads.

Rakel smiled at the pair and extended her arms. She was glad Farrin had placed his arms around her again to support her, for she would have toppled over when they piled on her with such glee.

“Thank you for being brave and for having hope,” she whispered.

Gerta nodded, and Kai cried, pressing his face into her shoulder. She felt his tears leak through the fabric of her gauzy dress as she held him close. “I’m sorry I left you.”

Kai nodded and scrubbed his face.

Gerta grabbed his hand and smiled. “We knew you’d wake up.”

“Princess.” Gerta’s mother curtsied, her hand pressed to her mouth as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “It is so good to see you again.”

Gerta and Kai retreated to stand with her, and her friends made a ring around Rakel, laughing, crying, and smiling.

“I am at a loss for words,” Rakel admitted. “I didn’t think I would survive.”

“If you have the strength for it, could you face our people?” Steinar asked, indicating the mass of people behind him who still cheered and shouted.

Rakel took a deep breath and nodded. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t hold her, so Farrin and Phile—standing on either side of her—helped her stand and bore all her weight.

The wind brushed Rakel’s loosely braided hair, and her knees shook as she stared out at more people than she had ever seen before. She smiled when the cheers grew in volume.

“Snow Queen, Snow Queen, Snow Queen!”

This is why I fought. Rakel exhaled in sheer happiness, her hands warmed by Phile’s and Farrin’s. When I set out from my castle to save the people of Vefsna, I wondered and hoped…and now it has happened. They don’t fear me, and they are safe and free.

Rakel swallowed, finally allowing herself to feel the loss. Though she hadn’t noticed it initially, something was different. She felt a gaping hole in her senses where her magic used to rest with cool reassurance. She had no magic. Not even a fleck of it.

She could feel her magic floating in the air around her the way someone smells a freshly baked dessert, but she felt like a husk without the confident promise of her inner powers.

Her hands shook, not only from exhaustion, but from the blinding loss. She smiled, held in the tears, and filled her senses with the crowd. They are worth the sacrifice.

Farrin gazed down at her, his expression indecipherable. He looked out at the crowd, then nodded to General Halvor, and scooped her up in his arms.

“I can stand,” Rakel protested.

“You need to eat and drink something.” Farrin toted her away as if she were the same weight as a lamb. “The people will be here tomorrow—you can see them then.”

Rakel fell silent and nuzzled close to Farrin. I’m alive. The Chosen have been defeated. I have so much to be thankful for. My magic is a small price.



“I don’t believe it,” Phile said. She tried to fold her arms across her chest before the tightness of wearing two jackets pinched her and made her settle down again.

“I don’t have anything left. There’s nothing there,” Rakel said. She was seated on a stone bench and stared out at the glacier nestled against the palace. Around her was the skeleton of the new wing Steinar was having built.

Farrin stood at her side like a dark shadow—a sharp contrast to her white hair and light-blue dress. “I assumed your magic would regenerate. All magic does when the caster over-steps their abilities, but you didn’t use it all…you merely transferred it.” He trailed a finger across her shoulder as his eyes narrowed in thought.

“There’s got to be something we can do, Little Wolf,” Phile said. “You had—have—a beautiful relationship with your magic that is incredibly rare.”

“It’s not that rare. Most people don’t fight their magic, Phile,” Rakel said.

“No, I mean you. Your magic was the perfect expression of your temperament, your emotions—your hair even whitened out to match it! There’s no way your magic would let itself be cut off from you.”

“Magic isn’t a living creature,” Rakel said.

“Well, I’m not ready to admit defeat. I’ll drag you across the continent if I have to—though our best bet would probably be Baris or one of Ragnar’s elf-friends.” Phile paced back and forth. “We can wait for the elves if we have to—a ship of them are sailing to the continent—but they’re leagues away, still.”

“What is to keep you from using your magic that you’ve already pushed into the country?” Farrin asked.

Rakel blinked. “What?”

“Your magic dusts Verglas like frost. Ever since you defeated Tenebris, I’ve felt it. Why can’t you use it?”

Rakel felt hope, fear, and embarrassment twist her heart in one confusing mix. If I could still use my magic…but how likely is that? Of course, that’s exactly what she’d done when she shattered her ice-castle. She used the magic built into it.