The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(14)

“Ansa!”

My eyes fly open to find my dream made real. The air is filled with sparks and smoke and screaming. Sander’s silhouette fills the doorway of the shelter, and he’s beckoning me toward him while he holds a cloth over his mouth. Between us is a wall of flame. I’m surrounded by it. If I stand here, I’ll burn alive, but my only alternative is to run through the fire. There is nothing between my skin and those flames, and the thought sends an icy chill over my body. Even in the inferno, I shiver; it feels as if frost is covering my skin.

I don’t spend more time thinking about it. As the roof begins to rain chunks of burning thatch and splinters of wood, I leap through the wall of fire. Sander grabs my shoulders and tosses me through the doorway of the shelter. I hit the mud and roll.

The night is lit with the orange flames shooting from the top of the shelter. Andeners are running and shouting all around me, evacuating their own shelters for fear the blaze will spread. Some of them are tossing pails of water onto the fire, and the weather is helping—the rain intensifies, drenching all of us. I slide my hand over my short hair and sit up.

Sander squats by my side, the strangest look on his face. It’s not fear, exactly, but it looks like a near cousin. “Why are you staring at me like that?” I ask impatiently, as he helps me to my feet.

“You were completely enclosed by that fire,” he says as I wrench myself away from him.

“So?”

He gestures at my tunic and breeches, at my cloak that hangs muddy and wet from my shoulders. “You’re not even singed.”

I stumble backward as the air suddenly becomes too thick to breathe. “I don’t even know what happened.”

“You were thrashing in your sleep, and then your blanket was on fire.” He takes a step away from me as the wind blows thick smoke between us. “You are the luckiest Krigere in the world, escaping death so many times in the space of a day.”

Suddenly, I need to get away from his prying eyes. Every glance feels like an accusation, and I’m going to kill him if he looks at me one more time. I whirl around and march toward the shore, needing fresh air and silence. As I walk, the rain thins to a mist. Andeners run past me every few seconds, carrying full pails up from the lake. On the other side of the docks lies a quiet hollow, and I make for it, desperate to outrun the shouts of fright echoing behind me. The scent of burning wood is sharp and rich, and like Sander’s stare, it feels like a finger pointed straight at my chest. Reeling with rising panic and confusion, I reach the edge of the rocks and slide down the pebbled trail toward the hidden cove. Halfway down, I lose my footing and collide with someone climbing up the path. I end up on my back, staring up into Thyra’s face, which is lit by the faint glow of the inferno in the settlement.

“What are you doing here? Is there trouble?” she asks, her voice high with alarm. “I heard screaming.”

“My shelter caught fire,” I reply. “It’s good to see you, by the way. How are you?” I sound much calmer than I feel.

“You don’t want to know.” She lets out a strangled laugh. “I came down here to think.” She grasps my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. “Are you all right?” Her gaze travels down my body. “You aren’t burned?”

I shake my head, fighting the urge to press myself against her, to wrap my arms around her waist and cling. “I’m fine. And the rain is helping.” As if it hears me, the drops grow colder, making my breath fog.

“I should go help,” she says wearily.

My hands grasp her elbows, fingers digging into the lean muscles of her arms. “Don’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I—” My mouth hangs half open, words shriveling. “Sander and a few others came into the shelter a little while ago. . . .”

The edge of her jaw could cut flesh. “They want to go running to Nisse. And they accuse me of being a coward.”

“Did they actually say that to you?” And why didn’t you cut their hearts out?

She gives me a look that says she hears my unspoken thought. “No one’s saying anything out loud.” She lets go of me and runs both hands through her wet hair. “I wouldn’t have spoken as I did, especially so soon, but the suggestion that we take a knee before my uncle, after what he tried to do . . .”

“I know.” I swallow hard. “I’m with you. Whatever you want to do.”

Her hands fall to her sides. “You might not say that if you knew what I’ve done—”

“Sander told me what you proposed.”

“Oh . . . yes.” She closes her eyes. “Ansa, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Of course you can. You are Lars’s daughter, and you were born to be a great warrior!”

“Sometimes I feel like it’s just a skin I wear.”

I squint at her. “How can you say that? It’s in your blood and bones. All you have to do is embrace it.”

She gives me an uneasy look. “And what, exactly, is in my blood and bones? War? Killing?”

I hate the distaste with which she says those words. “The thrill of conquest. Territory and triumph. Blood and victory.” I laugh, but it carries an edge of frustration.

“How can that be enough for you, Ansa? It certainly isn’t enough for me.”