The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(34)
She grins. “So are they.” She gestures toward a wet and shivering group of children and andeners. Others have gathered around to wrap them in blankets and dry their dripping hair. I look back out over the marsh. The holes made by the splash of bodies are iced over, and the rest of the marsh is laced with white frost. Cold wind blows in my hair, making me shiver. Thyra slides her hand into mine and laughs, a strained, broken sound. “Usually your skin is so warm.”
We’re at the rear of the crowd, many of whom are fussing over the ones we nearly lost while the rest are already hiking forward. Either Jaspar and his warriors didn’t want to acknowledge that Thyra was right in using the ropes or they’re so focused on covering the miles that they don’t care. But I see Sander standing at the crest of the hill, staring down at me before he disappears over the other side.
I start to fall into step at the rear of the group, but Thyra pulls me to a stop. “They all would have been lost.” She turns me to face her. “But you called to the ice, didn’t you?”
My heart skips as she moves closer. “No. I didn’t—”
“It’s all right, Ansa.” She touches my cheek. “I know what you’re doing.”
I gape at her, my world crumbling. “I swear, Thyra—”
“You somehow managed to turn the enemy’s sword against her,” she murmurs, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I’m in awe of you.”
I should tell her the truth. Or at least admit that we’re lucky I didn’t just kill everyone out on the marsh, that the curse broke free and it took everything I had to hold it back. But the way she’s looking at me keeps me silent. The spark of desire in her eyes turns my blood hot.
Her fingers slide over my cheek. “Oh, there’s that warmth I was missing.”
When her lips touch mine, shock explodes inside me, but also happiness, pure and fierce. Thyra pulls back quickly, looking stunned, possibly a mirror of my own expression. “I’ve been telling myself not to do that,” she says.
She shouldn’t have. I’m not worthy of it. But . . . “Just give me this moment.” Any compromise. Any bargain. I need her lips on mine again.
As soon as she nods, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her body to me, and she takes my face in her hands, lifting my chin. I rise on my tiptoes, my tongue sliding hungrily along her bottom lip, our chests touching, my whole body tingling. This, I think. This I would happily kill for, every day of my life. I press her closer, craving more even though I know very well that if she knew about my lies, she wouldn’t want to touch me at all. It’s a stolen treasure, and I am the greediest of thieves.
Thyra lets out a whimper and pulls back, tugging my wrists away from her body. “Too hot,” she gasps. My throat tightens as I see the black scorch marks on her tunic. Horror rushes in like the black water of the marsh, quenching the flames of my joy. I give her a pained look, still burning at the loss of her kiss.
She gives me an unsteady smile. “I know you’re still trying to figure it out, and I know you’ll succeed, just like you figured out how to save Gry’s family. You’ll make this curse your dog. It will cringe at your feet.”
I stare at the black, singed fabric just above her belt. Her smooth skin lies just beneath it, so fragile. So precious. I was seconds away from setting her aflame.
This curse is far from tamed.
I force a smile. “Of course I will.”
She kisses my cheek, a flutter of sweetness. Her body is shaking. “Maybe all you need is practice,” she says breathlessly, her cheeks pink and lovely. She looks into my eyes for a moment, then lets out a sudden, surprised, unbearably bright laugh. “I never thought I would be happy again after all that’s happened.”
Then she turns and marches up the trail.
I follow her, hope and dread waging a war inside me.
CHAPTER TEN
Over the next few days I am very careful, but Sander stares at me whenever we’re near each other. Still, he hasn’t said anything, and the farther we go, the more days we have without mention of witchcraft, the more I begin to feel almost normal again. Finally, we reach a vast stretch of dunes, and the sun sets on our left instead of our right, and I realize I’m facing north. We’ve hiked halfway around the great lake.
“Tomorrow!” Jaspar announces as the warriors in our camp crouch in front of the main fire for the evening meal. “After one final push we’ll be at the gates of Vasterut by sundown. I’ve sent riders ahead to let them know of our approach.”
“So there’s no escape,” mutters Bertel as he warms his gnarled hands, looking at Thyra with concern. In the last few days, she seems to have won over many. I think many of the warriors who were left behind during the invasion were the ones with milder spirits anyway, but Thyra’s endless efforts to connect with them, to listen, to speak with wisdom, appear to have solidified the support of our tribe—as did our rescue of the andeners and children on the marsh. I was afraid it would be seen as overcautious, but in the end, many warriors were shamed by their failure to protect our widows, as was their duty to their fallen brothers and sisters. Thyra’s unfailing dedication to that purpose, her willingness to sacrifice herself to save them, and her steady refusal to apologize for it have all reached them, and I am so proud of her that it makes my heart hurt.