The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(16)

I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face to the heavens. Why me? There were thousands of warriors on the Torden that day. Why was I the one she sent to hurt my people? Did she know how hard I’d fought to be one of them? Did she know my tribe means more to me than anything else?

I wrap my other hand around the one clutching the hilt. It will be over soon.

“I thought I saw you sneaking away.”

I pivot on the balls of my feet, whipping the knife behind me. “I didn’t sneak,” I say breathlessly as Sander steps into view.

His brow furrows as he examines my face. “Are you crying?”

I grimace and swipe my hand across my cheeks. “Are you addled?”

“We were scheduled to take watch this afternoon, but—”

But I had planned to be dead by then. “Yes, this afternoon. So leave me alone.”

“What are you hiding from? Why weren’t you at noonmeal?”

I stand up, annoyance blazing through me. But fear is hard on its heels as I feel the heat sprout from my fingertips. I clench my fists, and sweat beads across my forehead as I wrestle the curse back. “Just because I wanted to get away from the gloom of camp, I’m hiding?”

He rubs his palm over the back of his head. “You haven’t been the same since we returned.”

“I can’t imagine why. I only watched everything I love burn and splinter, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.” My lip curls. “I think the better question is why you’re suddenly the perfect warrior, Sander. Did you realize Hilma would have thought you a coward, for the way you acted on the Torden?”

With a strangled growl, he lunges at me. I sidestep, but he catches a handful of my tunic and sends me stumbling over his legs, into the sand. I roll away as he tries to dive on top of me, then land a kick to the side of his head as he comes for me again. He grunts and rises to a crouch, ready to pounce. But as he does, I hurl a handful of sand into his face.

“You conniving little runt!”

“Maybe I haven’t changed as much as you thought.”

Sander chuckles as he blinks sand from his eyes. “Oh, you have. Setting fire to your own blanket two nights in a row, and somehow you’re untouched by the flames? Slinking around for the last few days with a cloud of bitter cold around you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

This time I’m the one who attacks, out of pure terror at his words. I plow into him, wrapping my fingers around his throat for an instant before he yowls with pain and grabs my wrists. I slam my forehead into his face. Cursing, he wrenches my hands behind my back, barely avoiding my snapping teeth. “Cut it out, Ansa!”

“Why should I?” I’m still struggling, trying to get my legs beneath me so I can thrust my knee into his crotch. “Are you reliving our last turn in the fight circle? This time I could bring you death if you like. Fight hard enough and Hilma might even welcome you to heaven.”

He shoves me away, and I land on my back in the sand, knowing I’ve poked an unhealed wound but too shattered to care. I need him to come at me, to give me a reason. I’m hoping he’s remembering that bright spring day, when he thought I was easy game, when he beat me until I could barely stand . . . when he turned his back on me and gave me the moment I needed. As I scramble to my feet, blood drips from his upper lip while he gingerly prods several red streaks along his throat. I glance down at my hands and ball them in my tunic. Did I just burn him?

“Your fingers . . . ,” he says slowly as his hands fall to his sides.

My heart thumps in time with my panicked thoughts. “I’ve had a fever lately.”

He squints at me. “They were so cold that I thought my blood would turn to ice.”

Saliva fills my mouth and I nearly retch. “I had just washed them in the lake.”

“Liar,” he says quietly, then puts his hands up as I start forward again. His steps are quick, like he’s nervous. And he should be. If he accuses me of witchcraft, I’m going to kill him.

“Ansa, I didn’t come here to fight you,” he shouts as I start forward.

“Now who’s a liar?”

“It’s Thyra! I was coming to tell you—just listen!” He has his hands out in front of him as I move closer, alarm ringing like a bell in my ears. “She told me to come find you. She was challenged.”

“What? By who?”

He glances over his shoulder, toward the camp. “Edvin laid his claim to the chieftain’s chair at noonmeal.”

“The second-wave commander thinks he can do better than she can?”

“He said he wouldn’t let Thyra turn us into land drudges. They were going straight to the circle. And I knew that you—”

I’m running now, my only thought of getting to Thyra. Sander catches up with me as I hit the trail. My mind is a whirl of questions, but I’m too panicked to ask him. My feet pound the rocky path as I sprint into camp. I can already hear the shouts coming from the big open area in front of the council shelter—where the fight circle lies.

I should have been at her side. She said she needed me! Instead, I crept away like a coward, too focused on my own problems to watch her back. When I reach the crowd, I use my small size to my advantage, weaving between hips and shoulders and legs to get to the edge of the circle. Sander gets shut out behind me. I hear him grunting as he tries to get through. But I don’t stop to wait. I can’t bear the thought of Thyra facing this alone.