Nothing has ever felt this magnificent. I laugh as a few warriors surge to the front and throw their spears. I swing my arms out, and the wind does my bidding once again—the long razor tips of the weapons fly past me on either side and into the crowd behind me. Let them all die. I don’t care that they cry. I don’t care about the terror on their faces. A moment ago they were salivating as they watched Thyra on her knees, a chieftain defeated by scheming. Not with honor. Not in a fair fight. I realize now it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d defeated Flemming—another would have stepped up, and another, and another, until one landed a lucky blow, until Thyra fell from sheer exhaustion. I don’t know what kind of chieftain nurtures a tribe that would do such a thing, but at the thought, I look up at the tiered benches where Nisse was sitting with Jaspar and the rest of his loyal entourage.
But Nisse is gone. So are his favorites. Only Jaspar remains. He stands on his bench, his eyes round. “Did you know?” I shout, violent gusts lifting my red hair, ash and cinder swirling around me. The air is filled with the scent of burning flesh, sweet and bitter.
It’s funny the small things one notices when the world is falling apart. Jaspar’s throat bobs as he swallows, his skin shining with sweat and streaked with grime in the heat and light of my curse-fire. His fists clench. He shakes his head.
I could kill him. Perhaps I should, for spreading the rumors that broke people’s faith and trust in Thyra. My heart squeezes at the thought of him burning in front of me, but I’m part of the fire now. I’ve accepted it as my own. It licks at my skin, striping it red and angry. Raising blisters. Pain surges into my awareness, along with an instinctive swell of ice to counter the heat. I wince as my blood runs so cold it feels like my bones will snap.
“No!” Jaspar roars, and I jerk my head up to see him leap off the bench and land at the edge of the fight circle, his hands up and waving as he runs past me and shouts at someone above us. I turn in that direction—battle archers are lined up behind a parapet that encircles the squat stone tower, halfway up its hulking height. “Do not fire!” he shouts, lunging forward to put himself between the arrows and me.
I turn my palms to the sky, shards of ice forming and swirling, lengthening into blades. At the sight, I smile. It is as easy as thinking cold thoughts. And now I am cold. So cold that the thought of these ice blades penetrating Krigere flesh can’t melt me. They will freeze and fall and die, and it is what they deserve. What all of them deserve.
“Ansa?”
The broken, hitching sound of my name brings me whirling around. Relief turns my ice blades to mist as I stare at Thyra’s red, heat-kissed face. Her blue eyes are filled with tears. She takes a slow step toward me, her injured left arm pressed to her body, her tunic streaked and stained with blood from her wounds. “Please stop this.”
“I can’t let them kill you.” My voice cracks. Agony makes me sway, even as the fire and ice rages inside me, seeking a target.
“It’s time to stop though. You have to stop.”
My vision is tinted with an orange glow. I stare at her through the flames.
“You’re my wolf,” she says with a tremulous smile. A tear escapes and slips down her cheek. “I need you to listen to me now.”
“Your wolf,” I whisper. I clench my fists, trying to leash the massive storm inside me along with a rising agony that’s trying to eat me alive. “I have never been anything else.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice high and shaking. “That’s where I think you’re wrong.”
I blink at her in confusion. There’s a roaring in my ears that won’t fade. “What do you mean?”
She gives me a pained look and tilts her head, her right arm rising to embrace me. “You are a great deal more than that.” She’s alive and reaching for me, and I cannot deny her. I move closer. Her arm slides around my shoulders, and she pulls me against her, so that I can smell her, fire and sweat and a hint of sweetness. Her whole body is taut and trembling.
“Don’t be afraid of me. I would never hurt you,” I say.
She lets out a quiet sob. “I know, Ansa.” Her hand slides up my back and into my hair. “I know.” She kisses my cheek, and my eyes fall shut at the absolute perfection of her lips against my skin. But then her grip tightens and her body tenses. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but before I can utter the question, my skull explodes in a thunder of pain and stars and black and I’m tumbling down, the deep darkness pulling me under.
*
She lies on the ground, blood soaking her dress, her eyes full of pain. Though the flames surround her, she doesn’t pay them any mind. Her gaze is on me. Never stop fighting. Her mouth doesn’t move, but I hear the words in my head, trilling and beautiful and true. Never stop.
I want to obey her, but I can’t move. “Mama,” I scream. I need her to stand up and come and get me, to scoop me from the ground and hold me in her arms, to laugh and stroke her fingers through my hair. I need to smell her scent, the one that means safety and love and home. But all I can smell now is the smoke.
I look down and realize I’m on fire.
“Be still,” a voice hisses. “Don’t touch those bandages!”
My eyelids are crusted shut, but I manage to open one, enough to see a blurry brown face hovering above mine. “What?” It comes out as a rasping croak.