Authors: E. Latimer
Dear Megan,
I see you've managed to pick up some companions, which makes my sneaking a little harder. Tomorrow, find a way to ditch Tweedledum and Tweedledee and meet me in the servants' quarters. They'll welcome you in. Just ask for Brad.
Must humbly yours,
Brad.
The idea of Loki calling himself Brad and the ridiculous flourish on the words
most humbly yours
made me snort out loud. Nothing was ever serious to him.
Movement outside the door made me stiffen, and I closed my fist around the note, crumpling it into a ball. For a second, I imagined shoving the note into my mouth and eating it like this was some kind of spy movie. But the note was too big. I’d be chewing forever.
A few seconds went by, and no one came bursting through the door. It must have been the guards moving around. Still, I needed to get rid of the note, just in case.
I settled on unfolding it and shredding it into tiny pieces before feeding the scraps into the fireplace, thinking furiously the entire time.
He wanted me to sneak into the servants’ quarters. Wasn't that dangerous? Why would the servants welcome me? He seemed pretty sure of that. Though, honestly, he seemed sure of everything. I was beginning to think that was just the way he was, regardless of the situation. That was a great way to get yourself killed.
And just how was I supposed to get rid of the Viking twins? They seemed determined to follow me everywhere but the bathroom.
The bathrooms.
The answer hit me almost as soon as I asked the question. The ladies’ bathrooms down the hall had a window high enough that nobody could see in but not so high that I couldn't push something in front of it and climb out.
That’s it.
The Vikings couldn't follow me in there.
Feeling pretty good about my plan, I flipped the lid off the platter and surveyed what Loki had brought for dinner. Two open-faced pieces of bread with peanut butter, banana eyes, and smiling raisin mouths.
I hoped the Viking twins couldn't hear me laughing.
The queen's white face looms over mine, her ruby-red lips forming words.
When I finally make them out, they're not what I expected to hear. She doesn't speak to me, telling me she loves me. Instead, foreign words fall from her lips, venomous sounds that drip from her like the blood that dots the snow around my body.
Snow...snow around my body...
No.
I look down and see that I'm lying on white tiles. The floor of the palace. The blue sky blurs above me, turning into a vaulted ceiling.
The queen's voice is like the drone of bees, constant and steady, distantly ominous. Her words fill me from the inside out, making my bones ache.
The air is full of static, and the picture in front of me keeps moving, changing...
The fabric of the world is reforming. I blink—the room tilts.
I'm standing, the wound in my chest gone. I am whole once again.
Again, the room blurs.
I’m in a huge stone hall, oak tables hold a feast, and a roaring fire casts a cheery, orange light on the faces around me. But this is no celebration.
The prisoners of war stand clustered together at the end of the vast hall, surrounded by tall, white warriors, the spears of my people leveled at them. Their faces are frightened, dirt-smudged, and tear-stained. They are women and children, holding one another, the old sheltering the young.
The radio hisses with static as I relay a message to my queen. "We have the prisoners collected in the great hall. What is your command?"
The queen's voice hisses and pops with static, but it still comes through, cold as a glacier stream. "There are no prisoners."
My hand falters, and I lower the radio. There are no prisoners.
I am to kill, not in a battle, not in a fight for my life with another warrior, but in cold blood. I am to execute every woman and child standing before me.
Studying their faces, I’m caught in the gaze of one little girl, a curly-haired urchin with wide, brown eyes. She is one of the only children who isn't crying.
When I step toward her, she doesn’t flinch. Her skin is hot under my fingertips as I brush my hand across her cheek. She doesn’t shrink back an inch, but she stares up at me with huge, solemn eyes.
I turn to my soldiers. "In ten minutes’ time, we raze this city to the ground. Use their fire to burn it and bring it down rock by rock. We start the destruction on the east end."
The prisoners murmur to one another. I ignore them. “Soldiers, to me now."
They are trained well. Not one of them pauses or questions my orders, though they all heard the queen through the radio. They follow me down the hallways, their feet tramping in unison, away from the prisoners. Giving them time.
My heart is in my throat.
I have disobeyed my queen.
I stumbled out of bed, frantic.
I let the prisoners go.
Then reality kicked in, and I slumped back on the bed. What had just happened? I’d had that dream again, about dying for the queen, but it had changed. It was almost as if the original dream had...broken down. Shorted out. It had been replaced by something different.
And the words the queen had been speaking before the dream changed, what did those mean? Was it Old Norse, like the runes above the doorways?
I suspected they were, which meant it had probably been a spell of some kind.
I tucked my knees up to my chest, inhaling deeply. Trying to calm myself down so I could think about this carefully. This last dream matched the story Loki had told me.
He'd been telling the truth. It was great that he hadn't been lying, but did that mean the rest of what he'd said was true? That the queen was evil and I was in danger there? The words of the dream queen rang in my head.
“There are no prisoners.”
My stomach was filled with lead. Those were not the actions of a kind and gentle ruler. That was the behavior of a tyrant. If only the dream had continued. I had to know what happened next. The queen must have been furious when Amora had disobeyed her.
