The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(68)
He glances back at my chamber. “You trust her?”
She’s too complicated to trust—or to betray right now. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“She’s Vasterutian.”
“Would any of our warriors have spent the last month helping me piss in a pot?”
He snorts. “Fair enough.”
We pass the stairs that lead up to the rest of the tower. “Speaking of trust . . . You didn’t bring Carina and the other guards.”
He looks up the steps. “I don’t know who to trust, Ansa. I always knew where I stood with you, though.”
“Jaspar said the same to me once.”
“Because it’s true. And it’s a relief. Heaven, the past month.” He bows his head, and I can see the weariness bracketing his mouth, lining his brow. “We’re fractured, Ansa. I don’t know if we’ll ever be whole. And now that Thyra’s tried to escape . . .”
“Do they know where she was going?”
“No, but they suspect. Preben, Bertel, and over a hundred fifty of our warriors have holed themselves up at the eastern quarter of the city, along with their andeners, and they refuse to cooperate until Thyra tells them what to do. They’re surrounded by a squad of Nisse’s warriors to prevent the rebellion from spreading to the populace, but the squad has been ordered not to attack. Word is that Thyra may have been trying to get to them. I don’t think Nisse will be surprised to hear it, either.”
“Why has he let her live, I wonder?”
“That many warriors willing to fight to the death, loyal to the end . . . They’ll meet their end before they swear loyalty to a new chieftain, and Nisse knows that.”
“They’ll starve, if they’re isolated like that.”
“Nisse’s supplying them with food and wood for their fires.”
Thyra told me they were running out of supplies. Another lie to manipulate me? “Why is he making it possible to stay where they are?”
“He wants their loyalty, Ansa, not their blood. He’s hoping some of them will give in. He doesn’t care if he wins in a trickle or a flood.”
“He might, if he wants them to invade Kupari. We are a large enough force to make a difference.”
“We are. If only I could puzzle out who we is these days.” He rubs the back of his head. His hair has grown in the past month, and it stands on end as his hand returns to his side. “But that’s why Thyra is still important. Nisse is trying to win her over too.”
I open my mouth to say that perhaps his warriors didn’t get that message—I just saw them beating the stuffing out of her. Then I remember that I was supposed to be in my room the whole time. “Has he won you over, Sander?”
He stops and leans against the wall, tapping his skull softly against stone. “Everything is sideways, Ansa. I don’t know where I belong. I’m not built for intrigue.”
“Me neither.” And part of me hates Thyra for forcing it on me. But another part of me hates myself for not saving her tonight.
He smiles. “I know.”
“I thought you hated me.”
“I hate what you can do. And I have to fit in with Nisse’s guard. Understand? I won’t keep my freedom otherwise.”
“You want to have liberty to jump in either direction.” Which is probably why he’s not with Preben and Bertel right now.
He shrugs. “And you?”
I sag against the wall next to him, winded from all the walking I’ve done today after a month of not setting my feet on stone. My ankles are blistered, but not with fire—with the simple rub of leather and wool stockings. My brain feels blistered too. “I don’t know. It was so simple, before.” But now I can’t stop thinking about who I was, who I am, and there’s nothing simple about it. And that’s before I even begin to think about Thyra and who she truly is.
“I think there was more going on beneath the surface than we ever suspected.”
“You’re more right than you know.” I wish I didn’t know the half of it.
“What do we do, Ansa?”
“You’re really asking me?”
He touches the jagged pink ridge at the bottom of his mangled ear. “It matters. And you’ve always been Thyra’s wolf. Are you, still?”
The image rises like a water spout—Thyra lying, bleeding, in the snow as warriors beat her near to death. “I don’t know, Sander,” I whisper. “Take me back to my chamber, please?”
He’s frowning as he guides me back, clasping my elbow gently. “I understand. Believe me, I do. But the messenger will return from Kupari any day now. That’s when Nisse will make his decision whether or not to invade.” When we reach the half-open door of the chamber, he glances inside at Halina. “And at that point, we’re out of time. We’re both going to have to decide which way to jump.” He looks down at my feet. “But until then, if you value your life and that of this Vasterutian here, I advise you to clean the mud off your boots.”
He strides away as my blood runs icy with fear.
*
The summons comes two days later, two days spent with Halina’s silence and wary watchfulness. I ask her for news—of Thyra, of what’s happening in the city, of how our warriors are faring—but she offers me nothing. She comes back from hours gone, her skin clammy and her hair frazzled, and I know she’s been questioned by Nisse or his warriors, but even then she keeps silent. But she changes my bandages, so gentle that it barely hurts. She patiently walks me up and down the hall to help me regain my strength—Sander, who has apparently decided not to tell anyone about the telltale mud on my boots, got permission from Nisse for such things, as long as a warrior guards the stairs. I suppose they don’t yet know about the hidden doorway that leads out of the tower, and I don’t mention it.