Farrin bowed. “Welcome to the First Regiment, sir.”
Tenebris was about to go into his tent, but he noticed that Farrin didn’t leave; he only turned to his subordinates and said, “Dryden and Bluff, you’re on scouting duty.”
Tenebris wanted to groan.Go away.The moment he entered his tent, he was likely to collapse. He didn’t want the Runt around to hear the sound.
“Sir?” the boyish officer said.
“I want you to make a wide circuit of the camp and see if you can sense Princess Rakel. Dryden will be your escort,” Farrin said.
“You think she’ll attack us?”
“It is unlikely, but with Tenebris in our camp, we will take no chances.”
The reasoning produced a slight smile in Tenebris as he gripped the flap to his tent to help him stand.That’s Runt, always…his thoughts trailed off. There was a distant, glittering smear clumped against the top of a mountain. It was beautiful, but what caught Tenebris was the feeling that leaked from it.Hope,purity, and maybe evenlove. Tenebris tensed, and he felt his dark magic pulse inside of him.
“Say, Runt, what is that shining spot?” he asked.
“That would be the ice-castle Princess Rakel constructed during her exile,” Farrin said.
“She made that?” Tenebris asked.
“Yes.”
“I see.” His magic roared and thrashed like a caged animal, and Tenebris stalked into his tent. The flap barely settled back into place before he sank to his knees—trembling with pain and fury.
He flipped his helm off his head and clenched his hands into fists when air caressed his open, oozing head wound. He clenched his teeth to keep from growling.Curse my price! Curse such a limit!His lips peeled back in a soundless snarl.
Tenebris Malus knew without doubt he was one of the most powerful magic users alive. The trade off, however, was that his price was painful, and it weakened him.
Whenever he used a great deal of his magic, a horrible wound opened on his head. It could not be healed with magic, and it festered and was slower to close than a typical wound. Normally he could avoid activating his price, but the first battle he had with Verglas forces—the Battle of Gaula—required a huge amount of magic from him and had inflicted a serious injury on him as a result. Even now, months later, the open scab had shrunk significantly, but it still wasn’t healed.
It was why he hadn’t come north sooner: he didn’t have the strength to keep up his façade and make the journey north. No one knew of Tenebris’s price. When he had freed himself from life as a slave, he had slaughtered everyone who knew of him—including the healer who had tried to heal his head-wound on occasion. That was before the Chosen, before Farrin, even before Sunnira.
If anyone knew of Tenebris’s price, they probably would have recommended that he travel with Farrin, regardless. With Farrin, he did not have to be on his guard and watch for signs of mutiny as he did with his other colonels. However, if he was honest—a rarity—Tenebris knew it was easier to be around his backstabbing colonels than Farrin.
A cold sweat broke out on Tenebris’s forehead as he forced himself to stand.He’s just a runt. A tool to be used.For the briefest moment, Tenebris was assailed by the image of a younger Farrin, covered in blood—none of it being his own—looking at Tenebris with eyes of adoration as Tenebris held out his hand to him. Occasionally, guilt assailed Tenebris. He had done Farrin a disservice; the Runt would have been better off staying a gladiator slave in Sarthe instead of following him into the darkness.
Tenebris eased himself into a chair and shot a dark glare in the direction of the ice-castle. Even though he couldn’t see it, he knew where it was. It pulsed withpurity. “The Runt is mine—heart and soul.” He ground his teeth.But his valiance is a double edged sword. If this princess has magic like that…“I’ll drown her in darkness.” Tenebris muttered. “I’ll squeeze her until her magic runs dry and all hope suffocates with her. This land will bemine, and I’ll not rest until the world pays for the pain they’ve inflicted on magic users.”
Though his words and resolve were rock solid, the darkest part of his soul shuddered. For if he was darkness…the feeling of the princess’s magic was light.
The End
CHAPTER 4
THE THRONE OF THE SNOW QUEEN
This short story takes place a few months after the final chapter of Sacrifice, in early summer. It was originally included in the book, but I was advised to cut it and end Sacrifice with the mirror scene—which I agree felt like a better ending. Still, I had Rakel’s throne planned since the days of Rumpelstiltskin, so I’ve been most determined to share this extra with you!
Rakel—surroundedby summer flowers—sat on a bench Knut and Topi had hauled outside for her. She was just a stone’s throw away from the glacier she had created to fill in the gorge to the west of the palace during the previous year’s battle for Ostfold, and was working on melting it and the tributary of snow that fed it.
It was tedious and slow—she didn’t want to turn the entire thing into water in an instant—the ecological side-effects would be disastrous—but it had to be done. During the previous summer—when Rakel had been unconscious—the melting glacier had forced an unusually cool summer on Ostfold. Although it was much smaller now, she still needed to melt it entirely to return the area to its regular weather pattern, or the agriculture would suffer.
She yawned and stretched her bare arms out in front of her. She was wearing another one of Inga’s creations—a gauzy snow-blue dress that was almost alarmingly light and airy—as she channeled her slow-to-respond magic.
The sun was warm on her skin, and the shouts of children and the sales pitches from merchants that seeped out of the city were an unfamiliar joy. The moment was a great luxury for her—to be able to sit in the stillness and use her magic, not for any combative purpose but just because, and to hear the bustle of the city.
I don’t think the sound of people will ever grow old to me.She smiled as the glacier cracked and a piece of it dislodged and dropped, splashing water high into the air.
