The Frost Queen's Blade (The Iceblood Duet, #1)

by Meg Smitherman

“I thought you already knew. But something in your eyes today…” he shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. “I was wrong about you,” he murmured. “I’ve known it for a long time. I will protect you, Queen Elma, with my life, if it means true peace between our kingdoms. You are not your father’s daughter.”

“I’m as good as ten of yours.” “Majesty,” Luca said, ignoring the assassin and plying Elma with an adamant gaze. “We are no longer within the walls of the citadel. Let me do my job.” “Of course,” Elma said. “You may ignore my bodyguard. He is full of himself.”

“You’re in no danger of dying,” he said, half-smiling. “Not with me at your side. Not in such beautiful surroundings.” Elma sniffed, her nose running from the cold. “You have a very romantic view of things.” “On the contrary,” he replied. “But I happen to be in company that brings it out of me.”

Elma urged her horse forward. She understood what this feeling meant, the soft warmth in her chest that spread out to her fingertips and hummed. She couldn’t afford to feel it. Rune could not be anything more than a dalliance. A distraction, a pleasurable ride. He was Slödavan. Despite the fragile thing between them, until a peace treaty was signed, he was her enemy.

she never got a chance to finish the sentence. An arrowhead was suddenly protruding from Luca’s neck, black-red in the firelight. He gurgled, his eyes wide with mild surprise. And then he crumpled to the ice. Unending darkness seemed to stretch out around Elma from where she stood.

They came to a breathless stop behind a tent. Elma roughly wiped her eyes, ashamed of the burn she felt at their corners. She was Queen of Rothen. She had known the risks. Peace was more important than… than Luca? came the unwanted thought. More important than the life of a friend? “There was nothing you could have done,”

“There is nothing you can do now but survive. Do you understand, Queen Elma?” She nodded. A world of anguish sat heavy on her chest, suffocating her. “Then I’ll get you out of this alive.”

She watched as if in slow motion as the attacker’s blade arced down, down toward Rune’s neck. I can’t lose him too, Elma thought, but her body wasn’t fast enough. She had only just begun to cry out, Rune’s name rough and strangled in her throat, when the assassin moved.

Rune fell back and spun, his back slamming to the ice as he dodged the highwayman’s attack. And as Rune fell, his arm shot out and — one second, he was holding his sword, and then his sword was discarded, clattering to the ice. A crackling sound like shattering ice filled Elma’s ears, and Rune’s arm glowed white-blue, suddenly engulfed in a glittering, swirling mass of frost. In a breathless instant, the frost expanded and resolved, solidifying with horrifying quickness, into an ice-sharp blade that seemed to sing as it cut the air, frigid and deadly.

Rime...

He stood no chance against the magic blade. Because that was all it could be — magic. Rime Ice was not some strange ice mined from the glaciers of Slödava, forged into weapons. It was magic.

She watched in a trance-like state, watched her assassin’s surety in combat, how efficiently he killed, how his attackers’ blood stood out so starkly against his hair. The moment, horrific as it was, felt somehow intimate. Rune cut their lives short for her. He killed for her. The death cries of men caressed her ears, the smell of blood and gore assailing her nostrils.

then turned to Rune, who stood panting. His face was spattered with blood, his hair plastered to his sweaty brow, and in his gaze was the fierce flame of something that could have been love. She had never understood life, Elma thought, until that moment. Blood and death swirled around them in a maelstrom. Terror warped her thoughts, made her lungs burn hot. But she was free, and the wind was on her face, and grief, sharp, painful grief embedded in the recesses of her soul. Only a Volta, she thought, heart slamming in her ribs, finds life at the edge of death.

She pulled Rune to her, fingers buried in his hair, and found his mouth with trembling, blood-flecked lips. She bit down and tasted iron, and the tang of it brought her back to earth. Back to herself. All was suddenly in sharp, vibrant focus.

At one point, just after midday, an enormous bird flew over their company. Its wings were snow-white, its talons blueish in the shadow of its body. “One of the Slödavan Queen’s snow hawks,” Rune said. “She knows we’re coming.”

“It’s frost, clinging to the stone. From a distance, it looks like ice.” Embarrassed by her obvious wonder, Elma bit her lip. “It doesn’t look real.” He huffed appreciatively. “I’m glad you think so. It’s what they intended, centuries ago when they decided to build the ridiculous thing.”

