Ice Kissed (The Kanin Chronicles)

by Amanda Hocking

  Of course, that made everything even more confusing. If Mikko hadn’t grown tired of or irritated with his wife, then why had anybody wanted to get rid of her?

  Not to mention the fact that Mikko had thwarted our investigation when Linnea was missing. We’d wanted to interview guards and look at reports, but we were denied access.

  “Have you talked to Mikko about what happened before you went missing?” I asked.

  “I talk to Mikko about everything,” Linnea said, and with her love of chatting, I had a feeling that was very true.

  That probably made them very compatible. She enjoyed talking, and Mikko was more of a listener, so they balanced each other out.

  “Did he say anything about Konstantin Black?” I asked. “Does he know anything about him?”

  “Everything he knows, he’s heard from you.” Linnea shook her head. “He is grateful that Konstantin warned me to run away, though, and Mikko is relieved he wasn’t executed. Konstantin may have saved my life.”

  I rested my arms on the table. “From whom, though? Does Mikko have any idea who might have wanted to hurt you?”

  “No. He’s tried talking to the guard, but the unfortunate truth is that he’s been very hands-off about most things,” Linnea admitted, frowning. “His social anxiety makes it so hard for him to interact sometimes, so he’s really left Bayle Lundeen to handle everything.”

  “Do you trust Bayle?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes widened, as if it had just occurred to her that she shouldn’t. “Do you?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure I trust any of the guards around here. It’s hard to tell who knows what,” I said.

  “I know.” She nodded. “What I said the other night about overreacting and running away, that was for the benefit of the guards. I have no idea who we can trust anymore. But to tell you the truth, I’d never considered that Bayle might be involved.”

  “He’s the head guard, and this is all happening on his watch. Either he’s involved, or he’s too incompetent to stop it.”

  Linnea exhaled deeply and rested her chin on her hand. “Rune trusted Bayle and appointed him, and both Mikko and Kennet are loyal to him and seem to trust him. Their father was a terrifying man, and even after his death neither of the boys wants to defy him. But…” She chewed the inside of her cheek, pondering the situation. “You’re right, and I know you’re right.”

  “I know it’s tough for the King to go against what he believes his father’s wishes were, but the guard needs an overhaul to keep you all safe,” I said. “Whether your husband is comfortable with it or not, he needs to start taking control of his guards. If he wants to keep you safe, the King needs to be in charge.”

  Linnea nodded. “He needs to hear it from you though.”

  “What?” I asked.

  I’d gone into this luncheon thinking that Mikko might be the one behind everything, or at the very least a participant in Konstantin’s plot. But Linnea had just turned that theory on its head, and now she wanted me to go to Mikko and tell the King he needed to get rid of his top guard.

  “You’re an expert on these matters, and you’re right.” Linnea pushed back her chair and stood up. “We should go now. He’s down in his office. It’s the perfect time for you to go tell him what you think.”

  “We should set up a meeting with Kasper, maybe even your grandmother and the Prince,” I suggested, since I felt unprepared to present my case to the King—especially considering I didn’t completely know what my case was.

  “We’ll have a proper meeting later.” Linnea waved it off. “Let’s go.”

  The Queen had given me an order, so I had to obey. As we walked downstairs toward the King’s office, Linnea chattered the whole way, although I’m ashamed to admit that I’m not entirely sure what about. My mind was focused on trying to figure out what exactly I would say to the King, and how I should phrase everything.

  Linnea pushed open the door to her husband’s office without knocking. I was still lost in thought, but Linnea’s scream pulled me into the moment instantly.

  Mikko’s desk faced the water, so his back was to the door. He was hunched over his desk, hard at work on something, so he didn’t see the man standing behind him with a sword raised above his head, about to strike and cut off the King’s head.

  TWENTY-THREE

  impact

  Training kicked in, and I didn’t have to think—my body just sprang into motion. I ran at the man, knocking him to the ground and grabbing his wrist. I slammed it into the floor, forcing him to drop the sword.

  He tried to crawl toward it, and the satin of his uniform made it easier for him to slip out from underneath me. But I knelt on his back, pressing my knees into his kidneys as I pinned him in place.

  With one swift move, he tilted to the side and thrust his elbow up, hitting me squarely in the chin. It was just enough to throw me off balance, and he scrambled out from under me. He grabbed the sword, but I was already on my feet when he jumped up and pointed it at me.

  There was a split second of shock when I realized who it was—Cyrano Moen, Linnea’s personal guard.

  Cyrano tried to run at me. I dodged to the side, avoiding the blade of the sword, then I grabbed his arm. I turned him around, bending his arm at a painful angle, and he let out a yelp. If I applied more pressure, I would break his arm, and that caused him to release his sword again.

  I took it from him this time, letting him go so he fell on the ground. Cyrano lay before me, panting, and I hoped this meant the fight was over. In the background, I heard Linnea crying and demanding to know why he would do this.

  But he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for the spare dagger in his boot.

  “Drop it,” I commanded, and his hard blue eyes were locked on mine. He had to know I meant it, but there was a determined mania in his gaze that I didn’t understand.

