Frost

by E. Latimer

  So, Leif hadn’t been lying to scare me after all. The queen really did expect me to fight in some insane battle. She was still staring at me, waiting for something, but terror squeezed my throat and glued my mouth shut, so I only nodded.

  Queen Eira smiled. "Make sure you attend training every morning. I've asked Erik to teach you our history. He tells me you are doing well. You've exceeded my every expectation."

  I mumbled a thank-you, hoping she would leave soon. My legs weren't doing a very good job holding me up anymore, and all I wanted to do was retreat to my bedroom and collapse onto the bed.

  The queen and her procession finally left, and I turned to find Leif behind me, clutching his broadsword. For a moment I thought he was going to come at me again, but he just stood there and glared.

  "What?" I stepped back, the point of my katana wavering in the air between us.

  His face was flushed, his lips pale and trembling. "Again."

  Something told me he wasn't going to fight fair. He might not kill me in front of a room full of people, but I could see him wounding me badly and passing it off as an accident. Nothing about him seemed rational.

  "I can't. The queen said to meet Erik in the library for history lessons. He'll be wondering where I am." It was a partial lie. I was supposed to go to lunch first. Then the library. Technically, I could stay and fight, but I had no intention of letting him stab me.

  Leif strode forward and seized my shirt, twisting it and pulling me closer. "You’re disobeying my direct order?"

  "I am obeying the queen, as you should be." I was proud of how steady my voice sounded.

  His hand slammed against my cheek with a resounding crack, snapping my head back, and pain seared through my cheek and jaw. I blinked and shook my head, and the room blurred as tears welled up.

  The only reason I didn't stagger back was because of Leif’s grip on my shirt. My face throbbed, but I was too stunned to react.

  He slapped me.

  It was one thing to be clipped in hand-to-hand combat, but it was another to be bitch-slapped out of nowhere. "You're a sore loser, Your Highness." My voice shook, and I blinked hard, forcing the tears back.

  "Do not ever think to lecture me about the queen. She’s my mother, not yours. When her fascination with you fades, you’ll cross the line and she’ll have you executed, a fate many have suffered before you. Don’t be fooled by her kindness." He released my shirt and shoved me backward.

  The room swam around me, and I staggered and then caught my balance.

  "Go on, then, if you're too much of a coward for a rematch."

  I almost wanted to, just to see him end up on the floor again. But there was no guarantee the genetic memories would resurface a second time, and he might end up killing me in round two. Besides, my head was still spinning, and my entire body felt heavy.

  I shoved through the doors and into the hallway, nearly blind with tears of pain and fury.

  I hated him. It had taken me a few weeks to realize just how much I hated him. In my old life, there had been people I didn't like, but it had never been like this. I'd never hated anyone with such white-hot fury. For now, it even surpassed the initial panic about this battle the queen had talked about. I was too angry to really think about it.

  Servants passed by as I hurried through the halls, but I kept my head down, hoping no one would notice my tears.

  Someone loomed in my path, forcing me to look up. A servant, taller than usual, and pale, with elegant features. She studied me with sullen, blue eyes. Her face was smudged with dirt, and her hair was in tangles, but I still recognized her.

  "Edda."

  She was barely recognizable as the proud noblewoman I'd first met.

  "Amora." She folded her arms over her chest and glowered at me. "You look upset."

  Like you care. "Right."

  "Cousin Leif is giving you a hard time. I've heard." She gave me a venomous smile. "The servants talk."

  I kept my mouth shut. There was no way I was taking the bait.

  "It's probably because he realizes you're a freak."

  Okay, bait taken.

  Clenching my fists, I took a step toward her. "What, because I'm half human? You're a servant now. How do you come off high and mighty?"

  "You're a genetic mutant." She moved back, keeping a few feet between us. Her ruby-colored lips curled in a sneer. "Do you know why you could freeze me like that? Because Amora could. You're not even a real person. You're just a genetic copy. A freak of nature. Eventually, she’ll take you over."

  Something hot and bright swelled in my stomach, fear so intense that prickles of rage crept over my skin. "You have five seconds to get the hell out of my way, Edda."

  She stepped to one side, obviously content that her barbs had hit home.

  I marched past, holding my head high until I'd turned the corner, out of sight.

  What the hell had she been talking about? Nobody had said anything about being taken over. It felt like I'd swallowed rocks.

  Skipping the dining hall, I went straight to the library, where I could think in peace. I was surprised to see Erik already waiting. That was good though. Maybe I could get some answers from him.

  He looked up when I entered, and his smile faded."Amora, what's the matter? You look upset. Was it Leif again?"

  It was so much more than that. The strange feelings during the fight. The battle. What Lady Edda said. I hardly knew which problem to bring up first.

