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“Frost,” Rune said, apparently seeing Elma’s awed stare. “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.”
Despite the city’s beauty, Elma’s wonder melted and gave way to anxiety as they approached its gates. She caught sight of the glint of weapons on its battlements, of armored guards. Deep blue flags waved from the gates, marked with the white symbol of Slödava — a white circle made up of complex symbols that looked like stars.
Hugh called a halt to their approach when they were within shouting distance of the gates. Riding back to Elma, he gave her a nod. “Your Majesty, may I have a word with your bodyguard?”
She inclined her head.
“Rune,” Hugh said, turning to the assassin, who regarded him with one raised brow, “this is your domain. How do we make ourselves known without…”
But his question trailed off as an echoing horn blast rose up from the Slödavan walls. It was melodic and otherworldly, like the cry of a distant gale. Goosebumps tingled Elma’s skin, a shiver running down her back. And then the gates of thecity, fifty feet high and shining with the illusion of ice, swung slowly inward.
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Hugh,” Rune said, “but Isuspectwe’re already known.” With a grin, he urged his horse forward.
No one protested as Rune rode to the front of their company, taking over from Hugh. Elma rode just behind him, the carriage clattering on in the group’s wake. And it was like this, breathless and wide-eyed, that they entered the city of Slödava, shrouded in mist.
All Elma wanted to do waslook. She wanted to take in the strangely intricate buildings, the white cobbled roads. What were the homes like? What sort of lives did they lead? But she would never be allowed to wander the city and learn its intricacies as an anonymous visitor — she was a queen on a diplomatic mission. And as they rode through the gates, there was only a moment of quiet before a regiment of Slödavans in shining armor intercepted them.
“Oh good,” said Rune, “they’ve sent the full welcoming party.”
“Halt!” rang out a clear, melodic voice. “State your business.”
Elma couldn’t see who had spoken — there were dozens of guards arranged in a crowded half-circle in front of them, and beyond that, curious Slödavans poked faces out of windows and doorways.
“I am Queen Elma of Rothen,” she said, hating how small her voice sounded. “I have come on a mission of peace.”
Scattered laughter and snorts of derision burst forth from the Slödavans.
“Peace?”
“WithRothen?”
Then one of the Slödavan guards held up a hand, a tallman at the front of their company, and the mutterings faded to silence. Elma noticed that the plume in his helmet was white, while the rest were a pale shade of blue.
“The manner of your arrival suggests a bid for war,” said the white-plumed man. His hand rested on the pommel of a sword, and his stance was tense, ready to spring. “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.”
Elma frowned. “Your intelligence is false,” she said. “We hold no hostages in Rothen.”
“Be still, Björn.” Rune’s voice carried over the Slödavan force, interrupting whatever the white-plumed man had been about to say. “You’re making an ass of yourself.”
Elma wished she could reach over and clamp her hand over Rune’s mouth. These may be his people, but this was a precarious situation, one that demanded tact. Precision.
But instead of lashing out, or worse, attacking them, the man whose name was Björn crumpled to the ground. And like a wave of shimmering armor, the men all around him did the same, and Elma realized they werekneeling. They pressed their fists to their chests, eyes downcast.
“Your Highness,” Björn said, his voice muffled by his position, “forgive me. I did not recognize you.”
Elma glanced around and saw that her men appeared to be as shocked and confused as she felt. But when her gaze fell on Rune, he did not return it. Instead, he sat up straighter in the saddle and surveyed the kneeling men with sharp eyes.
“You may stand,” Rune said, waving a hand dismissively.
All at once, Elma saw him with new eyes. He was holding himself differently, his movements lazy and delicate. Haughty. He looked like aprince. But it couldn’t be. There was only one Crown Prince of Slödava, and he… Rune could not be him.
But even as she thought this, Rune spoke with resonance, giving orders as if this were his regiment. His city.HisSlödava. “Björn,” he said, “there are two injured men in the carriage. See to it that they’re tended to. Bring in the rest for questioning. Oh, and tell my mother I’m home.”
A sense of unreality caught Elma in its grasp. It was as if she couldn’t fully react to what was happening, lest her heart stop and her blood cease flowing. The only evidence of her pain was a slight shake in her fingers as she allowed the Slödavans to help her down from her horse, to bend her arms behind her, binding her hands. She watched in numb dread as they did the same to her men. And when Hugh shot a dark, meaningful look at her through the melee of Slödavan guards, she could not hold his gaze.
