He guffaws. “Then I’ll redouble my efforts to inspire only warmth in you.” He glances at Thyra’s retreating figure before looking at me again. “Remember what I said, Ansa, hmm? Think about what you deserve in return for that iron loyalty of yours.” He leaves my side and joins his warriors.
I turn and stalk toward the woods on the far side of camp, my thoughts a mess of ice and fire and panic. I’ve just reached the trees when I hear footsteps behind me. Thyra stalks through the dark toward me. She wears the moonlight like a crown, and her eyes are like chips of quartz. “Did you do it?” she asks in a harsh whisper.
“What?” I take a step back.
“You said the witch cursed you to hurt our people. Did you? Are you her weapon now?” Her doubt slices into my side, seeking my vitals. I should admit what happened. I should tell her. But she’s looking at me like I am a stranger, and I recognize the suspicion in her eyes—it’s the way she looked at me when I was first brought to camp all those years ago, a filthy raid prize passed from one tribe to another. She was the daughter of the chieftain, and I was no better than one of the wild dogs who prowl around camp looking for scraps. I fought and I fought and I fought to become one of the Krigere, to have a place and a home. I thought she accepted me as one of them, fully and completely. Now her doubt cuts through that hard-won safety, slicing me away from my tribe, from my love.
“Thyra, I swear I didn’t do it!” The lie bursts from me before I can muzzle it.
“So Gry is a liar?”
“She wasn’t even there!”
Thyra rubs her face and lets her arms swing at her sides. “I’m sorry, Ansa. What she described . . .”
I know what she must have described. I left Hulda frozen, her last breath a shred of gray vapor rising toward the trees. Gry must have found her not long thereafter. My handiwork. My curse. “I understand why Gry needs someone to blame.” It’s amazing how one lie builds on another, how once you start, the truth dies a quick death.
Thyra sighs. “I got her calmed down, but Jaspar succeeded in undermining me anyway. He looked like the strong one tonight. And perhaps I deserved that.” She gives me a look full of regret. “I shouldn’t have been so quick to doubt you, Ansa. You’re the one person in this entire world who I know will protect my back. It was ungrateful of me to question.”
“I understand why,” I say. “But I will keep this curse under control.”
“And you will be victorious,” she whispers. “I am so fortunate to have such a warrior at my side.”
I tilt my head up and kiss her forehead, even as my throat constricts with shame. “And the rest of us are fortunate to have a chieftain who respects every Krigere life, warrior or andener.”
“Half of them still think I’m too weak to deserve any respect in return.”
“You’re going to prove them wrong.” I smile. “Come on. Both of us need to rest.” I pause. “I’m still not sure of my sleep,” I admit. “Will you stay next to me?”
She slips her hand into mine. “No one could pry me away.”
There, Jaspar, I think. This is my reward.
Together, Thyra and I walk back down to the fire.
CHAPTER NINE
We wake to a bitter, wet cold that has seeped into our blankets and breeches and clings to our hair in icy droplets. As we pack up just before sunrise and resume our slow progress to the southeast, following the shore of the Torden toward the unknown, I stay near Thyra and work every minute to keep the magic inside.
She was right; with a few hours of sleep, I am calmer, more able to push my thoughts and feelings into neat rows, keeping their jagged edges from thrusting the ice or fire to the fore. I focus on my adoration of her, and how she needs her strength to win allies and make strong decisions. I carry her bundle of possessions on my back, along with my own. She objected when I slid it off her shoulders this morning, but I wanted her to walk unencumbered as she speaks to our warriors, assuring them that we will be respected once we get to Vasterut—or else we will leave to plunder the south. We are not prisoners.
They cast nervous glances Jaspar’s way when she says this. I’m not sure they believe her.
“Jaspar said Nisse is planning his own invasion of Kupari,” Preben says, bowing his head and speaking quietly to Thyra as they trudge up a scramble of rocks, the gulls that follow us circling and diving overhead. “Apparently he’s been repurposing some of the Vasterutian water vessels.”
Thyra laughs. “Water vessels? How much would you wager he’s dealing with half-rotten fishing skiffs? If Vasterut had a force on the Torden, we’d know about it.”
Preben scratches his beard. “Aye, but Nisse’s been in Vasterut for nearly three full seasons, so he could have built at least a dozen longboats, maybe. Depends on whether he’s got Vasterutians working on them too. Jaspar would know.”