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

by Meg Smitherman

“Then perhaps your meeting wasn’t by chance,” said Hildegard. Her smile brightened, and she took Elma’s hand in hers. “In a few days, we don our armor, if we must. But today, we rest. And find joy where we can.” Rune was waiting for Elma in the corridor, leaning against the wall.

They stood for a moment in awkward silence, as if without something to argue about, without blood dripping down their fingers, they were strangers. Elma wanted to be near him. She wanted to devour him, to be devoured. Yet here they stood, worlds apart.

“I feel as if I’m seeing you for the first time,” she said at last. “As if your armor’s come off.” “Well,” he said, “you’re a weapon. I had to keep my guard up in case you tried to pierce me through the heart. The only difference now is that I no longer fear such an attack. You could puncture me full of holes, Your Majesty, and I’d only beg for more.”

When the guards went on their way, as Elma approached her rooms, a shadow seemed to pass over her. I will be a better queen, she thought. If I must, I will die for them. And so, over dinner that night, Elma asked Rune — quite formally, and with every intention of holding him to it — to teach her how to use Rime Ice.

According to Rune, no one in Slödava had ever heard of a Rothenian monarch wielding Rime Ice. Then again, no one truly understood exactly what it was, or how it worked. All he knew, he’d said, was that only those in royal families could wield it. And then, usually only monarchs. His was stronger than most princes’, but “Compared to my mother’s blade,” he’d said, “I may as well be carrying a frozen fork.”

Every movement, every breath he took, was so painfully bright to Elma. He was a star, and she was the night, yearning for his light.

What could happen between them now? Even if she trusted him completely, even if her heart saw fit to melt, he was the heir of an enemy kingdom. She was Rothen’s queen. Where did love fit in?

His gaze snapped to Elma’s as she stared across the table, and his expression sharpened. As if he could sense her hunger. She thought about how his mouth felt on hers, his skin under her teeth, the way he undid her slowly and masterfully with tongue and hands.

“I want you to surrender to me.” Rune kissed her nipple sweetly. “You say that like I haven’t already.” “I’m your enemy,”

“I’m the queen of Rothen.” “My apologies, Majesty,” he said, a devilish smile curling across his features. “I forgot to pay my respects… properly.”

“Your Majesty,” Rune said, rucking up her skirts and pulling her underclothes aside. “I am your servant. I’m nothing. Allow me to grovel.”

All she could think of was Rune. There was nothing in her world but him, his blue eyes, the blade in his hand, the weight of his knees pressing divots into the bed.

The knowledge that he would hurt himself for her, to feed her strange yearning for his surrender, his lifeblood sticky on her fingers and wetting her teeth, was almost enough to make her come. He was going to ruin her. Her head spun with arousal.

And now, Elma realized, with a spark of clarity, that the bloodletting was a promise. Mutually assured tenderness. Elma knew then, the tang of Rune’s blood filling her senses, that she could have opened her chest and shown her beating heart to him, and he would not harm it. Instead, he would light her from within, melting away the years of cold and ice until she was herself again.

“If you don’t remove my breeches in the next two seconds,” Rune said, voice shaking slightly, “I’m going to die.” “If you die,” Elma said breathlessly, reaching for the fastening, “I’ll follow you into the after and drag you back here.”

When Elma woke in the middle of the night to pull the blankets over them, she paused, studying Rune’s face, gentle in repose. A coil of undeniable warmth grew in her chest. This was what it felt like, then, to bloom unharmed in a frozen wasteland. This was softness and trust.

“He’ll be waiting for you,” Rune said. “Do you still plan to go and speak to him? You know I’d happily creep into his tent and slit his throat if that’s what you want.” “Rune,” Hildegard said sharply, directing a look at her son. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I never said it would be honorable. But war is war.”

“Elma,” Hildegard said, her delicate brows furrowed, “Lord Godwin is as likely to gut you as he is to hug you. There’s no need to put yourself at risk. My men are more than capable of dispatching him, should that be your wish. Just… not Rune. He’s seen enough violence.”

