The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(72)
“I lied to her, Jaspar. I killed that slave, a woman who hadn’t threatened me. It was an accident, but I did it to keep her silent. I’m not innocent. I killed Aksel, too.”
“Out of necessity, I have no doubt.” Jaspar looks down at me, looking entirely undisturbed. “Thyra has never accepted you just as you were. Even before you were cursed.” He lets loose a grunt of laughter. “She doesn’t accept anything. Always sowing doubt. But when she had to swallow that bitter brew herself, as she did on our journey from the north, she bristled with the taste. And yet, still, she seems intent on destroying us.”
My brow furrows. “That’s not . . . I don’t think that’s what she wants. It wouldn’t make any sense. She could have ordered us to fight to the death when you came to the camp—she had every reason to fear coming here. But instead, for the sake of the andeners and her warriors, she came quietly. And when she had the chance to beg for her life in the fight circle, she only asked for the safety and health of her warriors.”
“I’m sorry, Ansa. It’s hard for me to see past the damage she’s done. And when I look at you, I can see her marks on you. I see you struggling to hide who you are, and to hold everything inside to meet her approval. . . .” His hand covers his chest, his fingers fisting over his tunic. “It enrages me. Why do you love someone who doesn’t love who you are?”
Tears sting my eyes and I turn away from him. “Stop,” I say hoarsely. “No more.”
“My father and I—we see who you are. We value that.”
I close my eyes. “Thank you.”
His hand covers mine, careful and warm. “I hope it helps. Doubting yourself and what you can do—and whether you should wield the power you have—that cannot be healthy for you. And I wonder if that is why it’s hurting you.”
I sniffle. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“I know.” He smiles and squeezes my hand. “And that is why I needed to make sure I said it. And now, I want to ask you something.” He nudges my shoulder with his own. “Will you spar with me?”
“What? Are you addled?”
He purses his lips. “Maybe? But I have missed it so.”
“You might be taking your life in your hands.”
“Stepping into a fight circle with you is always that way.” He rises and holds his hand out. “Let’s give it a try. Just grappling. Please?”
I let him pull me away from the wall. “Here?”
“Why not?”
My heart is skipping with an eager, happy rhythm. “Are you sure you’re not just planning to throw me over the side?”
He widens his stance, beckoning me forward. “I guess you’ll have to trust me.”
My laughter is high and happy and real. “Fair enough.” And then I charge.
*
I lie on the cool wooden floor of my new chamber, staring up at the timber braces above. I ache all over, but not with new blisters. Instead, it is a pure pain, one I welcome—I’ve been sparring with Jaspar every afternoon for the past three days. I can feel my strength returning, the simple, uncomplicated joy of fighting with only my wits and my speed. I am nowhere near as good as I was, nowhere near able to subdue Jaspar, but I can get away from him nearly every time, which is almost as good—he can’t keep me down. And his grin every time I rise from the ground makes me feel like a conqueror. It has helped keep my mind off the mission to Kupari, what might happen when Nisse and Thyra return—and the fact that I am running out of time.
Halina has just taken my noonmeal scraps away, and I know she will be gone for a good long while, cleaning up and chatting with the other attendants in the kitchen, where no warriors bother to go. I’ve noticed this. I have no idea what the Vasterutians are discussing as they mull about down there, whether they have rebellion or pot scrubbing on their minds, and I push thoughts of it away. It doesn’t matter right now.
All that matters is the curse, and whether I can control it. Regardless of what happens, wielding this power will help me. I close my eyes, seeking the fire and ice inside me. It rushes forward eagerly, like a child who wants a sweet, or perhaps just to be noticed. I breathe slowly as it floods my chest. It feels huge, as if I’m poised on the crest of a giant wave, deadly potential and unstoppable momentum. I remember this force as it rushed to my aid that day in the fight circle, as it rolled deadly and vicious from my hands and thoughts. The memory is both terrifying and seductive. Are we friends, or enemies?
I spread my palms and turn them toward the ceiling. So many times over the last many days, I have pressed the magic down, knowing that allowing it into my consciousness would bring more pain, more burns. Before that night in the fight circle when I let it loose, before I gave in to it so completely, it did not hurt me, but once I wielded it with intention, somehow it burrowed deep inside me, setting roots inside my marrow. Now my arms are raw meat, and there are spots of agony along my torso and my legs. The disease has spread, and when Halina saw the damage, her shocked expression told me exactly how hideous it was. But if I can wrestle the curse into submission, I will find my way back to my people. I will be able to walk among them without fearing the jab of a knife or a stare just as sharp and lethal.
I could be Krigere again. I could forget everything else. I crave the safe simplicity of it.