10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Kay
I am not the best with new situations. That is why I joined the military, where everything was regimented and there were rules to guide my every action, no matter how remote the location I was sent.
Then I was drafted to be part of the Empire’ Elite, and I was informed I would be sent to achieve missions with unique scenarios that required even more unique strategies.
But even with that, I was extensively trained in the methods that would be useful in leading such a task force. I was also given unlimited access to any information I required when researching a strategy. I grew accustomed enough to my training missions that I faced this first mission with nothing more than the minimal nerves one would expect.
However, one thing I have had no experience with or any preparation for is lying beside a woman.
When the desperate measure presented itself, I didn’t bat an eye. I was born here, and even if I did not grow up here, I was officially trained for how to survive in the harsh Gaelic climate. And it should be no different for me to ensure my prisoner survives, whether they be male or female.
I was quite wrong. Never on a night where I shared a tent with two or three of my fellow soldiers did I notice anything more than their breathing patterns and the length of time since their last baths .
I’m noticing far more with Gerta. She smells like pine and leather. Most of all, though, I can’t help but notice how soft and warm her skin is against mine. And I’m trying very hard not to notice just how much of her skin I now know is soft and warm. I do not know what she stripped down to before I wrapped her in this sheet, and now that uncertainty is driving me to the brink of madness.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about such things. With her as my prisoner, it is unethical to say the least.
“What do you know of the Snow Queen?” Gerta asks, her breath fanning out against the sensitive skin of my throat.
Doing my best to ignore the sensations of nearness, I focus instead on her words. I throw my entire mind into her question like she’s presented a complicated puzzle for me to solve. Unfortunately, it isn’t a riddle I have a suitable answer to, since I learned little of such tales at the orphanage because the other children avoided me. “I know she is a folktale of the citizens of Gaelia and is sometimes used as a rallying cry among the rebel factions.”
Gerta snorts.
“I take it that your faction is not included?” Something drilled into me during training in between lessons concerning each province’s cultures was the understanding that just because the people as a whole might adhere to a given tradition doesn’t mean every individual will.
Though Gerta’s faction’s fondness for ale was one instance where they conveniently fell into the stereotypical Gaelic behavior.
“And she is more than a folktale,” Gerta continues, the vivacity returning to her voice as the blizzard leaves her bones, “she is a living legend.”
“You believe in her existence? ”
“Only a fool would doubt her.” Gerta gives me a challenging look.
“And what evidence do you give for this ‘living legend’ so I may decide if I too shall believe?”
“This cabin, for one thing. It belongs to her.”
“Her name is on the deed?”
Gerta shakes her head. “We have no need of a deed to signal her ownership. What the Snow Queen has claimed always bears her mark.”
“Her mark? And what would that be?”
Her tiny hand grasps my face, and I freeze as certainly as if she were the Snow Queen. Then she twists my face so I’m looking upward.
The wooden rafters are perfect, with no sign of decay except for the hole in the roof above the rafter. Strangely enough, even though there is smoke billowing through the hole, there is a perfect formation of icicles hanging from it, each one exactly the same length.
However, it seems to be the glowing form of a snowflake engraved into the wood next to it that Gerta is pointing to.
That is not my concern, though. I wrap my arm tighter around Gerta and tug us both farther away from the fire where an icicle could stab us.
“This cabin has always been marked by her,” Gerta whispers. “She’s going to demand a price from us for using it. There is always a price with her.”
“What kind of price?”
“Your heart.”
I frown. “She kills those who owe her a debt?”
“Not kills . Enslaves.”
Her words summon a fuzzy childhood memory, but such a thing sounds too outlandish to be true. Whatever tale I was told when I was young, I must have dismissed it as folly. “I don’t understand; you said she takes their hearts.”
“She does.” Gerta places a finger over the left side of my chest and draws a circle on my skin. “It remains in your body, but frozen and under her control. The Snow Queen is no fool; she knows that what controls the heart controls the person, so by demanding the heart, she gains all of you.”
I snort, which almost sounds like a choke as I try to ignore how much I like the sensation of Gerta drawing on my skin. “That is nonsense; it is the mind that governs the body, not the heart.”
