As if stirred by the silvery frost, Vatn became a swirl of bodies, murmurs, and laughter.
“It’s the Snow Queen!”
“The Snow Queen came!”
“Snow Queen!”
“She’s here! The Snow Queen is here!”
Rakel smiledat the villagers as she rode past them, but her gaze lingered on the refugee camp.
The “camp” was little more than a few fires with people huddled around them. There were no tents, no animals, and very few packs. Compared to the pleasantly plump and pink Vatn villagers, the refugees were rail-thin, wore ragged clothing, and shrank close to the ground like animals that had been hunted to exhaustion.
When they saw Rakel’s party, they froze as if she had covered them with ice, and stared.
Knut—one of Rakel’s longtime guards who had achieved the title of captain—shouted, “Company, halt!” when they reached the gap between Vatn and the pitiful camp.
Farrin was at her side in a second, assisting her dismount from Frigid. (Her year spent unconscious had done nothing to help her equestrian skills, so she was still a fairly poor rider.)
Rakel nervously tugged at the full skirt of her dress—silvery blue with white embroidery that resembled snow-covered trees. Her crown—a silvery creation fashioned to look like a ring of snowflakes—squeezed her head, a gentle reminder that her brother was counting on her to represent him.
Phile leaped off her horse and joined Rakel to peer at the refugees. “I bet they’re escapees from Sarthe,” she muttered.
Rakel glanced up at Farrin.
A muscle twitched in his cheek as his eyes scanned the oncoming refugees. “I disagree. They aren’t gladiators. None of them are trained enough in combat.”
“Princess!” a Vatn villager—a plump man who bore a stark white scar on his arm and wore cotton trousers and a short-sleeved tunic—called. He had a big smile, and he clapped his hands and bowed several times. “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you. I was a resistance fighter. Though I never met you, I was honored to witness your final battle against Tenebris! A smashing show—though I am sorry you were unconscious for so long.Terriblysorry!” He said, stumbling when he realized how it might sound.
Rakel renewed her smile. “Thank you for your welcome….”
“Carl,” he supplied.
“Thank you, Carl. What can you tell me about the refugees?” Rakel asked.
A soldier scurried past and collected Frigid and Phile’s horse. Knut organized some of his men to care for the mounts, while the rest gathered around Rakel in an orderly, but protective, formation.
Carl rubbed his chin. “They arrived not quite two weeks ago—staggering through the forest like lost men. They seem harmless, but after the War of Ice and Snow…” Carl shook his head. “We trust our magic users, and if you accept ‘em, we’ll trust the refugees, too, but I’ll not risk Vatn with those you haven’t approved.”
“I imagine you aren’t alone in your sentiments,” Rakel mused. “Have you learned any of their names?”
“Ah.” Carl hunched his shoulders and flushed slightly. “We haven’t been too friendly, but I have had a few meetings with their leader—a woman who goes by the name Twink.”
“I see. Thank you, Carl.” Rakel said.
Knut cleared his throat, prompting her.
“Is it alright if my men set up a camp in the village boundaries? We would prefer to spend the night and move out in the morning, should all go well.” Rakel asked.
Carl resumed bowing. “Of course, Princess. This way, please, sirs.” He waddled off, showing the soldiers in charge of the mounts where they could picket them.
Rakel straightened her posture and tried to calm her nerves. “Are we ready?” she asked.
Farrin adjusted the position of his two-handed broadsword’s scabbard and exchanged nods with Knut. “Lead on,” he said.
Rakel slowly approached the refugee camp, belatedly twitching the temperature which had started to drop with her nerves.
None of the dozen or so refugees had moved from their crouches, and they stared at Rakel with a mixture of awe and fright.
