Heart of Ice (The Snow Queen Book 1)

by K. M. Shea

  “You’re finally accepting your title, are you?” Oskar asked with a teasing smile that mellowed into a more serious expression. “Princess, even if you choose to let your brother rule, the people will still see you as their Snow Queen. For what you are doing, for the sacrifices you have made, you will have their hearts and loyalty whether you want them or not. If you want Steinar to be the king, you will have to lead them to follow him.”

  Rakel weighed out his words, and recalled Trygvvi’s declaration of being her servant. Oskar is right…though I think it will only be for some, not all.

  “What will you do if he tries to demote Halvor?” Oskar asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “I do not know much about my brother, but I would like to think he wouldn’t do such a stupid thing. If we win tomorrow, it will be because of General Halvor’s careful planning. Most of the soldiers are infatuated with him. If Steinar tried to change his position, the army would revolt.”

  “Then what if he tries to order you about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Oskar stroked Frigid’s glossy coat. “What if he tries to use you as a weapon and orders you to do things you do not wish to do?”

  Rakel laughed. “If he orders me to kill, I will leave, and there is nothing he can do to stop me.”

  “Good,” Oskar nodded.

  Rakel blinked. “I beg your pardon?

  “I wanted to be sure you would retain your independence even if your brother becomes the commander. You must be your own advocate—for yourself and the other magic users. You’re the only one with the power to do so.”

  “What were you going to do if I said I would accept whatever Steinar ordered?”

  “It is to be hoped that your brother never finds out,” Oskar said with a cheerful smile. He reached over and ruffled Rakel’s hair—mussing her braid.

  Rakel had the very dim thought that he had done this previously, a long, long time ago. “Why did you become my attendant, Oskar?” she asked.

  “Oh, Princess. That is a long story that is better suited for another day,” he said, roughly patting Frigid. The reindeer flattened his ears. “Come. It’s time for dinner.”

  Oskar, Rakel, and Frigid started for camp—admiring the colors the setting sun painted on the snowy mountainsides.

  Perhaps, Rakel wondered, I was not always as alone as I thought.

  CHAPTER 16

  CURSES IN OSTFOLD

  Rakel shifted on Frigid’s back, digging her fingers in his fluffy neck fur to keep her balance. Frigid stamped a hoof impatiently. They should have started the attack on Ostfold already, but Rakel was embarrassed to admit that riding was more daunting than she imagined it would be. As she hadn’t ridden anything before, the saddle—little more than a fleece blanket with a linen top embroidered with beautiful snowflakes that cinched around Frigid’s belly—felt foreign. As did sitting astride it. What was particularly daunting was that instead of having a bridle, Frigid wore a strap that encircled his head and looped down around his cheeks and jaw. Rakel gripped the reins with a strangle hold.

  I have magic, and I love reindeer. I can do this.

  Frigid took a few steps forward, and Rakel almost fell on his neck.

  Maybe I should walk.

  Rakel took several deep calming breaths. I can’t walk because I won’t be able to get there fast enough. I have to ride.

  Frigid grunted.

  Rakel’s heart twisted with fear as she studied the mountain range. Her snow was secured in several pockets that would pool into the valley, pressed against three different mountains. It would take a mere tug to bring the snow out of the valley and into the plains.

  She looked back at the palace and Ostfold. This is the first time I’m returning in over twelve years, she thought.

  Frigid stamped a hoof.

  “You’re right. Let us begin.” Rakel reached for her magic, and, like a thousand birds flying at once, it answered her call, flooding her mind and body. The frosty texture of her magic was reassuring, but even with the avalanche of her magic flooding her, she still felt afraid.

  Fear is acceptable, as long as I don’t allow it to cripple me. The occupation of Ostfold ends. Now.

  Rakel wriggled two of her fingers at the pooled snow in a “come here,” gesture. The ice dam she built to hold back the snow shattered, and with a roar, the snow surged forth.