  "Yes...no. I mean..." I yanked a chair out and sat across from him, taking a deep breath, wondering if I was going to sound like a crazy person. "Is she just going to take over at some point?”

  He looked stunned. "What? Who?”

  “I mean Amora. In the training room, I had this super-intense fight with Leif. It was like...it wasn’t me. Worse than usual…" I hesitated, struggling to express it.

  Erik sighed, scraping a hand through his hair. "It's complicated. Essentially, your DNA is fused with that of Amora's. When I say you inherited her memories, I mean all of them, including muscle memory."

  The thought that some freaky DNA might be taking over my body was slightly terrifying. "So she was right. I really am a genetic freak." Horror curled my gut, and I took a deep, shaky breath. "She really could take me over."

  He shook his head. "It's not like that. You have part of her in you, yes.” He brushed a finger over my hand, sending tingles up my arm. "But you're still you. The majority of your DNA is human. You'll find that muscle memory will take over in a tight spot. It may seem like something is controlling you, and my suggestion is to let it, since it will save you. But you'll always snap back to you."

  I frowned. "Are you sure? Lady Edda said—"

  "Lady Edda?" He leaned back in his chair, arching a brow at me.

  My face started burning. "Okay, I get it. She obviously hates me, so she said it to freak me out. But you don't get it. This didn't feel like muscle memory. It's not like that. It was like... like I wasn't in control of my body.” I shuddered.

  "It felt bizarre because, though it's technically muscle memory, you've never actually done any of that stuff before." Erik smiled. "So it would feel very foreign and, at the same time, strangely familiar."

  That was a pretty accurate description. The knot in my chest started to unravel a little bit. "Okay, that's a relief. It's good to know that I'm not actually going to turn into her."

  He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm sorry if everyone here keeps making you feel like...like you're someone else. I know the queen is projecting all of her hopes and guilt onto you. I know Leif hates you because you remind him of her. And..." He paused, his eyes fixed on my face like he was trying to memorize it. Or Amora’s, more likely. "I'll try not to think of her every time I look at you, but it is difficult."

  I nodded, feeling a surge of sympathy, which drained away as quickly as it had come when I remembered my next question. “Why didn’t you tell me the queen wants me to fight in some battle? Leif
had to be the one to tell me, of all people. I thought he was doing it to scare me until the queen mentioned it today.”

  He grimaced, rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t confirmed you’d be fighting until today. I didn’t want to scare you.”

  I scowled at him. “This is insane. I can’t go to battle.” I slammed my hands down on the table. “I’m not her precious daughter. I’m seventeen years old for God’s sake. I’m supposed to be gossiping in the school bathroom and worrying about my hair. I’m graduating next year, not chopping people’s heads off.” The thought made my stomach squirm.

  Erik shook his head. “The battle isn’t any time soon.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “It might not be for years.”

  My pulse started to slow a little, and I felt my shoulders relax. “Why?”

  “The queen waits for a sign that was prophesied.” The crease in his brow deepened. “When frost meets fire in its own abode, it is then that the war horns will sound.”

  I raised one brow. “Is that supposed to be the prophecy? What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “It’s been interpreted a few ways, but the queen thinks it means we’ll catch a traitor amongst our people. That’s why the elite guard has doubled patrols in the last few months, and we have regular checks through the villages. And every so often, she finds someone she thinks might be the traitor and…questions them.” His face went a shade paler, and he cleared his throat.

  I didn’t want to know what he meant by that.

  He straightened up and took a breath. "Anyways. The battle could be years away. Centuries, even. The queen wants you caught up on everything, not just fighting. She wants me to teach you our history, but I think it's more important we get on with your ice training. You'll need that in battle more than history books."

  For the next hour we worked on my training, and I tried to push aside all thoughts of prophecies and battles. I was pretty good at freezing simple things by now—bowls of water and cups of tea. This time, we started working on freezing another frost jotun. According to Erik, it was what the queen wanted me to work on the most.

  That would come in handy if Leif tried something. It didn’t prove Lady Edda right.

  It was frustrating, to say the least. I tried to make Erik's hand freeze, but I couldn't even make his skin change temperature. He kept telling me to release myself to being a frost giant, to accept who I was. Accept who I was—that was funny. I had to bite a sharp retort back every time he said it.

  How was I supposed to accept who I was, when I wasn't even sure anymore?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Charlotte was in front of the vanity when I pushed my way through the big double doors. Becca was crouched beside her, one hand on Charlotte’s chin, applying eyeliner with careful strokes, brows creased in concentration.

  "Hey, Megan!" Charlotte waved enthusiastically and was soundly scolded by her makeup artist.

  Becca straightened up and gave me a smile as I came in, pushing her hair out of her face. Both girls were dressed up, Charlotte in a silky blue gown and Becca in flowing silver.

  "Why are you two getting all fancy?" I said.