And now, what did I do? Maybe it wasn't safe here, but there was no guarantee the fire kingdom would be better. The only other option was running away on my own again.
I'm so tired of running
. My eyes prickled, filling with tears, and I squeezed them shut and swore under my breath. I couldn't do it again. Not on my own. I'd have to take Charlotte with me.
When I opened my eyes, the neon blur of the alarm clock caught my attention. It was nearly eight. Time for another happy training session with Prince Asshole.
I pushed a hairband over the mess that was my hair, just to keep it out of my face, and shoved my way past the double doors and into the hallway, speed-walking all the way there. Being late was not an option with Leif.
I pushed the doors open. The sounds of the training room—swords clashing, people shouting—made me feel sick with stress. It was like my body had an automatic reaction now.
When Erik came to meet me at the door, I only stared at him, surprised. His blond hair was freshly washed and still damp, and he was dressed in a leather jerkin and chain mail. He gave me a broad grin.
"I talked to the queen. Guess who's giving you lessons from now on?"
"No way." My entire body already felt lighter, like a physical weight had been lifted. "That's amazing!" Not having to deal with Leif on top of the dreams and everything else was a huge relief.
Erik hefted the sword in his hand. "All ready?"
"Absolutely." I trailed after him.
Halfway across the training room, I spotted Leif. He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. His face was a thundercloud, he was angrier than I’d ever seen him before. When he saw me looking, his expression went even darker.
I sucked in a sharp breath and turned back to Erik. "He looks pissed. I would have thought he'd be ecstatic to be rid of me."
"He got some news this morning."
Once we were in the corner of the room, he glanced back at Leif. Then he took me by the shoulders gently. "You must not tell anyone what I'm about to say to you. We'll be telling people soon, but for now, only the queen's generals know."
"What?" My mouth went dry. Whatever he was about to tell me couldn't be good.
"There's a reason she allowed me to take over your training." He kept his voice quiet. "I told her Leif wasn't doing a proper job of it and you needed the best training you could get in the next two weeks."
"Next two weeks?" My stomach dropped, and I pressed my hand to my chest. It felt like someone had sucked the air out of my lungs.
Erik straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. "The plans are laid. We advance on our enemies in two weeks' time."
It was an effort to push air in and out of my lungs.
Two weeks.
Erik had said that it would be in the far future. Years from now. "And I'm... She still wants me..." I couldn't spit the words out.
His face was grave. "You will lead the army."
Lead?
I was having real trouble breathing now. The room blurred around the edges, and I blinked frantically. This couldn't be happening.
"Two weeks? Are you kidding me?" My voice broke. “But you said—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d go forward without the prophecy."
I forced myself to slow my breathing so I wouldn’t actually hyperventilate. It was okay. It was fine. There was no way I was actually going into battle. I'd either go with Loki or run away. Like I'd been thinking about doing. Whatever I decided, leading an army into battle was
not
on the list of options.
With that in mind, my heart rate started to go back to normal, and I took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm calm. Sorry. I just...freaked out a little."
Erik nodded. "Understandable. Look, don't worry," he whispered. "Trust me. Act like everything is normal. We'll have our practice. Go have lunch and then I'll meet you in the library like usual." His blue eyes drilled into mine. "Everything will be okay."
What did that mean? That it would magically turn out all good? I would know how to kill people? Maybe I'd just flip over into Amora mode and start slashing heads off left and right? What effect would that have on the Megan part of me? The
real
part of me.
The thought made me feel sick.
It was hard, but for the rest of practice, I tried to do what Erik had said and act like everything was perfectly normal. But whenever I darted a look over at Leif, he was watching me. Glaring at me. What was he even doing there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets? Didn't he have anything better to do?
"You're distracted," Erik said, raising his voice over the sound of our swords crashing together.
"Sorry," I shouted. "Kinda thinking about this whole battle thing...you know?" The sarcasm probably wasn't appreciated, but I was past caring.
He swept his sword up to counter as I swung at his left hip. Then he shouted, "I understand you have a lot on your mind. It's remarkable though. You still match me blow for blow. It's like you could do this without even really noticing."
"I guess it's Amora."
"You don't look happy about it."
There was a pause in the clattering noises as I danced backward and we broke apart. Erik let his sword drift down.
My ears were ringing. "I feel like she's taking me over a little bit at a time. It's sort of eerie. I'm dreaming a lot. And they're changing..." It was dangerously close to the truth, and I studied his face carefully as I said it. If I did have false dreams implanted in me, was it possible that he knew about it?
His face was blank. Far too blank. "Changing how?"
"They're fuzzier now.” I shrugged. “Things are different."
He was being closemouthed, so I would be too. I really wasn't sure if I could trust him or not, and I tried to shake the sinking feeling of disappointment off.
The rest of practice was mostly silent—except for Erik’s correcting me about little things here and there—until we were both exhausted and dripping with sweat.