“Snorri, hold him with the rest of the prisoners,” General Halvor said.
“What?” Crow said.
“Yes, sir.” Snorri materialized out of the shadows, drawing a yelp from Crow. He placed a hand on the mercenary’s shoulder and marched him away.
Phile tapped her cheek with the flat of Foedus’s blade. “I dunno. I’m inclined to think he’d help us if you let him.”
“I agree,” said a resistance fighter. He was stout in the shoulders and dressed in dark clothes fit for cold temperatures—though one of his mittens sported a blue patch emblazoned with a white snowflake and a gray reindeer. “I don’t find it surprising at all that our Snow Queen has won the heart of a foreigner.”
General Halvor stared at the man. “He was one of the mercenaries who just attacked your village.”
“It’s not as simple as you think.” Rakel sighed. “I saw him rescuing a Begna villager.”
“A villager?” The resistance fighter puffed out his cheeks in irritation. “We gave them clear instructions to hide!”
“I think she meant to, but she was flushed out.” Rakel manipulated a nearby snowdrift to keep her magic active.
“He might have done it to try and earn your trust. It is likely he is a spy,” General Halvor said.
Rakel considered what she knew of Tenebris and the Chosen Army. “If he had a scrap of magic, I would agree. But if he’s just a commoner…the magic users don’t think highly of the non-magical. I’m not sure they would entrust such a dastardly mission to someone who lacked magic.”
“They charged Aleifr with killing you.” Oskar’s bright voice and charming face lacked warmth of any kind as he stepped out of the swirl of Verglas soldiers and resistance fighters.
Aleifr, a member of her own personal guard, had tried to kill Rakel.
“Yes, but that was a crime of opportunity,” Rakel said. “They had to use someone close to murder me, and at the time, no one else in Verglas admitted to being a magic user.”
“The mercenary’s true motivation does not matter at the moment.” General Halvor stepped closer to Rakel. “I believe a better use of our time would be to speak with…” he trailed off and turned to face the resistance fighter.
“We’re called Snow Men,” he said with a big smile.
“No, we’re not,” another resistance fighter—this one female—joined the conversation. “That’s a silly name.”
The male resistance fighter puffed up. “What would you have us be called? The Order of Snow?”
The woman—she was tall, lithe, and had a beautiful smile—rolled her eyes.
The man cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, then smiled and bowed to Rakel. “It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, Princess Rakel.”
Rakel tweaked the air temperature, making it rise and fall. “Thank you for your help today.”
“’Twas our honor,” the man said.
Oskar tilted his head. “Were you planning to attack the mercenaries alone?”
The woman shook her head. “No. We try to catch ’em off guard and attack one at a time—either when they’re traveling or camping.”
Phile whistled. “Smart warfare. I can appreciate that.”
“We were told you would be coming, so we held back,” the man said.
General Halvor frowned. “Who told you that?”
“Sirpa. She has been in touch with an older woman in Ostfold,” the woman said.
“Grandmother Hilda’s friend,” Rakel said.
“Indeed,” Oskar said.