  "We're going on the starlight walk," Charlotte said excitedly. "Becca just told me all about it. It's a ritual every evening. You meet handsome men under the stars..." She sighed, so obviously smitten with the idea that I had to keep myself from laughing. "They invited me to go."

  I couldn't help feeling suspicious. "Amy did?"

  Becca went back to the eyeliner, place one hand under Charlotte’s chin to tilt her face up. “Amy might be the ringleader in her own little brain, but we do things without her. It's just me and Charlotte and Margaret tonight. You're welcome to come if you like."

  "You should!" Charlotte clapped and then sat still again when Becca shook a finger at her.

  "Sorry, guys," I shuffled over to the bed and flopped on top of the covers, groaning at how good it felt to be off my feet, "but my entire body aches. Leif and I had a pretty epic sword fight."

  "We know," Charlotte said in a hushed voice. "Everyone knows."

  "Leif is pissed." Becca actually sounded amused. "I mean really mad. Okay, you’re done, Charlotte."

  I sat up. "Wait, is he telling people? I can't see him bragging about that."

  "No way." Charlotte stood up and smoothed her dress down, smirking. "Getting his butt kicked by a newbie isn't something he'd want to talk about. All the nobles were there though, so now, the whole palace knows.”

  "Gossiping is somewhat of a sport around here," Becca said dryly.

  "Oh." I flopped back over, pressing a hand to my forehead. "That's great. Everyone will hate me even more now."

  Charlotte spun in front of the mirror, her face glowing as she watched the dress flare out around her legs. "Have a nice, relaxing bath and don't worry about them. Leif's just sour because you handed him his butt on a platter."

  I snorted and let my head fall back onto the pillow. "Thanks. You two have fun."

  The door slammed, and I heard them giggling all the way down the hallway. Then there was only silence—glorious, uninterrupted silence. After a minute, I got up and shuffled into the bathroom, running the water as hot as it would go into the big, marble tub.

  I stuck my toe in before it was even halfway filled. Nearly scalding. Perfect temperature for my aching bones. I dropped my clothes in a pile on the floor and climbed in, sliding in an inch at a time, gasping a little at the heat before settled my body into the molded backrest.

  It only took a few minutes for my eyes to start drooping.

  ~ * ~

  Water lapped at my chin, and I gasped, struggling to sit up and stop breathing liquid into my lungs. I must have been more exhausted than I'd thought. The bathwater had gone from hot to tepid.

  Stumbling out of the tub, I grabbed one of the white terrycloth robes from the hook on the door and shrugged into it before stepping carefully onto the bathroom tiles, which were warm against my bare feet. In the mirror, I noted dark circles under my eyes.

  For all the sleep I got, you'd think I'd look refreshed, but at least I hadn't dreamed this time.

  I pushed the bathroom door open with my shoulder, tucking my hair up into a sloppy bun to keep the wet ends from brushing my shoulders. Halfway through the doorway, the hair on the back of my neck prickled.

  Something was wrong. The fireplace was lit, crackling noisily. The scent of pine filled the room. The fireplace had been empty and cold when I'd gone into the bathroom.

  Heart in my throat, I crept forward a few inches, my gaze darting around the dim room. To the right was the king-sized bed, the sheets rumpled and unmade. Empty. To the left...a dark figure loomed. I gasped, staggering backward. My shoulders hit the doorframe.

  A servant stood in the center of the bedroom, dressed in the customary drab garments. His blond hair was unusual for a half-blood, long and straight, brushing his shoulders. He turned his head to look at me, and the fire light glinted off a pair of thick glasses.

  "Sorry, princess," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  My face went hot, and I grasped the top of the bathrobe and pulled it tightly closed. "Why would you just walk in here?"

  My mouth dropped open as the servant reached up and grabbed the ends of his long blond hair. He yanked on it, and the wig slid to one side, revealing dark-brown curls that sprang up wildly. He took his glasses off, tossing those aside as well, giving me a huge, sheepish grin.

  "Sorry about that, I honestly didn't mean to scare you."

  My heart was suddenly thundering against my rib cage. "Loki?"

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  My first thought was to run, but he was standing between me and the door. Alarm bells sounded in my head, and I took a step backward. "Are you here to kill me?"

  Loki held up both hands. "I'm not here to hurt you. I promise. Just hear me out?"

  "Do I have a choice?" I tugged on the neck of the bathrobe, feeling horribly exposed.


  He cleared his throat and ducked his head, staring down at the floor. "I really have the worst timing—"

  "Explain," I said sharply, and Loki jerked his head back up. "And you had better do a damn good job of it. I read your text messages."

  "I know." He ran one hand through his curly hair, brown eyes searching my face. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. "

  "Should have told me what? That you were supposed to kill me?"

  "No—that I took the job to make sure no one else did."