  Frigid snorted and tossed his head as the snow cascaded towards them in a white flood, but miraculously, he held his ground. The controlled avalanche carved a path across the land, snapping trees like twigs and digging into the ground. Snow floated in the air, so it looked like puffy white clouds from the sky had settled on the mountain, creating a screen as the snow tumbled on.

  Rakel guided the snow and started packing it together and compressing it even before it reached the gulley bordering the palace. She gritted her teeth and pushed, crystallizing the snow. When it began to fill the gorge, she further compressed the bottom layer, flushing out air pockets. The snow continued to flow, and Rakel pushed so the crystallized snow expanded in the gaps and became ice.

  When the gorge was filled, Rakel cut off the snow—although she had estimated almost perfectly and only a little remained. Now, instead of dropping off into a steep incline, the palace grounds to the east were flat, filled with a small glacier. A process that normally took decades was done in minutes.

  It hadn’t used much power—directing the snow didn’t take much, and compacting it was easier than creating it from scratch. However, compressing it and pushing out the air—something she worked with only distantly—in such a great scale made her head and ears ache. She used a wind to scatter the snow that clouded the air, clearing the land quickly.

  Rakel clung to Frigid’s back, waiting with caution to see if unconsciousness would snap her up. The reindeer ignored her inaction and began picking his way across the glacier, his tail wiggling. She took a few deep breaths and smiled, pleased when nothing happened. As Frigid trotted towards the palace, she tapped her ice magic, sighing with relief when it plunged through her and banished the remaining ache.

  Two crows flew overhead. Both of them cawed with surprise when the guards stationed on the second floor of the palace tried to shoot Rakel down. The shots fell short—making Frigid scoff—but Rakel was pleased. “That means we need to start right around here.” She tugged on the reins, getting Frigid to stop, and turned him in a circle.

  Two days earlier, Snorri had gone through great pains to sketch out an exact diagram of the palace’s entrances and doors, so Rakel would know where to funnel the Verglas troops. She found the first door and placed in front of it a large block of ice—her version of a battering ram—that was almost as tall as a human and about half the width of the gate. She then built a tunnel on top of her glacier, spanning from the door to well past her position. She repeated the process with the other two doors—taking care to reinforce them when necessary—then struggled to unhook a goat horn from Frigid’s saddle.

  The horn was cut into a musical instrument—which Knut had played beautifully when he showed her how to use it. Unfortunately, Rakel did not possess even a snowflake of musical talent, so when she blew it, it sounded less like an instrument, and more like the squalling of a baby goat, separated from its mother.

  The sound—though terrible—still had the desired effect. It brought the Verglas troops—split up and hidden in thatches of forest—pouring onto the newly created glacier.

  The soldiers moved in unison—reminding Rakel of a snowstorm—and marched down the tunnels. She waited until they were in place, and then slammed her battering-ram ice blocks into the doors, breaking them off their hinges and sending them careening into the palace. She waited, listening for the first sounds of combat. Three different notes were blown on the musical goat horns, and the troops cheered.

  Rakel smiled broadly.

  General Halvor had predicted that Farrin would organize his troops in anticipation of another forced entrance provided by Rake
l. If he had the space, he would in all likelihood position soldiers armed with bows in the hallways she had just broken into. Instead of risking swordsmen—whom she could flatten when she used her ice blocks to ram the doors down—his archers would stand far from the door, out of her eyesight and out of reach of the first wave of Verglas soldiers. As the Verglas troops would lack cover of any kind, the Chosen archers would cleave through the front lines.

  Tollak—the magic user who could enchant crafted objects—had become the hero of the hour and run himself ragged enchanting shields for the Verglas troops that led the charge into the palace. The shields were lightweight—lighter than the average shield—and could repel just about any kind of weapon—including arrows and crossbow bolts.

