The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(82)

“I did, Ansa. I couldn’t see an end in it, and I didn’t think it was what our people needed. I also knew so many innocents would die as soon as we hit their shores.” Her eyes meet mine. “I kill without mercy or regret when I have no choice. But the idea of killing someone who could not or would not threaten my life or my people?” She shakes her head. “I can’t. I’ve always wondered how you could, actually. I know your parents were killed in a raid. You used to cry out for your mother in your sleep.”

Saliva fills my mouth. “Don’t.”

“You of all people should question why we live this way, and whether we should.”

“I of all people can’t,” I shout, fire trying to push its way up from my core. “And you can’t possibly understand.”

“Make me, then.”

I shake my head. “It must have been meant to happen. I was meant to be Krigere.”

“You were forced to be Krigere, Ansa. You were never given a choice.”

“Enough.” My voice is pure warning. My hands are shaking.

“As you wish. But I have trouble living with the knowledge that we tear children from families, that we kill when we don’t have to, that we see it as a point of pride. That we mark our own skin as a boast to the heavens!” She makes a disgusted face. “It sickens me.”

I think back to that night in the woods, when we stood over the old man from the village we’d just raided. He’d run, carrying a bundle of food and nothing else. He had no weapons, though he tried to throw a few pebbles at us as we approached. It was pathetic. When Thyra refused to kill him, I saw weakness. I reminded her of what her father had said. Maybe I can make him understand, she’d whispered.

I thought she’d wanted him to understand her hesitation. But now . . . “The night I killed for you, the night you hoped you could make your father understand. You weren’t talking about one man. You wanted to change Lars’s mind about our entire way of life.”

“That was the night I realized I couldn’t change anything—until I was chieftain.”

My heart skips. “And is that why you tried to poison your father?”

She does not look away from my eyes. “Now you are just Nisse’s horn, playing his tune for whomever will listen.”

My mouth twists with contempt. “Come, Thyra—you admitted it that night in Halina’s shelter.”

“No, I did not.” She sits up, leaning forward. “I admitted to sending that slave to find the poison, and to telling my father Nisse was trying to assassinate him. I am guilty of deceiving my father, and of the scheming that he hated so much. But I never set out to assassinate him.” Her fingers clutch the blanket that covers her straw tick mattress as she sways, looking dizzy and unsteady. “I never set out to assassinate anyone.”

“You succeeded in getting Nisse banished—along with several thousand warriors. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes!” she shouts. “That’s exactly what I wanted. But would you like to know why, Ansa? Would you believe me if I told you, or has he won you over so completely that you are packed full of his distorted version of truth?”

“That’s a very good question, since he’s the only one who’s been willing to tell me the truth,” I yell.

“No,” she says in a shaky voice, rising to her knees. “He’s willing to tell you whatever story brings you his way, whatever story keeps you quiet and useful.”

I jump to my feet. “Is that better than using silence for the same purpose?”

Her head falls back and she takes a deep breath. “I have made many mistakes. I never claimed to be perfect. But I loved my father and would have followed him into eternity. You saw me, Ansa, on the deck of that longship. After we heard of Nisse’s invasion of Vasterut, my father was dead determined to invade Kupari, and I was right there at his side. Reluctantly, yes. But I was loyal.”

“You split our tribe by framing Nisse!”

“I split our tribe because Nisse tried to kill me!” she shrieks. “I found the poison in my own cup, Ansa. The only reason I didn’t drink it was pure luck—a mouse got to it first and died right before my eyes. But I knew there was only one person who wanted me dead—the man who would take my place as heir, who would offer no counterbalance in his demand for war and death. And I had a choice—publicly accuse him and light the fuse on a civil war within our tribe, or create a situation where he had no alternative but to leave quietly. I stole my father’s celebration cup and planted it in Nisse’s tent, along with the poison he had intended for me. But I did not strike first. Believe that.”

I gape at her. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Then we are strangers,” she says, sagging on her pallet. “It’s my word against his. You are free to choose.” Her voice is weary but cold.

“Why should I choose you when you didn’t choose me?” I blurt out.

She raises her head. “What?”

All my sorrow and rage forces its way up, propelling my words from my throat. “As long as I can remember, Thyra, I wanted to be next to you. I’d never seen anyone fight like you, so beautiful and deadly.” My voice cracks, broken by memory. “I never understood you. I know that. But there was always something . . .” I sniffle. “Something I couldn’t stop craving. You were a mystery, and I wanted to be the only one who could puzzle you out. All I ever wanted was for you to look at me, and to tell me I was yours. I knew I couldn’t be your mate, but my only desire was to be your wolf.”