  He slowly got up, still holding the dagger, so I repeated, “Drop it.”

  “Cyrano!” Mikko’s voice boomed from somewhere behind me. “Do as she says!”

  “I’d like her to make me,” Cyrano snarled, and then he lunged at me.

  In my days of training as a tracker, I had run a sword through hundreds of dummies. They were built to have the same feel as a troll, so we’d know how much resistance a body would give and how much force we’d need to get the sword through.

  Still, I can’t explain how different it felt, or even what the difference was, when I pushed the blade straight through Cyrano. It was easier than I expected—the flesh gave way, and when the bell of the sword handle pressed against his stomach, I felt the warmth of his blood as it spilled over.

  The only light came from a desk lamp, casting too much of the room in shadows. Everything seemed to have an eerie, yellow hue to it, thanks to the way the light played off the reflective glass and the water outside.

  We had turned, so the window was behind me, and the light bounced onto Cyrano’s face. It cast a shadow across his mouth and body, but his eyes were wide and I could see the yellow dancing in them, like fiery waves.

  His eyes stayed locked on me still, filled with that strange mania. Not until the final seconds, when I was lowering him back to the ground and pulling the sword out of him, did the frenzied look finally give way. A glassy peace seemed to come over him, and he was dead.

  Linnea ran over to Cyrano’s body, pounding on his chest and screaming, demanding why he’d want to hurt her husband. She’d never been anything but kind to him. How could he betray her like this?

  Her words eventually seemed to fade away, becoming a distant foggy sound, like something from a dream. Mikko came over and pulled her off.

  I don’t remember letting go of the sword, but I remember the sound it made, clattering against the floor. I didn’t move or speak until Bayle Lundeen came in, asking me questions.

  I answered them as directly and simply as I could, but the words felt detached from me, as if they were coming from someone else. It was my voice, it was
the truth about what I’d done, but it wasn’t me.

  Nobody told me that I was acting strangely or that I didn’t seem present, so I must’ve been performing normally. I have no idea how long I talked to Bayle and King Mikko. It might have been minutes. It might have been an hour.

  Eventually, Kasper came and took me back to my room. He suggested I shower, since I had Cyrano’s blood all over me, and then he headed back upstairs, promising to help with the investigation.

  The shower lasted a very long time. I know this because it started out hot, but when I’d finished, the water was icy cold. I walked across the hall from the bathroom, wearing only a white robe. I’d thrown my clothes away in the trash can. I didn’t need them anymore.

  When I went into my room, I still felt vaguely as though I was in a dream. I just couldn’t seem to feel my body. It was as if I were floating above everything, not a part of this world, and I wondered if this was what it felt like to be a ghost.

  “Bryn?” Kennet asked, and I looked over to see him sitting on my bed. His usual smile was gone, and his eyes were dark.

  “How long have you been there?” I asked.

  “Long enough,” he said, like I would know what that meant, and he stood up so he could walk closer to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, and I wasn’t sure I had the ability to lie right then. It seemed out of the realm of my abilities to make things up. “I just killed a man.”

  “I know.”

  I waited a beat before adding, “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

  It was so much simpler than I expected. Taking a life seemed like it should be a much greater challenge, but my sword had gone through him just like it would through anything else. And then he was dead.

  There was a weight to that that I hadn’t expected. No amount of training or even belief that I had done the right thing could change the way it felt. A man had been alive. Now he wasn’t. And it was because of me.

  “You were doing your job, what you needed to do,” Kennet said. “That’s why I came here. To thank you for saving my brother’s life.”

  “Is the King okay?”

  I tried to collect myself, realizing that I had a job to do. I was a tracker. I’d been training for years to do what I’d just done. I just needed to get through the shock of it all.

  “Yes, he’s fine, thanks to you.” Kennet smiled. “Mikko wanted me to extend his gratitude to you, and I’m certain he’ll do it personally later on. He thought you might need time to collect yourself.”

  “No, I’m fine.” I brushed my fingers through my tangles of wet hair and turned, walking away from Kennet and toward the window. It was still daylight out, and a few rays of light managed to break through the murky water. “I’ll do whatever they need me to do.”

  “No one needs you to do anything right now.” Kennet followed me, his steps measured to match my slow place, before stopping behind me. “The King has given you the night off to do as you wish.”

  “But isn’t there an investigation to be done?” I turned back to face him.

  “The King, Kasper, and Bayle are handling it right now,” Kennet reassured me. “You can join them tomorrow. But for now, I think it’s best if you get some rest.”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. I don’t need rest. I need to figure out what’s going on.”

  “Bryn, take a break when you’ve earned it.” Kennet sounded weary, probably growing exhausted from trying to convince me that there was more to life than work. “And by Ægir’s might, you’ve earned it.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Kennet was close enough that I could breathe him in again—the heady scent of the sea and fresh rain and ice. He smelled of water in all its forms, so wonderful and soothing.

  Without thinking, I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest, and he responded by wrapping his arms around me and holding me to him.

