The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(55)
“Don’t be afraid of me. I would never hurt you,” I say.
She lets out a quiet sob. “I know, Ansa.” Her hand slides up my back and into my hair. “I know.” She kisses my cheek, and my eyes fall shut at the absolute perfection of her lips against my skin. But then her grip tightens and her body tenses. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but before I can utter the question, my skull explodes in a thunder of pain and stars and black and I’m tumbling down, the deep darkness pulling me under.
*
She lies on the ground, blood soaking her dress, her eyes full of pain. Though the flames surround her, she doesn’t pay them any mind. Her gaze is on me. Never stop fighting. Her mouth doesn’t move, but I hear the words in my head, trilling and beautiful and true. Never stop.
I want to obey her, but I can’t move. “Mama,” I scream. I need her to stand up and come and get me, to scoop me from the ground and hold me in her arms, to laugh and stroke her fingers through my hair. I need to smell her scent, the one that means safety and love and home. But all I can smell now is the smoke.
I look down and realize I’m on fire.
“Be still,” a voice hisses. “Don’t touch those bandages!”
My eyelids are crusted shut, but I manage to open one, enough to see a blurry brown face hovering above mine. “What?” It comes out as a rasping croak.
“If you rip those bandages off again, you can fix them yourself.” The voice belongs to a woman, and she’s speaking Krigere, but it sounds off somehow, like she’s had too much ale, or too much honey. The sounds are drawn out and warm and round instead of the pointed fierceness I am used to.
A warm cloth is pressed to my eyes, knocking away the crust, and I blink my eyes open. “You’re the one from the banquet,” I say, wincing as the words abrade my dry throat.
The woman pats her spray of wild ebony hair with graceful fingers. She’s younger than I first thought, not much older than I am, and her gaze is full of sharp wariness. “Halina.”
“Vasterutian. I remember.”
She lets out a cluck of incredulous laughter. “Do you? Wonder you can even form a thought.”
My brow furrows. “What happened?” I glance down at myself. I’m clad in only breeches and a chest wrap, and my arms are bandaged from fingertips to shoulders. I can see every one of my ribs. Shock clenches cold and tight in my belly, and I try to sit up, but Halina holds me down. Her hand is encased in a thick leather mitt, like the kind some andeners wear when they handle iron in the fire. I collapse under the pressure, winded and weak.
“Thought you might not remember your own name, what with that knock to the head.” She grunts, pure amusement. “The Krigere had no idea they had a wielder among them.” She whistles. “Quite a show.”
A shadow of memory hulks at the back of my mind, pushing its way forward. “Where’s Chieftain Thyra?”
“Alive and safe. That’s all I’m to tell you.”
I try to get up again, but she keeps her hand pressed to my shoulder. “Why? Let me up!”
“Hush! You quiet down.” Her skin is glistening with sweat, and her voice has risen in alarm. “Don’t you turn that fire on me!”
My head sinks back onto the pillow, my lips tingling. “What did you say?”
The pressure on my shoulder lets up, but Halina is muttering to herself in a different language now, probably Vasterutian. It has the same drawling honey lilt she lent to the Krigere words. When she sees me staring, she gives me an exasperated look. “I don’t want to be here. No one else would mind you, though. All afraid you would cook them or turn them into an ice statue.”
How does she know? The dark shadow in my mind forces its way into the front of my consciousness. I remember. Fire bursting from my palms. Ice swirling in my hands. And my hate, and my rage, and Thyra’s tear-streaked cheeks. I embraced the magic and it devoured me. “Oh, no,” I whisper. “I thought that might have been a dream.”
“A nightmare, more like.” She flares her fingers and makes a whooshing sound. Then she looks me in the eye. “But you burn me and I’ll haunt you. Drive you mad. I could do it.”
My cheeks bloom with the heat of humiliation. “I don’t want to burn you. I’m not—” I press my lips together.
Halina grunts and settles herself next to my bedside. I’m in a stone chamber, the air cool and heavy and wet, the walls dripping. A torch bracketed to the wall reveals a heavy wooden door but no windows. It feels like the whole thing will collapse and crush me.
“So many brave warriors, and they send me to tend you.” She chuckles. “Not as brave as they like to claim.”
I stare down at my arms, lifting them to examine my bandages in the firelight. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Ha! Oh, so many things, it seems. But to begin with, your arms are blistered raw.” She nods at my head. “And you got your skull cracked by a dagger hilt.”
I squint, my head aching as I try to remember. But it’s like trying to lift a heavy boulder to see what’s underneath. I’m not strong enough. “Tell me.”
“You went berserk, and the lady warrior stopped you. Crack!” She mimics slamming a dagger hilt into her own head and then rolls her eyes and lets her tongue loll.