The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(23)

“Not on purpose.”

“Can you control it at all?”

I bite my lip and turn away. “As you have pointed out many times, control is not my strong suit.”

“But maybe if you . . . try? You made the flames settle down in the shelter just now.”

“I didn’t make them do anything! I just looked at them!”

“Have you truly made an effort?” She takes a few slow steps closer to me, and I can’t bring myself to retreat. “You’re so strong, Ansa. Maybe you can keep it imprisoned inside?”

Tears burn my eyes. “I’m trying.”

Her eyes crinkle with what looks like pity, and she closes the distance between us. She catches my wrist, her fingers sliding down to mine where I clutch my dagger tight. “Don’t make me take another weapon from you tonight.”

“You have to let me go,” I whisper, even as I ache to lay my head on her shoulder.

Her fingertips smooth the hair off my brow, and as I did not do with Jaspar, I let her. “Your skin is so warm,” she murmurs. “It always has been.”

“Only when you touch it,” I breathe, barely giving sound to the thought.

“I won’t let you go this easily, Ansa. I can’t.”

I look up at her face, lit by moonlight. “Your leadership is being tested at every turn. How can you—”

“That’s why I can’t.” Her forehead touches mine, and my fingers go slack, dropping the dull blade. “You’re the only person I trust in this entire camp.”

I can’t breathe. I’m too shaky inside, working hard to keep the ice and fire in a cage.

“If you abandon me, I don’t think I’ll make it,” she whispers.

My eyes fall shut, and my throat tightens as she swipes hot tears from my cheeks. I grab her hands and pull them from my face. Warriors do not behave like snotty-nosed babes, and I am embarrassing myself. In front of my chieftain. “I’m sorry,” I say hoarsely.

“We survived the witch queen’s storm. We survived the journey back.” She takes me by the shoulders, refusing to let me turn away. “We will survive this. We’ll show the witch queen that her curse is not strong enough to destroy the Krigere.”

“You make it sound so easy.” I choke on a sob and wrench myself away, feeling the ice creeping along my bones, pushing through my skin and crystallizing like frost on marsh grass.

Her eyes flash with anger. “You make it sound like she’s already beaten you. Have you surrendered before fighting to your last breath?”

I rub the cold sweat from my arms. “This is not an enemy with a blade.”

“What does it matter? It’s an enemy nonetheless. And you’re a warrior.”

I look down at the dagger at my feet.

“Do you remember the day you earned that title?” she asks.

“Of course I do.”

“Truly, it seems as if you’ve forgotten.”

I snatch the dull blade from the ground.

“Sander left you in a heap, bleeding in the dirt. They all thought you’d lost.”

I remember the cheers as he walked away from me, and then Thyra shouting my name, cutting through the haze of defeat. “He turned his back because he thought I wouldn’t get up.”

She smiles. “The sight of you leaping onto his back, the sound that came out of his mouth when you bit him . . .” Her laugh melts the rest of the frost on my skin. “I may have been the only one who wasn’t surprised.”

“That was different.”

“It’s not different at all. This curse has bloodied you, Ansa, but you’re not dead yet.” She ducks her head until I’m looking at her again. “And until you are, you have no right to surrender if you wish to call yourself a warrior.”

My shoulders slump. “If I were to hurt our people . . .”

“I won’t let you.” She pries the dagger from my grip and sheathes it at my wrist before slipping her hand into mine. “We’ll find a way to suppress it. If there’s a way to lift this curse, we’ll puzzle it out.”

“We have no idea what we’re dealing with.” Even as I say it, I remember—Cyrill had a Kupari slave. If I can find her and question her, perhaps she can tell me more about the witch queen’s magic. Cyrill’s shelter is a bit of a hike, but maybe—

“Come back to my shelter,” Thyra says. “We need to rest before we leave tomorrow.”

When I hesitate, she tugs my hand. “We’ll sleep in shifts. I’ll watch over you, then you watch over me.” Her smile is uncertain but so sweet that I want to taste it. “I’ll wake you if anything starts to smoke.”

“I’ll come, but you must promise you’ll let me go if . . .”

She squeezes my hand. “If it comes to that, you’ll talk to your chieftain.” She raises her eyebrows, and the laugh bursts from me unbidden. Then she leads me back to her shelter. I can practically feel the glares of Jaspar’s guards as we trudge past their post, but I don’t look up. The weight of relief and gratitude is so heavy on me that I can barely lift my feet. Thyra guides me onto her own blanket and wraps it over me. “You’ll be better able to rid yourself of this curse if you aren’t half dead from exhaustion. Rest, Ansa. I’m depending on you.”