“Thank you, Hildegard,” Elma said, bowing her head in deference. “But it’s unnecessary. I’ll have Rune by my side.” The other queen’s lips formed a tight line. “He has few weaknesses, my son. But you are one of them. I’d rather you both came back from this in one piece.” Elma softened. “I will do all I can to ensure his safety.”

“Elma,” he said, breath steaming in the cold air, “you don’t have to do this. The danger is unimaginable. You’d stand alone against an army. If they decide to end you…” “I am the queen of Rothen,” she said, taking his face in her hands. For the first time since coming to Slödava, she felt as if Rune needed her reassurance more than she needed his. “I have made my choice.”

“It’s nothing personal, Niece. It’s not my place to tell you whose prick to open up for, but as queen—” There was a sudden movement to the left of Elma, and Rune held a knife in one hand. He spun it casually, his head tilted slightly. “Speak like that again,” he said softly, “and you’ll lose an eye.”

“I have not slept soundly,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on Elma, “since ordering your death. The poisoning, the disguised Slödavan… even that barely competent creature your toy made easy work of. I lay awake in the small hours, wondering if I’d done the right thing. If you might be a great queen after all, if only you could divert your path and return to the one laid out for you by your father. A conqueror’s path, one fit for a queen of Rothen.” He sighed and shook his head.

Knew it

“No matter what you choose,” Rune said, “I cannot fault you.” Elma’s chest ached. Her hands were clammy, the fire too hot.

“One thing I’ve never seen in you is resignation.” Rune curled his fingers over hers, and they were dry, cracked, and caked in blood and dirt. Elma had never felt anything so comforting. “You’re still a queen,” he said, holding her gaze, his eyes bright and rimmed in red.

“They will strip it from me before the end. Every humiliation will be mine to endure.” With a soft clang, Rune let his head fall against the bars. “You would have been a good queen,” he said. “The best kind of queen. You love your people. My mother saw it in you, just as I do. We could have had peace.”

“You’re afraid of your compassion. It never fit within the bounds of what your father expected, what you learned. I think your mothers would have saved me, too.” He smiled. “And I am honored to die as your weapon.”

“I’d prefer not to drag out my inevitable death if it’s all right with you.” “You’re just going to sit down and die, then?” the bearded one asked, sounding disappointed. “You may be many things, Queen Elma, but you’re not a coward, surely.” She sheathed her sword with a clang. “I’m not a queen anymore.”

“Wait,” cried the man with the patchy beard, running up to her. He held out his hand. “You forgot your rock.” She smiled. “Keep it safe for me, will you?” But he shook his head. “Take it. It’s a protection stone.”

“Your uncle’s a fool if he thinks we’ll cut each other down.”

“He knows me,” she said, breathless, searching Rune’s face for injury. His jaw was bruised, and the remnants of a black eye was fading from one of his eyes. Cuts marred his lips and eyebrows, as if he’d been struck repeatedly by a bare fist. “He knows I’ll take my own life before taking yours.” “Then he doesn’t know me at all,” Rune growled, “because I’ll dismantle this arena stone by stone before I watch you die.”

The horn sounded then in a sorrowful peel. And Elma realized that the arena had gone quiet. It was still packed with onlookers, but not a soul was cheering; no chants emanated from the ...

She loved Rune. She would gladly die just to give him one more second of that world. One more second of cold air on his cheeks, one more second of snow, one more second of glorious breath in his lungs.

No, she thought. This isn’t how it ends. I’m the Queen of Rothen. And I don’t die like this. Rune does not die like this.

An inexplicable sensation took hold of her, then. It began in her heart and spread outward, an icy chill. As if the mountains and the frozen rivers and the snow were all inside her, flowing through her veins, filling her up from head to foot. The sensation heightened, almost blinding her, vibrating through her skin. A prickling cold, coalescing at one single point — her hands.

Crackling and glinting against the snowfall, its blade extending with the speed of a flash freeze, a sword grew out from her hands. Bright and deadly and firm in her grip, the blade of Rime Ice swung as if bidden by her thoughts. It cut through the first wolf, severing its head with unbelievable ease. With a sweep...

