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Twenty-Two
Soft grey filled Elma’s vision. Cold flakes fell on her cheeks as she closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh and frigid air of the citadel courtyard at night. She reveled in the icy cut of it inside her lungs, the warm release as she exhaled. She hadn’t laid in the snow like this for years. For some time in her youth, it had been a refuge, a quiet place where the world was muffled, the harsh winds of Rothen kept out by the thick walls of snow all around her.
Despite the years that had passed since her escapes to the snow, Elma’s thoughts were much the same now as they had been the last time she lay supine in the courtyard, slowly being buried alive in the powder. Her mind was bright with fear — of being queen, her duties as a monarch, the life that lay ahead of her in Rothen. But she was also afire with new thoughts, new anxieties. Rune, chief among them. Would she survive long enough to wear the crown? And even if she did, would she wear it for long? Or would her reign be short and bitter?
There had been so much death. So much blood,for so many years. And soon, the only person who seemed to see her as she was… would be gone.
A steady crunching approached, footsteps in the snow, until Rune was standing over her.
Elma peered up at him through the snowflakes trapped in her eyelashes. He looked like a dream, a creature of the winter. Had he ever been real? Been solid? Would Rune the man ever make sense to her? Or would he disappear without explanation when the crown was on her head, such a force in her life, but for only a breath?
“Are you going to lie there until you’re dead?” Rune asked, leaning down. Snowflakes shimmered in his white hair, making him glow in the pale moonlight.
“As if you care,” said Elma. With her father gone, she supposed, only her mothers in Mekya would grieve her. And Godwin, though she knew him better than to think he’d wail and sob. He might sigh deeply, drink slowly from a goblet, and move on.
“Stop self-flagellating,” Rune said, kneeling down beside her. “You’re going to be Queen of Rothen tomorrow. You can’t very well freeze to death moments before the coronation. And I hate to admit it, but I’m not particularly fond of the idea of you dying so soon. Though I suppose you’ve guessed as much, considering Edvin’s current state.”
Elma’s heart skipped a beat. She took him in, the ice-fine features, cruelly full lips, the scar that marred his tanned face. She sat up and brushed snow from her hair. “Who was Edvin to you?” she asked, the question strangely vulnerable, hesitant.
Rune glanced away. “Someone from home.”
“A friend?”
“Not exactly.”
“But you knew him.”
“We were…” Rune sighed, still not meeting her gaze. “Colleagues, I suppose. Peers. We grew up in proximity and not by choice. I never liked him much. A brute, as you saw. Unworthy of spilling your blood.”
Elma swallowed. Rune hadn’t hesitated. He had gutted the man, removed the head from his body. It had been a violent, angry kill. “Do you regret…”
His gaze shot to hers, sharp and steady. “I made a deal. I don’t renege.”
Trying to ignore the sinking in her heart, Elma closed her eyes against the soft fall of snow. “Of course.”
“Don’t be like that,” Rune said. “I meant what I said. I don’t like the idea of you leaving me so soon, not yet. And I suppose, if you must die, I’d prefer to be the one to kill you.”
“How poetic,” Elma said.
“Not to mention,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling. “I revile the idea of that sweet, wet pussy going forever unplowed.”
“For god’s sake,” Elma spat, scrambling to her feet in annoyance. “I hate you.”
“As you should.” Rune moved toward her, and the air between them seemed to electrify. “But strangely, I don’t hateyou. Isn’t that interesting?”
“You…” Elma said, her mouth dry. “You don’t?”
He was so close she could feel his heat. His chest rose and fell in the cold, steam forming at his lips.
“I wish I hated you,” he said softly. “It would be easier. But… you’re not like your father. You’ve made that painfully clear. And even if you were, I…” he paused, shaking his head. Then he reached out and took her chin in his fingers, delicately, as if he were about to kiss her. “You don’t take your impending rule lightly. I see it in you. Only a dedicated woman would go and lie in the snow like this.”
Elma made a derisive sound. She couldn’t be hearing him right.
“Don’t give me thatlook,” Rune continued, his mouth quirking in a smile. He dropped his hand, moving back just a fraction. Elma wanted to pull him back, to bury herself in him. Instead, she remained silent, breathless, as if any sudden movements might scare this honesty back into him, never to be seen again.
“I’m being completely serious,” Rune said. “Your father was an effective king. His people feared him, and he defended his walls mercilessly. Rothen stands on the foundations that your father and his ancestors created, blood-soaked as they are. But you…” Rune looked at Elma as if she were the only thing that existed in that moment. “You could be loved, Elma Volta. You could grow a garden.”
Any remaining animosity she had toward Rune, stubbornly as she wanted to cling to it, evaporated. Before her, just for that moment, stood an ally, a man who would see her be a great ruler. And if she could live up to the hope that shone in his eyes, perhaps she would be a worthy queen after all.
