Rakel had casually mentioned starting a school for magic users. She had the loyalty of the country, but she wanted to gather support—both financial and emotional—before she started such a venture. “I did not plan to open a school for several years. Gathering students now seems…premature.”
Halvor raised an eyebrow. “With all due respect, Princess, I don’t believe you will have the ‘several years’ you desire. I do not think this will be the last refugee caravan we will receive. You may as well begin drawing up your plans, or unpreparedness will be your ruin.”
She chuckled. “Thank you for the frank answer, Halvor.”
Halvor bowed.
“Very well. I’ll go south. Farrin—would you make the necessary security preparations?” Rakel asked. She turned around and smiled at a darkened corner of the library.
Farrin stepped out of it, as silent as a shadow. “Of course.” He ghosted over to the pair and pressed a kiss to Rakel’s temple, then turned his gaze to Halvor—who didn’t seem the least surprised by his presence. “You will give us a guard?”
“And a magic user team, yes. I believe Oskar, and Phile, and herguildplan to accompany you, as well,” Halvor said.
Rakel smiled a smirk.It seems Halvor still resents Snorri’s defection to Phile’s Thieves’ Guild.“Thank you. You will not be joining us?”
Halvor shook his head. “I will remain with the King.”
Farrin laughed—a quiet exhale of his breath. “You mean you’ll be staying with the King to see that he does not run after us.”
“Precisely,” Halvor said flatly.
Rakel chuckled. “Thank you, General Halvor, for your loyalty. I don’t know what we would do without you.”
Halvor blinked and saluted her, but Rakel saw the faint smile twitch on his lips. “Princess.”
Rakel turned away from him with a smile and instead swept her gaze through the library. “Refugee magic users, you say…. Do you have any idea what condition they are in?”
“No,” Halvor said grimly. “But given what they are fleeing from, I don’t imagine they are well.”
Rakel combedher fingers through the tuffs of fur Frigid was still shedding, trying to calm her nerves. She had spent the majority of the trip in carts and carriages, but as they were about to arrive at the refugee camp near the village of Vatn, Phile had all but thrown her on Frigid’s back.
“It’s for your image,” Phile said. She was mounted on the Chosen horse she had stolen during the war.
“It seems unfair to make Frigid work so hard in the summer temperatures,” Rakel said.
“It isnothot,” Phile groused. “Hot is when the sun is so strong, you can fry an egg on a stone block outside. This here is comfortable and pleasant. We’re not even sweating!”
A cool breeze ruffled Rakel’s snow-white hair. “He has a warm coat.”
Phile snorted. “He’s also fat because you slip him so many treats. Worry not, Little Wolf. Frigid has the necessary strength to haul your royal posterior to the refugees.”
Rakel looked to Farrin for support. “Don’t you think it’s unfair?”
He shrugged. “I love you, but your reindeer is obese.”
Rakel scowled at him and was about to launch into a defense of Frigid’s weight, when Oskar turned his horse in a circle.
“Vatn and the camp are around this bend. Into formation, quickly,” Oskar urged.
The soldiers and magic users rearranged themselves so Rakel now led the expedition, instead of riding at the heart of it.
Oskar cast a critical eye over their ranks. “It will do,” he said. He swung his horse around so he could smile at her. “When you are ready, Princess.”
Rakel swallowed, her nerves building slightly, and nudged Frigid down the path.
Slowly, Vatn, a small village of no more than a hundred or two, and the camp—ragged and tattered—crawled into view as Rakel and her retinue followed the bend in the road.
She clenched her jaw and tried to reel her nerves back in when she realized that her magic—which instead of residing in her, was loose and coated the country like a layer of paint—was responding to her nerves, and coating the dusty road and the grass that edged it in hoarfrost.