  “I’m sorry if I come on too strong.” His words were muffled in my hair as he spoke. “It’s just that this palace can be awfully lonely day after day. But I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give.”

  I buried my head deeper in his chest.

  “You smell like home,” I whispered, realizing too late that my inability to lie had also become an inability to filter. Words were tumbling out without hesitation. “But not like the house I grew up in.”

  “It’s water that you smell,” he explained, his words muffled in my hair. “And water is your home.”

  Home. It was the last word that echoed through my mind when sleep finally overtook me that night.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  afflicted

  I remembered nothing from my dreams, but I couldn’t shake the fear. I was sitting in my bed, in the strange darkened room of the Skojare palace, covered in a cold sweat and gasping for breath, and I didn’t know why I was so terrified.

  Kennet had slipped out after I’d fallen asleep, which was only proper. But I missed the comfort of his presence, and I realized that in spite of all my best intentions, I now considered Kennet a friend.

  “Bryn?” Kasper cautiously pushed open my bedroom door and looked in. “Are you awake?”

  “Yeah.” I sat up straighter and used the blanket to wipe the sweat from my brow. “Yeah, you can come in.”

  “Are you okay?” Kasper asked. Even in the darkness, my distress must’ve been apparent.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I brushed it off. “What do you need?”

  “I know I told you to rest, and I understand if you want to—”

  “Just tell me what’s going on,” I said, rushing him along.

  “We’re going to check out Cyrano Moen’s house, and I thought you’d want to join us.”

  The clock on my nightstand said it was nearly midnight. “Now? Why haven’t you already gone?”

  He let out an irritated sigh. “I don’t know. Bayle insisted that we do all this other pointless stuff first.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I want you to join me so I can have another set of eyes that I can trust.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  I hopped out of bed, and Kasper turned away since I’d been sleeping in just a tank top and underwear. I hurried to throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and then we left my room.

  Cyrano Moen’s house was three miles from the palace, counting the long walk on the dock that connected the palace with the mainland. Storvatten itself was a strange, quiet village with no street lights and no real roads to speak of, just dirt paths meandering through the darkness.

  Most of the houses were burrows—squat little houses half-buried in the ground with thatched roofs and moss growing up over them. Cyrano’s was no different, but unlike the other houses surrounding it, his actually had the lights on.

  The front door was open, and five steps led into a living room. Bayle was already inside when Kasper and I arrived, looking around the small space. The house was round, and everything inside it was visible from the front door—the living room, the kitchen, even the bedroom in the back corner where a crib sat next to a full-size bed.

  “Cyrano had a family,” I realized, and guilt hit me like a sledgehammer.

  “Neighbors said they left earlier today,” Bayle said, then motioned to discarded clothes on the bed and a pacifier on the dirt floor. “By the look of things, I’d say they went in a hurry.”

  A picture hung on the living room wall of Cyrano with a lovely young wife and a small, pudgy baby with a blue ribbon in her hair. She was an adorable baby, but there seemed to be something off about her eyes, something I couldn’t place.

  That wasn’t what struck me, though. It was that this man had a family, one I’d taken him away from.

  “Bryn.” Kasper touched my arm, sensing my anguish. “You were protecting the King.”

  “What was that?” Bayle asked, looking over at us.

  “How old is the little girl?” I asked, not wanting to let Bayle in on my private feelings, and pointed to the picture.
r />   “A little over a year, I think,” Bayle said. “Cyrano talked about her from time to time. Her name was Morgan, and I think she was diagnosed with some sort of disorder a few months ago.”

  “Disorder?” I looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t remember what it was.” Bayle shook his head. “Something with her brain. She started having seizures, and she couldn’t crawl because she didn’t have any strength. And there was something with her eyes. They kept darting all around.”

  “Salla disease,” Kasper said, filling in the name Bayle had forgotten.

  Bayle nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  I’d heard of Salla disease before. It was some kind of genetic disorder that affected a small percentage of the troll population, but it wasn’t common enough that I knew much about it.

  “My little sister Naima has it,” Kasper said, and his whole face softened when he mentioned her.

  “What is it exactly?” I asked.

  “It affects the nervous system, and it made it hard for Naima to talk or move, not to mention the seizures,” he said. “Fortunately, my parents caught it early with Naima, and they got the medics involved right away. With a combination of medication and their healing powers, along with a couple other things, they really helped her.”

  Our medics had the ability to heal with psychokinetic powers, but they weren’t all powerful. They couldn’t undo death, and they couldn’t eliminate most diseases. They could take away some symptoms, but they couldn’t eradicate disease entirely.

  “I mean, she’s not cured, and she never will be,” Kasper elaborated. “But Naima’s ten now, and she can talk, and she loves to dance.” He smiled. “She’s really happy, and that’s what counts.”

  “I’m glad she’s okay now,” I said.

  “Me too,” he agreed. “But the treatments my parents got for her cost a fortune. My dad had to get a second job to help cover them.”

  “That’s terrible, but if the two of you are done talking about your families, do you wanna start looking around to see if we can find any clues about Cyrano?” Bayle asked, sounding awfully patronizing for someone who had hired Cyrano in the first place.