  In every group, the first few soldiers and the line behind them possessed the shields. They held them aloft and interlocked, and moved in synchronized steps so they could block the arrows for everyone behind them without getting hit, giving them the opportunity to reach the archers and engage them in combat.

  “It seems like people fuss most over the amount of magical power you have, but I think too many underestimate the seemingly innocuous magics as well. Tollak could make a fortune if he so desired,” Rakel said to herself. She nudged Frigid, and the reindeer trotted on, carrying her to the north side of the palace.

  “Princess,” Snorri said, emerging from the shadows of the forest that pressed near the back of the palace.

  “Which spot is it?” she asked.

  When scouting, Snorri had found several appropriate locations for Liv and Rakel to attack Farrin. They waited to choose until the day of the battle, so they would be able to see which area had the fewest guards.

  Snorri replied with his usual mumble.

  “Snorri…”

  “The empty water towers for watering produce in the eastern gardens. Liv is seeing them filled right now and will begin purifying immediately.”

  “Is everyone else in place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Snorri. Good luck.”

  “To you as well, Princess.” He left, disappearing into the shadows.

  Rakel nudged Frigid, but the reindeer didn’t move, so she kicked him. He lurched into motion, carrying her so she could continue her inspection of the northern side of the palace.

  Rakel had three roles assigned to her by General Halvor: Get the troops in; distract the enemy mages, drawing them away from the regular soldiers; and take out Farrin.

  With the first task finished, and Liv preparing for Farrin, the next step was to lure out the Chosen magic users. Oskar had warned her to complete this while doing as little damage to the palace as possible. It wouldn’t do to win the battle by razing it to the ground. Although the Chosen army had practically demolished it already, Steinar was somewhere in the building.

  Such a plan might have made Rakel’s attention-gathering mission more difficult, but while she knew next to nothing of the capital, there was one feature of the palace grounds with which she was intimately acquainted. And she knew it would be considered expendable.

  A crow cawed as Rakel set her sights on a lone tower built behind the palace—her childhood prison. It would be empty, as no one would dare use it for anything with all the deeply held suspicions about magic.

  Rakel’s throat almost closed at the sight of the structure, but she slid off Frigid’s back—barely noticing when the reindeer wandered towards the forest, digging at buried grasses. I’m going to enjoy this.

  Rakel coated the tower with ice, searching for cracks and structural weaknesses to exploit. She had only just started inspecting it when a fox sounded its hoarse bark of alarm.

  That would be the shapeshifter.

  She pulled at the ice on the tower, trying to collapse it. It shook but held, possessing a solid structure and base. Rakel was tempted to pour more power into it—she wanted it toppled. Her attention was diverted, however, by the snow bear that came pelting out of the woods, running straight for her.

  Rakel heaved up the snow and ice under the snow bear as fast as she could. The snow bear jumped off as the ice shot up like a pillar, but it was thrown off balance enough that it almost landed on its head and rolled a few times.

  The girl with the strength magic burst out of the palace, the weather boy on her heels. “You!” the girl declared, thrusting her finger at Rakel. “I won’t be beaten this time!”

  Rakel formed a hefty snowball weighted with an ice core and struck the weather boy in the back. He yelped and smacked into the strength girl. She didn’t buckle, but she turned bright red as the weather boy grasped her cloak.

  “A little help, please?” the weather boy called.

  Eight additional men and women ran out of the palace.

  The snow bear shook snow off its body and grinned. It stood upright, transforming into a sharp-eyed woman. “Eleven against one—I like those odds,” she said in a husky voice.

  Frodi darted out of the forest and hurled a fist-sized ball of fire at her back, setting her sleeveless tunic on fire. She yelped and threw herself onto the snow-covered ground, smothering the flames.

  One of the new enemy magic users raised his arms, but rope climbed up him like a snake, binding his limbs together. The weather boy yelped as rope snatched him by the wrists and dragged him to the ground.

  The strength girl grabbed him and pulled, snapping the ropes—although the weather boy winced in pain. “What’s going on?” she shouted.

