The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(18)

A strange silence has fallen over us. Usually, at the end of a fight, there’s celebration and drink. Blood and victory. But this . . . there’s a tang of fear in the air. I’ve never seen a battle for the chieftain chair—Lars was already chieftain when I was brought to this camp, and no one ever dared challenge him, including his ambitious younger brother. But still, I’d imagine someone would be cheering, wouldn’t they?

I shove my way along the edge of the fight circle, but no one puts up any resistance. Everyone seems subdued as Preben and Bertel, Edvin’s dearest comrades, trudge into the circle to carry Edvin’s body away. As I pass, Aksel stares at me with a new, frigid blankness in his eyes. I manage to catch up with Thyra just before she enters the council shelter. Her head is bowed as she absently wipes her blade on her breeches and sheathes the weapon at her hip.

“Thyra!”

She turns as I run up to her. “Where have you been?”

“Who cares? Are you all right?”

For a moment, her cheek twitches and her eyes grow shiny, but then she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. “Edvin had fought at my father’s side since before I was born.”

“But he challenged you. You had no choice.”

“We only have two hundred warriors left. We need every sword arm we have. Even the old ones.”

“Not if those arms are raised in defiance against you.”

She lets out a sharp laugh and shakes her head. “You always make killing sound so easy.”

“And you make it unnecessarily difficult.”

“Maybe it should be, sometimes.” She turns to walk away, but I grab her arm.

“I’ll make your kill mark for you.”

She rips her arm from my grasp. “I don’t want it,” she snaps. Her blue eyes meet mine. “I have to go meet with the senior warriors about distribution and storage of our supplies for the winter, and then I must meet with the andeners to make the final plan for the farewell ceremony. They need any measure of peace I can offer.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“It would bore you. We need you on watch anyway.”

She’s pushing me away again, and it makes me desperate. “You were brilliant, Thyra,” I offer. “Lars really would have been proud. Everyone will think twice before challenging you again. You proved that you will kill without hesitation.”

She grimaces, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing, though I don’t know why it’s wrong. “That was the point,” she says quietly.

“What did you say to him, as he died?”

She looks down at the spatter of Edvin’s blood on her boot. “I told him I’d take care of his family.”

Carefully, I reach out and touch her arm, focusing on keeping my skin cool. Normal. “You are a noble chieftain. You just united the tribe by earning their respect.”

“I might have united them, but I’m not sure I won them. Those are two different things, and I need both to keep us whole.”

“You deserve the chair.”

“I must earn the chair every day. And I plan to. It’s the only way to grow their faith in me—and in themselves.” She sniffles and wipes her nose on her collar. “But I need you at my side next time,” she says, her voice breaking. “I had to send Sander to find you. Don’t disappear again.”

I grin, eager to raise her spirits. “Because I cheer louder than the rest?”

Her small, reluctant smile is the best reward. “Because of the way you look at me.”

“I think perhaps I understand that.” Because the way she’s looking at me right now makes me feel like I could fly. “I’ll come find you after I finish my watch.”

“Good. We’ll have supper together.” She sounds so weary, and I vow to guard her sleep tonight, if she’ll let me. I won’t be slumbering anyway. I have to stay alert to hold down the curse. Now all my thoughts of killing myself are evaporating. Thyra needs me. I have to find a way to control this, and to keep it secret, so I can support her while she establishes her leadership. The last thing I want to do is shame or distract her, especially as her smile gains a delicious warmth that I feel in my bones.

“Chieftain Thyra,” cries a guard as he sprints up the path. “Armed riders approaching!”

Thyra pivots quickly, her movements sharp. “How many?” she barks as other warriors jog over and gather around, looking to her for instructions.

“Dozens.”

“Hostile?”

The guard puts his hands on his knees, breathing hard. “They’re flying a yellow and white flag.”

“That’s Vasterut,” she says in a flat voice as the men and women around us begin to murmur among themselves, even as the clatter of hooves reaches us from the edge of camp.

“To me!” Thyra yells, and draws her blade again.

I pull a knife from my boot, the one I was planning to use on myself not long ago. We stand shoulder to shoulder as the riders draw near, and a cold wind blows as Sander pushes into position next to me. “Chilly, isn’t it?” he asks, giving me a pointed look.

I press my lips together and stomp that evil cold down as the first rider comes into view, cantering up the road with his followers just behind him. His golden hair shines with flecks of red in the sunlight, and though he’s still yards away, I know his eyes are green, green, green.