The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(101)

“I hope your arrogance comforts you as you die at the hands of black-robed invaders,” Thyra says, then seems to stifle a whimper of pain.

I press my forehead to the stones and hold in a sob made of fear and relief. She’s alive, and she’s at his mercy. And if I go up there now, Nisse’s personal guard will flood through the trapdoor and—

A huge crash echoes up from somewhere below me, followed by a scream. “Witch,” Halina shrieks. “Witch!” She lets out another bloodcurdling wail that cuts off suddenly.

She is possibly the cleverest person I’ve ever known.

“Ansa is coming,” Thyra says weakly. “It seems your pet magic wielder couldn’t keep her caged.”

Nisse curses. “Hold her back,” he shouts, presumably to his guards. “She can’t control that magic—if you can keep her at bay, it will turn on her! Go!”

I’m about to find out if he’s right. With one last burst of effort, I heave myself up and over the side, rolling onto the floor of the roof and rising unsteadily to a crouch. Nisse is standing over the door, and Thyra is sitting at his feet. His thick fingers are curled into her hair, and she’s bleeding from a gash somewhere in her hair. She’s ghastly pale, but her gaze is clear as she focuses on me, just a moment before Nisse notices my presence.

He curses and drags her up, holding her back pressed to his chest, a shield. “So you were in on the scheme too?” he asks. “Jaspar said you couldn’t lie to save your life. Another mistake.” His face is drawn tight with fear as he slides a dagger from its sheath and holds it pressed to Thyra’s throat.

Thyra’s eyes meet mine. “Ansa wasn’t part of the plot. She found her way here on her own.” Her mouth is curved into a pained smile.

“She used you, Ansa,” Nisse says. “She’s always used you. She had your Vasterutian attendant plant the story and—”

“I know all that already.” I take a step forward, my fingers tingling. “I know everything, and I still made my choice.”

“You’ll die up here with us, then.”

“Maybe. Or you could let her go and allow her to save us all. Your son is the true schemer, Nisse. He tried to poison Thyra—she merely discovered the trap and struck back. Jaspar’s greed and deception was the birth of all your suffering—and your thirst for power allowed you to nurture it.”

Thyra’s eyes flicker with a sudden uncertainty, as do Nisse’s. “You’re better at telling lies than I ever imagined,” he says.

“No, I’m not. Let her go. You didn’t try to poison her. You can undo the damage Jaspar has done—to her and to you, and to everyone else.”

“Uncle?” Thyra asks in a strained voice.

He takes a quick step back, bringing him within a few paces of the low wall. “Or I could wait until Jaspar marshals all the warriors who went to the eastern part of the city. Once they surround this place, the fighters of the south will be forced to bargain.”

I clench my fists. I’m the one who allowed Jaspar to live. “The riders and the Vasterutian resistance have flooded the streets. He’ll be lucky to reach them.”

“Jaspar will find a way.” His eyes shine with the simple faith and pride of a father in his son.

“Jaspar has destroyed you,” Thyra says. “He pitted us against each other, playing us both for fools. But now we can—”

“At what point will you stop scheming?” Nisse pricks Thyra’s throat, making her bleed. “My son is loyal, and he will not fail me. You, on the other hand, have more than earned your execution. I wait only until Jaspar sends the signal that he’s on his way back for me.”

A signal that could come at any minute if Jaspar is half as determined as I know him to be. I only injured his arm, not his legs, and given the time that has passed, if he was able to escape the courtyard, that signal could come at any moment. The foreign fighters will take the tower because there were no Krigere to stop them, but with all of them here, it won’t be hard to place it under siege as long as Jaspar’s warriors can intimidate the Vasterutian people into staying back.

My mind spins with all the possible outcomes, but then Nisse takes another step back from me, and I am caught by a painful flash of memory—Jaspar throwing Sander over the edge of the parapet. “Don’t take another step.”

Nisse smiles. “Why, Ansa? Are you going to stop me?” He presses the blade tighter to Thyra’s throat.

I draw Sander’s dagger, and when I lift it, the cuff of Astia shines in the bright sunlight directly over our head. Nisse squints at it. “What is that?”

“Balance,” I say. “A gift from elder Kauko.”

Nisse’s face twists with rage. “That priest betrayed me?”

“Weren’t you going to betray him?”

“All he wanted was you, and we delivered you to him!”

I smile with the realization—no matter what I chose, Nisse would have betrayed me. He is no innocent victim—he only fathered a snake because he is one himself. I couldn’t be wielded as a weapon because I couldn’t control the magic, and so he gave me up. “Because I was worth something to Kauko. Or, my blood was.”

Nisse looks me over, appearing to notice my wounds for the first time. “And it seems you’re shedding quite a lot of it. I’m surprised you’re still standing.”