“The witch queen cursed me.” I clench my fists because I can feel the ice and fire trying to seep through my skin. It’s taken me over. Tears overflow and streak down my face. “Thyra, I’m sorry.”
And then I run, my feet pounding the dirt, my heart a gash in my chest.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I sprint for the water, unsheathing a blade as I flee, the cursed red mark on my leg pulsing with icy fire. Each step reminds me what the witch has done, how she has taken the one thing I’ve always fought for—my family, my tribe. As I run, the fiery memory rises as if the witch herself summoned it—my mother’s outstretched hand, the monsters all around her, their blades glinting in the flames. I am helpless as I watch her die.
I never wanted to be helpless again. I refuse to be helpless. I won’t let the witch win.
Thyra hits me so hard that the dagger flies from my fist, and then we’re on the ground, skidding through the loose stone near the shore. I claw my way toward the weapon, but Thyra grabs my wrists, pressing me to cool earth. “Have you lost your mind?” she says in my ear.
The sound of her voice only sharpens the pain. I slam my forehead into the stone. “Get off me before I hurt you.”
She lets out a tight burst of laughter. “Try.”
I buck, sudden and brutal, and my shoulder hits her chest. She slides off, and I lunge forward, spinning around to face her. I crouch, feral and panting, as she gets to her feet, rubbing a spot above her breast. The wary look on her face makes bile rise in my throat. “Walk away from me, Thyra.”
“Not until you tell me what’s happening to you.”
“I have no idea!”
“You said she cursed you. How do you know?”
I sink forward onto my hands and knees, my exhaustion catching up and making my limbs heavy. “There’s no other explanation. Fire bursts from my hands no matter how I try to hold it back, and I saw one of her black-robed minions do the same thing on the Torden. The cold rolls off me like a winter gale, and I can’t control any of it! But I swear, Thyra, I’m not doing witchcraft on purpose. It just . . . happens.”
“So that’s what it was,” she whispers. My head jerks up, and she raises her hands as if to calm me. “I saw it happen, Ansa. That bolt of light arced over the lake from the south, not straight down from the sky so much as something hurled from across the water. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
My breath fogs from my mouth, chilled with confusion and betrayal. Thyra’s eyes widen as she stares. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “You said it was lightning!”
“Sander said that, and I had no idea what else it could be. I was just glad you were still alive.” She takes a cautious step toward me.
“Sander knows there’s something wrong with me.”
“I know. He came to me this evening. He told me about your escape from the shelter fires—I hadn’t realized you were so close to the flames. And I saw his throat. He said he felt his blood turning cold when you attacked him. I didn’t want to believe him.” She rolls her eyes. “His instability after the battle made it easy for me to dismiss him, no matter how solid he has been since.”
I draw my hand through my hair. “What was his theory?”
“He was at a loss. But he thought it might have been the arcing light that hit you as well. He didn’t seem to think you were doing it intentionally.”
“If he tells anyone, I’m dead anyway, Thyra. You’ve heard the talk around camp. They’ll happily stone me just to make themselves feel a little safer.” Our eyes meet. “Maybe I should let them.”
“Stop that. Sander hasn’t told anyone. I ordered him to stay silent, or I would kill him for telling lies.”
“He wouldn’t be lying.” I inch backward, glancing around for my dagger. It was my sharpest.
“Looking for this?” She slides it out of the folds of her cloak.
“Sometimes I hate you.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “No, you don’t.”
My gaze drops to her lips and then away, because the sight weakens my resolve. “I can’t stay, Thyra. I’m dangerous.”
“You’ve always been dangerous.” Her voice is heavy and makes me shiver.
“I can’t control this.” I wave in the direction of camp, toward the burned shells of the two shelters I razed with fiery dreaming. “It’s a wonder I haven’t killed someone yet. I think that’s what she wanted.” I get to my feet, drawing a dull dagger from my boot as I do. “It’s why she let me live. She sent me back here to hurt our people. But I won’t let her use me.”
Thyra sheathes the dagger I dropped, tucking it under the rope belt that holds her breeches up. She watches me cautiously, a look I recognize from the fight circle. She’s waiting for me to move. “Is there a chance it will go away? Wear off?”
I think of the way my red birthmark throbs as the cursed ice and fire rush through me. “It’s inside me, Thyra. Like a fever.”
“It’s possible to overcome a fever.”
I let out a bitter chuckle. “Like the one that killed your mother and Hilma?”