“Well, mayhap for a heartless Imparian like you, that may be true. But the rest of us find ourselves strongly manipulated by our hearts.”
“That seems less than wise. Hearts are easily fooled into believing whatever makes them feel good.” For instance, mine currently thinks Gerta feels good and has forgotten all about her being a dangerous hostile.
“And minds can never be manipulated.” Gerta rolls her eyes. “You must have been so popular in your uppity social circles.”
“Quite the opposite, actually.” I frown, not sure why I’m clarifying that since she is, as I just reminded myself, a dangerous hostile . Then again, she may be less likely to thrust a dagger through my heart if I humanized myself to her, so I suppose there is no harm in elaborating on my past. Unless all Gertas are equally cold-hearted. “I was ostracized at a young age.”
“ Ostracized ?” Gerta blinks, seeming more bewildered by my use of the word than my confession that I wasn’t popular— it’s almost like she didn’t actually believe I was well-received to begin with. “That’s a tad extreme. What did you do to make yourself a pariah to your own people?”
“Nothing that I can pinpoint. I believe it was my personality that was deemed unfashionable. ”
“Let me guess— they called you an ‘ice king’ or some such?”
I stare in surprise. “How did you know?”
“I— um— lucky guess.” Flushing, Gerta glances away.
“Very lucky.” I study her as all the things that don’t quite fit together with what I know of her tumble around in my mind.
“I may or may not have teased a boy with that same nickname when I was a child who didn’t know any better.”
Stiffening, I pull back a bit. “You . . . did? Who was this boy?” And why do I imagine my childhood tormentor with Gerta’s same eyes?
“Just another orphan under Granny’s care. He was lucky enough to get adopted out, though, so I suppose things turned out all right for him. Something about possessing one of the rarer Bloodline Magics . . .” Gerta’s gaze darts to mine. “You weren’t adopted into that wealthy family of yours, were you?”
“I was, for exactly the reason you gave. I was born in Gaelia and spent the first year after I was orphaned under the care of a Granny Bae.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other. Then I glance down at how close we are lying despite the distance I created. “I fear Granny would be mortified.”
“That you betrayed your people?” Gerta’s eyes flash with rage. “Yes, she would.”
“I’m not betraying my people. I came back so I could help them. Peace is the best option for Gaelia while we depend on others for basic resources like grain and produce.”
“That’s what Ehyptio is for. They like our furs and minerals just fine.”
I shake my head, remembering all the charts I studied at the Academy. “They demand high prices and hither tariffs. The only sustainable path to survival is trading within our own Empire where no tariffs are enforced.”
“No, it’s just our freedom that is required. ”
“We surrendered only a part of our autonomy. King Birger still rules over this province.”
“As barely more than a figurehead. And I never surrendered. Neither did my parents before me, who died in the war.”
“My parents died of starvation.”
“And then you were sold to the enemy.”
I frown, rage beginning to simmer deeper than the fire. “My adoptive father is a good man and has seen to my every need.”
“So much so that you have forsaken freedom and loyalty.”
“So much so that I wish to prove myself to him as a competent heir beyond being his beloved son.”
“By helping our conquerors strengthen their stolen power over us.”
“The Empress who governs now is not the man who conquered Gaelia two generations ago. She believes in the equality of all her citizens, whether mortal or elf, Imparian or Gaelic.”
“Such pretty little lies.”
“The Holy Empress has given you no grounds to doubt her word!”
“She is Imparian. That is all I need to know.”
“Of all the small-minded things—”
Gerta rolls over so that her back is to me. The sight of her bare shoulders is far too intimate considering the context of our argument.
“I’m sorry I tormented you as a child,” she finally says, “but I assure you that the suffering I will inflict upon you for every moment until I am free will make that seem like a cheerful memory.”
I huff, already bracing myself for what will come next.
However, Gerta just shudders at the feeling of my breath and doesn’t speak.
It seems I must wait for my coming punishment, but at least I know to be prepared. It is a good reminder .
No matter how close I may feel to Gerta right now, I cannot trust her. She is a mission objective and nothing more— and that is all she can ever be to me.