The Cursed Queen

  I understand so many things, each piece of knowledge a blade of sorrow inside me. “Yes.”

  She stares at me for a long moment, letting me feel the twist of her weapon, the way my heart gives way beneath her will. “Good. Let’s get to work.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I do not sleep at all. Thyra walked away from me the moment we reached the camp again. She stared at me coolly while she slowly and deliberately poured water over her hands, rubbed them together, and dried them on her cloak. Perhaps it was just to clean the stink of burned meat from her skin, but I could not help but think she was washing me away too, the way she’s touched me, the bond we shared, my place at her side. When she was finished, she crossed to the other side of the dying fire and laid her blanket next to Bertel.

  I am curiously numb as I rise from my blanket and roll it around my spare weapons and bloodstained tunic. My muscles ache with fatigue, and my steps are heavy as I fall into line behind Thyra and a group of warriors who are loyal to her—today Sander is among that group, and Jaspar hikes at the front with the warriors he brought from Vasterut. However, they seem more like one tribe, the distance worn away by the shared journey, talking and teasing as we slowly make our way up a sandy trail that winds along between grass and forests and dunes. The sand is marbled with black, and the Torden is smooth and blue as the sun arcs over us. The wind bites at our ears and the tips of our noses; the snow will come any day. In a fog, I find myself wondering if the weather is the same here as it is in our northern camp. I hadn’t lived there all my life, but it is the only place I truly remember thinking of as home.

  The realization that I will never see it again brings on another numbing wave that fills my head from ear to ear. This is how it felt under the waves during the witch’s storm. Knowing I was going to die, and only wondering how and when. It crosses my mind to simply decide and do it myself, but there is something in me now, hard and unmovable, that crushes that thought as soon as it forms. Maybe that’s the curse being willful. Or maybe it’s the tiniest spark of hope—Thyra didn’t banish me, and it was well within her power to do so. Perhaps, if I’m strong enough, I can find my way back to her.

  That’s the thought that lifts one foot and places it in front of the other, that draws air into my lungs, lifts my chin, and points my gaze to the west. Somewhere out there is the Kupari peninsula, the home of the one who tried to strike us down. My heart roars at the thought of delivering her filthy witchcraft right back to her threshold.

  Someone pokes my shoulder. “Obviously you’re very busy daydreaming at the moment, but I was wondering if you wanted to ride out and see if we can’t hunt up something for noonmeal. Several flocks of wild turkeys call the woods home.”

  I blink at Jaspar, who has dropped back into step with me. “Me? Why?”

  He glances up at Thyra, who does not turn around and acknowledge us. “Well,” he says quietly, “I get a bit bored when I hunt alone, and I do remember you are a keen shot with a bow.”

  “I haven’t hunted in a while.” I was focused on gaining my prizes and food through the plunder of two-legged prey.

  Jaspar holds out a fine bow of black ash with a string of hemp. It’s not very big—clearly made for small-game hunting and not for battle, which is good because that’s the only kind I’m strong enough to shoot. “Will this do?”

  I touch the taut string. “Maybe.”

  Jaspar gestures up to his horse, which has been freed of the load of rations it had carried at the beginning of our journey. He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Let’s get out of here, just for a little while. It’s our last chance before we reach the city, and I’m feeling lucky today.”

  I soak up the friendliness in his tone like a sunflower thirsty for water and follow him to his mount. I get on behind him, wrapping my arms around his lean waist. He might not be a bulky, muscular warrior, but he is solid and sure, and I hold on tight. He chuckles. “Either you don’t trust my horse, or you’ve missed me.”

  I need it too much to let go. “I’ll let you figure out which.”

  Thyra’s request to get closer to him echoes in my memory, and I glance over my shoulder at her. As she so often does, she looks up as if she feels my gaze. But her eyes are solemn as she turns away to say something to Sander.

  I fight the ache in my chest with hope—perhaps following her order to become Jaspar’s confidante will help me regain her trust. “Are you eager to be back within city walls?” I ask as Jaspar gently kicks his horse’s flanks and turns its nose toward a wood about a mile to the south.

  “Yes and no. I had missed sleeping under stars, but it’s hard to beat a stone hearth and fresh bread. You’ll see when we get there.”

  “Will there be enough shelters for all of us?”

  He shakes his head. “For tonight, the andeners and many of the warriors will camp outside the city. My father has been preparing for their arrival, so there will be food and blankets aplenty. I’ve already discussed it with Thyra. She and her most senior warriors will be welcomed into the castle. I hope you’ll find it to your liking.”

  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.”

  I scoff. “So he’s telling you lies about me out of gratitude? Of course. Why didn’t I guess?”

  “Ah. You’re denying even though you don’t yet know what he said. Interesting.”

  I start to walk back toward our horse. “If this is why you brought me here, we’d best get back. I’m not clever enough to play your game.”

  He catches my arm as I pass. “He said the witch queen did something to you, and that you’re trying to hide it,” he says, holding tight as I try to jerk my arm away. When I reach for my knife with my other hand, he grabs my wrist. “Hear me out! Please!” he says as I take a step back to slam my knee into his groin.

  “I’m not hiding anything,” I say, my voice barely more than a growl.

  “Remember what I said about your prowess at deception?”

  I stop struggling as the ice creeps up over my shoulders, as it starts to reach for Jaspar. My nostrils flare as I draw a deep breath. Concealing Aksel’s death was one thing, but if I kill Jaspar, our entire tribe will be slaughtered to pay for the affront. “Fine,” I tell him. “Let me go, and I’ll talk about it.”

  He releases my arms but stays close. “That’s all I wanted.”