It was as if she had been waiting for this all her life. The snow, the ice, the land — reverberating in her veins, anointing her with the power and wisdom of a thousand queens before her.

“Rune,” she said, cradling his head in her lap. He smiled, though he was deathly pale. “Use your Rime Ice,” Elma said quickly, her words falling together like tumbling stones. “Your secret’s out now, use it, hurry. It healed me.” “You’re a queen,” Rune murmured, lifting a blood-encrusted hand to tangle in her hair. “The land needs you. I’m just a prince. Not as powerful for me, I’m afraid.”

“Well, you can’t just… die,” Elma sobbed, not caring that she sounded like a petulant child. “I love you.” Rune grinned, slow and self-satisfied, his blue eyes bright with emotion, even as the snow grew redder all around him. “Come here.” Elma leaned down, pressing her cheek to his, her hot tears dripping down her nose and onto his neck. “And I love you,”

“I didn’t expect to love a queen of Rothen. I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry. You are inescapable.” She kissed him where his jawline met his neck. “Don’t be sorry. I’m fine. You’ll be all right. If we can get you to a healer—” “Stop,” he said, and with every word, his breaths grew slightly more labored. “I’m not sure you’re aware, but these are called the Death Games for a reason.”

She would carry Rune out of the arena herself if she had to. She would cut her way through Godwin’s soldiers. She would carry him over the mountain pass, across the Frozen Sea, back home where he belonged. They could not have him. She would not let them have him.

Now that she had found it, calling it forth was almost nothing. She had spent a lifetime seeking some connection to Rothen, a meaning, and now that she’d found it, the land would never let her go. She was its rightful ruler, and the man who stood before her was a usurper. Somehow, the land understood that. I am the Queen of Rothen.

Elma thought, distantly, that something about the ring of Godwin’s Rime Ice resonance sounded wrong. Like a note played just out of tune. As if his cruel nature had tarnished the magic itself.

Its gonna consume him

“Haven’t you wondered,” Elma said, parrying a heavy overhead blow from her uncle, ice scattering from where the blades met, “why I’m able to use Rime Ice even though you took my crown?” She had no answer for this but hoped the question might throw Godwin off balance, cause him to doubt. On the contrary, her uncle only laughed, easily parrying Elma’s next attack. “How should I know what capricious rules this magic abides by? As long as you’re dead, it hardly matters to me.”

It will turn on you, Rune had told her, back in Slödava. If a heart is ruined with greed or selfishness… one cannot manifest Rime Ice properly.

“You’d better not die,” she said, hot tears streaming down her face, “or I’ll follow you into the after and drag you back here to me.” “I have no doubt,” Rune said, squinting up at her, still half smiling. “But how embarrassing for me, to need saving by a Volta.”

“The moment you’re well again,” she murmured, “I’m going to hurt you for that.” A slow grin spread across Rune’s face. “I look forward to it.”

“Your man is something to look at,” she said. “Did you give him that scar?” “She may as well have,” Rune said, cutting himself a dainty bite. “Bloodthirsty, this one.” “Only where it counts,” Sharra laughed, raising a glass.

“I mean, you idiot, that I would like to marry you.” “Oh,” said Rune, his eyes bright, as if not quite understanding. Then his gaze sharpened, and he grinned. “Oh.”

He had stayed in Rothen to heal after the Death Games. At first, she had thought she might lose him. It had been the worst day of her life. And now that he was whole and hale again, she couldn’t stand the thought of him returning to Slödava, living so far away, ruling another kingdom. The idea of their fates forever branching apart, growing more and more distant… it wasn’t a future she had the strength to bear.

She wanted him. She wanted him all the time, to touch him, to be with him, laugh with him, spar with him. He was her star, and she was his. “Marry me,” she said, kissing his ear. “Join our kingdoms. Be my king. Spend every day at my side and every night in my bed, for the rest of your life. You’ll be far from home, but—”