  The rest of the Verglas magic users, led by Snorri, emerged from their hiding spots in the forest, their dark cloaks blending in with the shadows of the trees.

  “We apologize for throwing off your count. The battle will be seven verses eleven,” Frodi said with a wolfish smile. His assigned partner—a female merchant who had an extensive and clever ability to manipulate ropes—stood at his side and cut off a length of twine.

  “Eight, if you count the elf,” she said.

  One of the enemy’s unknown magic users frowned. “Elf?”

  In the shadows, Ragnar finished his spell, bringing Genovefa to their location.

  The otherworldly being brushed her hair out of her face as the light enveloping her faded. “Elf-friend Ragnar, it is my joy to answer your call. Am I to fight the honorable foe again?”

  “No. Just them—though they are magic users.”

  The elf looked at them and frowned. “It is a pity—none of them are as strong as the previous foe. Still, it is my honor to fight on your behalf.” She drew her shortsword from its scabbard.

  “Take her down!” the shapeshifter yelled. “Prioritize the princess and the elf.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the elf said, taking a step towards her. “I will be more than enough to face you.”

  Rakel blinked, and the elf was on the shapeshifter, moving as fast as Farrin.

  “Perhaps you should go, Princess. I believe we can handle this,” Ragnar said, joining Rakel in watching the battle.

  Another one of their new allies—a woodsman from Glowma—cast a spell on the strength girl, slowing her movements to about half-speed. He sweated as he held her, but with her slow, bumbling speed, she was easy to dodge and flee.

  Rakel looked out at the battle with awe and pride. The Verglas magic users were astounding to behold. “Thank you, Ragnar.”

  “My pleasure, Princess.”

  Rakel reclaimed Frigid’s reins. Rather than struggling onto his bony back again, Rakel dragged him along by his odd halter, heading east for the produce gardens. I hope Snorri’s maps are accurate, she thought. Based on how quickly Farrin manages to seek me out, if I flash my magic around a bit, he will find me.

  They left the empty, northern side of the palace and entered the gardens that sprawled on the east side. The produce gardens were the farthest away; first they had to make their way through the snow-covered flower gardens which, oddly, had neatly shoveled cobblestone paths.

  Rakel was admiring a frosted weeping willow when Frigid almost rippe
d the reins out of her hands. He tossed his head and bellowed. “Frigid?” Rakel asked. She felt a draft at her back, and she raised a shield of ice. She wasn’t fast enough, and she was struck on the back of the neck.

  NO!

  Rakel fell in a heap. Her head throbbed with pain, but she suspected she knew her attacker. “Farrin,” she growled, building her powers.

  She was surprised when a woman in a dress knelt next to her and slapped a piece of paper onto her forehead.

  In an instant, Rakel lost her sight and hearing. She screamed—a sound she couldn’t hear—and pushed herself away. She ripped the paper off her forehead, but her senses remained dead. She reached out, hoping to feel Frigid. She felt nothing but darkness.

  “Frigid?” she called. She knew she spoke, she could feel her lips move, but heard nothing.

  Did they cut me off from—?

  No.

  Rakel’s magic flooded her system, and she created a sword of ice, almost trembling in relief when she could feel it.

  The reassurance flew away, though, as she realized her dire situation. She could use her powers, but she couldn’t see anything. She had no real idea of what her magic was doing, and thus, no way to control it.

  Although her breath came faster and faster, she couldn’t get enough air. Her heart was too weak to pulse.

  She was cut off from everyone and couldn’t properly use her magic. She was powerless.

  “No. No!” Rakel screamed, her panic increasing at the silence of her own voice. Her magic erupted. She knew in her fright that ice snapped from the ground and coated the area, but she couldn’t see it, nor could she hear it.

  It made the darkness that much more terrifying. She whimpered and backed up until her body touched ice. A warm hand found her.