The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(42)

I’m not sure she’ll count me among that group, but I don’t admit that to Jaspar. Instead, I close my eyes as his wood-smoke-scented blond hair brushes at my face, blown by the chilly breeze. I don’t know if I’m causing it or not.

Jaspar steers his mount to the edge of the trees. He loops its reins around a branch, and then we’re striding into the damp and cool of the forest, spongy needles beneath our boot soles and the sharp smell of pine sap in the air. We’ve just reached a clearing split down the middle by a burbling stream when Jaspar says, “You wear your unhappiness like a veil today, Ansa. I can barely see anything else when I look at you.”

“Nonsense. I’m just thinking about what lies ahead.”

“You’re a terrible liar. You always have been.”

I scrub my hand over my face. “What do you want, Jaspar?”

“How has she rewarded your loyalty, Ansa? I want to know. A few days ago I could have guessed, but this morning . . .”

“Since when is this your concern?”

He turns around, his green eyes reflecting the colors of the pines. Muted and deep. “Whether you wanted me or not, you’ve always been my concern, ever since you were brought to our camp by one of my father’s warriors. His andener didn’t want you as a slave because you were too fierce, almost feral. But Lars and my father recognized that you had a warrior’s spirit. That was when they gave you to Einar and Jes to raise. That was when you became Krigere.”

I touch my short hair as I remember Jes drawing his knife and cutting my matted, filthy locks from my head. “The first time they put a weapon in my hand, I couldn’t wait to use it.”

His grin says he remembers the moment. “I wouldn’t be alive if that cursed dagger hadn’t been completely dull. But I think that was the instant that linked us forever.”

“I tried to kill you!”

“You chose me. Of all the warriors in training under that roof, you came for me. Not Sander. Not Aksel or Tue. And not Thyra.”

“I don’t even remember who else was there.” Just blurred faces with bright eyes, surrounding me, closing me in. A test of my courage, but I didn’t feel brave. I felt desperate. I had been alone and scared for so long that I didn’t realize things had changed at first.

He touches the sheath strapped to my forearm. “Dismiss it if you want. I never will. I may have been a mere boy with barely eleven years under my belt, but I knew it was important even then. And we have had other moments since—you can’t deny it.”

My skin flashes hot when I see the passion in his eyes, the same heat I felt the moment before he drew his blade across my skin and marked me forever. “We don’t know each other, Jaspar. Not anymore.”

“I know you love Thyra. That, at least, hasn’t changed.” He gives me a sad smile. “It doesn’t stop me from craving your happiness and your victory.”

“I’ll be happy when I know our tribe is not in danger of extermination.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Why would we have gone to the trouble of bringing all of you on this journey if we intended to slaughter everyone? Please. I had enough warriors with me to raid the camp. But we are tribe, Ansa, whether you sense it or not.”

“Tribe,” I whisper. His words are a balm, soothing my fear.

“My father needs you. All of you.” He leans forward, placing his palm on the tree behind me, bowing his head over mine. “And perhaps especially you.”

My blood slides cold through my veins as the fear returns. “What?”

He points to the bandaged wound on my neck, and the other on my forearm. “Something tells me Aksel didn’t walk away from our camp.” I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger. “As far as I’m concerned, you have done your tribe a service. Thyra would do well to be grateful instead of treating you as she has.”

I don’t know whether she would want me to admit to the killing or to keep up the pretense. We’ve walked far enough so that it’s likely no one would volunteer to retrieve Aksel’s charred body, but I can’t be sure. “Whether I killed Aksel or didn’t, he’s gone, and his mother grieves. I wouldn’t say that’s a service to our tribe.”

Jaspar grabs my arm, pressing his thumb over my kill marks. “Shall I give you another scar, Ansa?” he asks, his voice low and rough. “Since it seems Thyra didn’t offer. It certainly appears that you’ve earned it.”

My breath rasps from me, harsh and frigid. “No need.” I pull myself out of his grip.

Jaspar gives me a shrewd look. “Sander has come to me with a very interesting theory about Aksel’s departure. Would you like to hear it?”

I duck under Jaspar’s arm as frost creeps down my neck and blooms across my back. Behind me, Jaspar shudders. But if I run from him now, it’s as good as admitting guilt. “Sander’s been jealous of me ever since I took his ear for a trophy,” I say as breezily as I can manage. I peer up at the sun through a break in the trees, welcoming its warmth, and feel it stroke my cheek only a second later.

I turn to see Jaspar watching me. “Sander is a good warrior, Ansa. He hates the idea of defeat, and you gave him one of his most memorable. But I think, in a way—and though he would never tell you this—he’s grateful for it. You taught him an important lesson that day. Never turn your back on an enemy who isn’t well and surely dead.”