“You speak of peace, yet you hold our Crown Prince hostage. If it weren’t for our queen’s mercy, you would be dead where you stand.”

She had trusted him. She had believed him to be a friend. She had thought foolishly that he might love her. That she might… But he was not her Rune, her assassin. He was Rune, the Crown Prince of Slödava. His mother was Queen Hildegard.

“Fuck you. Get off of me.” “But if I let you go, you’ll try to kill me. And while dying at your hand would be my greatest privilege, I’d at least like a chance to explain myself before that happens.”

“You can trust me,” he said, bending to retrieve his sword, returning it to its sheath. “I spoke to the Queen, my mother. I hope you find some satisfaction in the knowledge that she lectured me quite severely.”

“I was a bit of a fool. And when I saw you for the first time, asleep in that carriage, well…” He shrugged. “I knew what a cocksure dunderhead I’d been. As if I could have killed you.”

“Anyway,” said Rune, at last meeting her gaze. “My mother isn’t particularly happy with me, which puts you in a far better position than if I’d been a good little boy. Compared to me, you look practically honorable, despite being a Volta. I’ve explained everything to her. How you spared me in the Death Games, the deal we made, your desire for peace above all. You do still desire peace…?”

Cocksure dunderhead or not, Rune deserved peace. Rothen and Slödava deserved peace. “I do,” Elma said.

“In that case, I’ve been given the authority to free you from this drab little room and declare you an honored guest of the court of Slödava. An ambassador for peace, by order of Queen Hildegard.” He held out his arm, bent at the elbow. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?”

if she spent too much time with him, allowed him to crawl back under her skin a second time, she might be lost forever. If I’m not lost already.

While the bond of trust had been broken, the air between them hung taut like a bowstring. And Elma knew that if she loosened her fingers even slightly, the arrow would fly true, piercing the muscle of her heart.

He was almost too beautiful then, like a painting rather than a man, a princely figure wreathed in night-dark raiments, his blue eyes shining as he stood half-turned to face her, expectation and affection lingering in his impossible gaze.

“Tell me who it was, and if he’s not dead already, I’ll have him killed for you.” Rune’s words were lazy. He didn’t even meet Elma’s eye as he spoke. “This isn’t a joke,” Elma said, stopping dead in the street. Rune paused, blinking. “I never said it was. And if you’re determined to have this discussion here, now, I suppose you’ve conveniently forgotten about the fact that the Rothen nobility have no qualms about capturing and enslaving my people.”

“It might shock you to learn that they do. I try not to let the expectations of royalty cast a pall over the joys of life. Nor did my father. He’s the one who brought me here when I was young. It used to be his favorite tavern. He wanted me to know our kingdom and our people, to understand them. Not just as my future subjects, but as individuals.”

the reality of it, two lives would have been taken… their blood would be on my hands. And most painful of all, it would have meant that our deal would be done. And that you would leave.” Gripping her tankard with white knuckles, she stared hard at the wine-stained wood of the bar. “So, I found another use for you.”

“There’s something I haven’t told you. Something about our deal. When I said the involvement of your advisors was incidental in my mission to kill you, what I meant was… they weren’t involved at all.”

“I’m certain that you did overhear your men speaking ill of you. And perhaps they did, or still do, want you dead. But they never came to me about it. And I, well… I stopped wanting you dead the second I laid eyes on you. But rationality has never been my strong suit. My mother always said I’m relentlessly romantic.”

“It wouldn’t be out of the realm of things Rothenians have done,” Rune said, his tone apologetic. “I tried interrogating that assassin about it in the high tower. Someone paid him to look like a Slödavan; he admitted that much. But he was well-trained, and his tongue didn’t budge after that.”

And who, other than your maid, had full access to your chambers? Edvin didn’t sneak in there on his own merit, I can tell you that much.”

“You’ve just told me that my only friend in the world is trying to have me killed.” Rune’s earlier mirth was utterly gone now, replaced by a cold understanding. He held Elma’s gaze, and she was unable, despite herself, to look away. “You are a queen,” he said. “Monarchs don’t have friends. We can’t afford to.”

