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“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.”
Elma took shallow, heaving breaths as she skidded in the snow, her body drenched in sweat despite the strength and speed of the Rime Ice. She was reaching the end of whatever burst of energy she had been given, and Godwin was matching her hit for hit. Even her attempt at hurting hismorale had failed, and she was beginning to see an end to the battle that wasn’t in her favor.
Just then, Elma’s boots skidded in a patch of unseen ice. She flailed, regaining her balance. Godwin took his opportunity to strike, elbowing her in the face. She fell hard on her back, the armor dragging her down like a cumbersome sack of metal.
Godwin knelt over her, the cold from his blade washing over her face as he pressed it to her neck.
“Before you die,” he said, “I think you ought to know. Your maid Cora… that poor, foolish girl. We found her outside the arena voicing traitorous rhetoric in your favor, spouting nonsense about your devotion to the people. We arrested her of course, along with dozens of dissidents who claim to believe that you’re their rightful queen. That you,” he scoffed, “seem tocareabout them. A Slödafucker Volta? Care about the citizens of Rothen? How tragic when they find out what you’ve really done. That you’ve all but sentenced them to death, just by claiming their loyalty to you. All for a frozen prick.”
Elma struggled against him, her vision black but for Godwin’s face. She was out of her mind with rage. But her throat smarted in pain as her uncle’s Rime Ice blade cut her, and she knew that he wouldn’t stop at a surface wound. Rime Ice could not heal decapitation.
“It’s a shame, really, about your maid,” Godwin went on, clearly savoring the desperation in Elma’s eyes. “She had been so helpful to me until now. At my order, she claimed to see the false Slödavan assassin, lied that she had seen him wielding Rime Ice. Pity I hadn’t known its sensitivity to royal blood at the time… a foolish mistake. It should have been rectified by my next gambit, assisting a true Slödavan in entering the citadel. Cora herself led him to your room. The silly girl thought all of it was toscareyou, to start a war with Slödava. Like you, she hadn’t the taste for blood. I should have guessed she would turn on me when she realized the truth. That I needed you dead. I’d let you live to see her execution,” he said, smiling in a sickly, self-satisfied way, “if I didn’t think you’d find some way to kill me first.”
No, Elma screamed silently, as if with one thought she could crush her uncle’s skull to nothing.No, no, no. Not Cora. She doesn’t deserve this. But who would fight for one maid, one woman in a vast frozen kingdom? Cora and a few citizens of Frost were nothing in the face of Godwin’s army. And if Elma were to win this fight, then what? She would be swarmed by guards, arrested again, and dragged to the chopping block.
“There, there,” said Godwin. “You see, it’s no use fighting. You are finished, Elma Volta. Done. You’ll be remembered only as a traitor until you are forgotten altogether, your memory faded into the snows like every disgraced monarch before you.”
He was right. No matter how Elma railed against him, no matter how strong she was, no matter how much she loved Rune… there was no winning. She had already lost. Perhaps there had never been a path for her that didn’t end this way.
And then an image came to her: Winifred. Winifred, watching her at the parade, calling her name. Winifred, sewing a pennant with Elma’s initials because she believed so strongly in her queen. Winifred, handing Elma a tiny green stone.
Her protection stone.
Winifred believed in Elma. Cora believed in her and was willing to die for her. Perhaps there were others. More who wanted peace instead of war. Those who would support Elmaif she stood against her uncle. Godwin was no true king — he was a usurper, who would be a tyrant.
I won’t let him.Rothen deserves more than this from its queen.
The fury inside Elma, the ice-hot rage that had so quickly subsided, now exploded forth in a sudden, uncontrollable burst. Letting out a guttural yell that seemed to tear her throat, she heaved her uncle off of her, striking out with her blade at the same time.
He staggered back, and as he did, she scrambled, breathless, to her feet.
A deep gash ran across the front of Godwin’s chest, and he stared, momentarily caught off guard. But even as Elma watched, the gash began to heal. He was King of Rothen, after all, usurper or not.
Godwin advanced on her, unperturbed by his momentary wound. Elma held him off, but she was growing increasingly tired. Her armor began to weigh too heavy on her, and even with the advantages of Rime Ice, she could not fight forever. She had lost a considerable amount of blood. And her uncle was relentless — with every attack she dealt, he made two more.
She was beginning to stumble as she backed away in rhythmic circles, parry, parry, lunge. Block. And while her energy faded like water from a sieve, his seemed only to grow. As if her Rime Ice was passing to him, from the old monarch to the new.
A horrible light grew in his eyes. Death lust. She had seen it in her father’s eyes and felt it in her own.
And then it came at last, the attack Elma did not see until it was too late. She had thought it was a feint and had moved to block a blow from the other side. So when her uncle’sblade pierced her armor, the Rime Ice having no trouble slicing through the steel plate, Elma fell to her knees in shock.
Like a candle blown out in the darkness, her Rime Ice receded.Come back, she urged it, desperately, but the snow and ice in her veins were gone. She had already given up. There was no winning here; not even the protection stone could help her. The fire in her heart had burnt out.
She prayed that Rune’s death would be quick. She prayed for Queen Hildegard’s peace. Bitterly, she remembered the souls who had given themselves for her — Luca and his men. And now Cora, who would soon be gone.
Fractures of pain, unending and indescribable, wracked Elma’s chest.
Perhaps, she thought,it’s right that I die now. Before more give their lives to the woman I should have been.
And then something happened that Elma did not expect. Godwin had been advancing on her, his eyes blazing with eagerness, his Rime Ice blade held out before him for a death blow. But as he raised the blade high, Elma’s death laid out before him, he stopped.
For a wild moment, Elma thought he had been struck with a change of conscience. He seemed to have frozen as if he were encased in ice. And then, in a sudden and horrific burst, his Rime Ice blade exploded backward into a thousand glassy shards. In one moment, the blade was raised before him, ready to kill. In the next, his hands were empty, and he was punctured full of ice.
Elma stared in disbelief.
Godwin fell slowly, a few of the shards having thrust all the way through his body, protruding bloody from the other side. Snow burst up around him as his body thumped to the ground.