  “When we made it back to shore after the witch-made storm, I began to have dreams. Terrible dreams.”

  Jaspar stares down at me. “And?”

  “And—that’s it.”

  “Sander said you were struck by lightning on the Torden and survived.”

  “It’s a miracle any of us survived that journey home.”

  “He said you caused two shelters to burn.”

  “Yes. At night. When my tortured flailing must have knocked a burning ember or log from the fire.”

  “Sander thinks you created the fire.”

  With everything inside me, I focus on the sincerity of my words. “I did. By sleeping too close to it, apparently, and scattering cinders over sleeping blankets.”

  “He told me that you attacked him, and your touch was so cold it burned his skin.”

  I shake my head. “Like all of us, Sander is trying to make sense of what happened, and of what the witch has done to our tribe. Do you really believe I can create fire and ice at a whim? What kind of witchcraft would that be?”

  “The useful kind,” Jaspar says simply.

  My mouth drops open. “Is that how they think in Vasterut? Because among our people, witchcraft is only useful for getting oneself stoned and speared in the fight circle. And maybe that’s Sander’s goal, to see me defeated that way.”

  “It’s not, Ansa. He only wants to understand what he’s seen, to keep his tribe safe—and to take his revenge on the witch queen.”

  I throw my hands up. “I want the same thing! No one so evil should be allowed to live.”

  “But is it possible to use witchcraft like hers for good? I’ve heard stories of her power from the Vasterutians. She keeps the entire Kupari kingdom warm in winter. The gardens of Kupari flourish even when the lake is frozen solid. And she keeps the brush fires away from their gates. She wields ice and fire to take care of her people. She meets their every need.”

  “No wonder they’re all so soft and happy. Do they do anything for themselves?”

  “Apart from hoarding their riches, you mean? Really, it’s an excellent question. From what I hear, there is no Kupari army,” he says. “We are almost certain of it.”

  “A few minutes before she struck that day on the Torden, we were joking about her lack of a navy. It turned out she didn’t need one.”

  “But if we could understand her magic, perhaps we’d have a chance to defeat her.” His eyes are bright now. Eager. “That knowledge would be valuable.”

  “I wish I could help you.”

  “Are you saying Sander is telling me stories?”

  “I’m saying Sander has lost everything. His chieftain, his war, his home, his pride. Like me, he has no family—and his dream of creating one died with his mate last winter, just weeks after you, his closest friend, were banished along with your father. Sander has nothing left except his weapons and his wits. Perhaps he’s using them to gain your trust and enhance his status with Nisse by feeding you lies. Interesting ones, but lies all the same.”

  “So you’re saying you do not control the wind, or the chill in the air? You didn’t make fire?”

  I laugh, so relieved as the ice in my veins melts. “Do you hear yourself speaking right now?”

  He gives me a keen, searching look. Then he grins, though I swear it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sadly, yes. It does sound rather unhinged.”

  “Please don’t make Sander face consequences for this,” I say, praying he will let this go. “He’s suffered enough. But if you can, encourage him to turn his mind toward serving his chieftain instead of telling unfounded tales. If you care for him as your friend, help him keep wise.”

  Jaspar takes a step back from me, his gaze drifting from my boots up to my face. “You could challenge him to the fight circle for this.” He chuckles. “Maybe you can claim his other ear!”

  I can’t have his blood on my hands. Not now. “As Thyra says, we need every sword arm.” I smile. “And ear.”

  “My father still speaks highly of Sander.” He pushes his long hair away from his brow. “I’ll tell him to hold his tongue if he comes to me again.” He gives me a rueful look. “And here I was sure I understood why you were looking so pale and miserable. Now I’m back to wondering what has happened between you and Thyra.”

  “Nothing,” I mumble.

  Slowly, as if he’s afraid I’ll flinch away, Jaspar reaches up to slide his finge
rtip along my hairline, smoothing my coppery short hair against my skin. “I stand by what I said. You deserve so much in return for your loyalty. You would be welcomed into any tribe.”

  “Thyra is a good chieftain.” My voice falters as I think of the coldness in her eyes this morning. “I’m her wolf.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re only illustrating my point, Ansa.” He gazes down at me, his green eyes full of so many feelings that I can’t read a single one. He leans in, slowly, until his mouth is only a few inches from mine. My heart beats frantically as I inhale the scent of sweat and leather and pine. “And now . . . ,” he whispers.

  Part of me wants to beg him to kiss me, just to make me forget the taste of Thyra. And part of me knows that nothing could ever erase it. “Now?”

  “It’s time to hunt.” He pulls his bow from his back, then grins at me. “What did you think I was going to propose?”

  I let out a relieved chuckle and shake my head before happily following him across the clearing. As much as I’m grateful for Jaspar’s light heart and teasing manner, though, I refuse to let my guard down.

  Something tells me that hunting is what he’s been doing all along.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  My very first raid was on a settlement along the northwestern shore of the Torden. A large tribe of people who called themselves the Svalerne, recently migrated from the west, not realizing they’d entered our hunting territory and that they were our chosen prey. They had shelters like ours, mud and thatch. Apart from our own camp, which grew by the year as distant tribes united under Lars, it was the largest gathering of bodies I’d ever seen.

  Until today.

  The sun is setting as we reach the city wall of Vasterut. Made of stone and wood and mud, it is higher than three men standing on each other’s shoulders, and I cannot see the end of it once it comes into view. It blocks the sight of the shore and the lake. We stare in awe until Jaspar says, “There is no wall between the city and the lake.” He laughs as if he can’t believe it—they had no defenses against attack over water. “Kupari is the same, I hear. Only fishing vessels guard their harbor.”