“No one bothered to tell you there used to be peace between Rothen and Slödava, I suppose,” Rune said. “And not just peace, but friendship. Part of the reason why it rankles so much to see it all tossed away, abandoned in the name of a pointless war.”

“I brought you to this courtyard because I used to come here as a boy. I’d stare up at this statue, this eternal queen, and wonder who she was. As if she was real and not just some hunk of rock. I wondered what she believed in. I had this ridiculous idea in my head of a queen so brave, so defiant in the face of the inevitable, that she would do anything to uphold what she believed was right. My imaginary queen was idealistic, probably to a fault. But I wanted so badly to be her or to love her. I don’t know which. Both, perhaps. But I can tell you that my idea of this perfect queen, the projection of a woman who didn’t exist… she reminds me painfully of you.”

“Of me?” she said. “I’m no idealist. You heard what I said back there at the tavern. This mission of peace was—” “Selfish, yes, and so forth. You say that, but I don’t think you believe it.”

“Never seen it before? You’re in for a treat,” Rune said. “I’m not sure I can teach you, but I’ll show you. I’ve never done this for anyone before. Not like this, outside of combat.” He looked almost shy as he spoke, as if Elma were someone to impress.

And as she watched, something in the man’s bearing changed. His sheepish expression faded, and in its place, he began to radiate what could only be described as kingliness.

“We actually don’t know. Isn’t that convenient? The legend says that the first Slödavan king was given Rime Ice as a gift from the people of the snow, the fair folk. According to the stories, Rime Ice comes from the blood of the land, passed between those with royal lineage. If you’re feeling particularly philosophical, some believe that the land chooses who is blessed with Rime Ice. If a heart is ruined with greed or selfishness, supposedly, one cannot manifest Rime Ice properly. It will turn on you.”

“Could I learn how to wield it?” “Thought you’d never ask,” said Rune, his mouth quirking in a half-smile. “But unfortunately, I have no idea. As far as I’m aware, no one but Slödavans have ever accessed its power.”

“I want to try,” said Elma. “I’m a queen, aren’t I?” Rune’s gaze heated. “I love it when you’re haughty. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have a peace treaty to write, and you ...

“Ah, there you are,” said Rune. Elma hadn’t even noticed he was there she’d been so enchanted by his mother. “Mother, this is—” “I can see who it is, darling.” Queen Hildegard’s words were soft and drawling. She spoke like a woman who had all the time in the world, a woman who feared nothing. “Your Majesty,” she said. “Welcome to Slödava. It’s been such a long time since we welcomed a Queen of Rothen.”

“This is very much not a trick,” Rune added quickly, “though I’m sure we both wish it was. Your uncle rides on Slödava against your orders. His own men waylaid you on the ice, killing their own in an attempt to get to you. Whatever it is he intends to do now, it won’t be in the name of honor.”

“I am Lord Godwin’s queen. Those are my soldiers riding on Slödava, betraying me. The last thing I’ll do is hide from them behind some pretty wall. If they’re determined to commit the highest form of treason, they will do it to my face.” An expression almost like admiration hovered on Queen Hildegard’s face. “I’ll go with you,” Rune said. “If nothing else, let me be your blade.”

I need you to be my bodyguard, my shadow. If my uncle doesn’t know your true identity, I’d rather keep it that way.” “A good queen always has at least one ace up her sleeve,” Hildegard said, thoughtful. “Let my son be yours and prove himself useful for once.” “I beg you,” Rune said to his mother, “at least refrain from harming my ego until after we’ve eaten.”

“My son is more than tolerable,” said Hildegard, moving around the table to offer her arm to Elma, as a close friend or confidante would, “but only when he’s fed.” “Ha,” Rune said, trailing behind the two queens as they took their leave. “Always making jokes, my mother.”

“I have great hope for your kingdom,” the other queen said. “But until your men are firmly under your thumb, there can be no peace between our nations. Many lives hang in the balance. My son believes in you.” She held Elma’s gaze with ice-blue eyes. “Don’t fail him.”

Even so, she said, “I won’t.” “Good. Then please, for gods' sake, go and entertain him for a while. He’s spoken of nothing but you since you arrived.” Her smile was tinged with sadness. “He has been lonely for such a long time.” “So have I,” Elma said, unthinking.