A Queen for the Frost Giant (Legends of Rahasia Book 0)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Quinn lifts her axe and never seems to lower her arm as the Masked Men come screaming towards us. She's a blur of blood and fury, hefting her shield forwards to smack upwards into one man's chin. Another one down, and still more come to replace him.

Fell's light streams towards me, dancing over my skin, thrumming through my veins. The warmth spreads, the power in every movement I make, the focused intensity of my gaze. Even my lungs ease up a little, air flowing a little easier, the fluid within clearing.

A man comes at Fell. He just holds his palm out and touches his attacker's rib. The man falls, unconscious. I smile, but even at that brief hesitation...

"CASSIA!" Leif slices one man down, whirling around to gesture at the invader bearing down upon me, towering over me by a head.

I remember the dagger at that moment, striking upwards just as the man reaches me, embedding the blade to the hilt. It sticks, and I need to set my boot on his stomach to get the weapon out. Leif runs over to help me to my feet after, his eyes glancing quickly over my body for wounds.

"He's dead. I'm not." I tell him, breath coming in gasps, magic wearing thin. "Keep going."

"You need rest." He tells me.

I stand straighter, forcing myself not to fall. Begging my lungs to just comply to match my ego. "I need to win."

I glance towards the water, where the Masked Men's boats lie. An idea strikes me then, dangerous and potentially stupid.

Perfect.

"Cover me."

In moments, I'm sprinting for the boats. Leif follows behind me, slicing any attackers down with a short, practiced movement of his scimitar. My feet hit the ground hard, each step taking a little more out of me. The idea of running always falls short of the reality.

The boats don't seem that much closer, but still, I must keep going. I focus in, taking deeper breaths through my nose. Releasing past my lips.

"Cassia..." Lord Kazmer holds me up by my shoulder. I lean against him, grateful for the brief respite. A few of the Masked Men turn around to follow us.

"Quickly." I brace both of my hands around one of the emerald torches. Leif helps me, both of us setting our feet in the snow. It's top heavy, the flame wavering dangerously close, licking towards our furs.

I think of Octavia. Of her children, the twins Alf and Sif, of the people of Knarr with wide, hungry eyes and gaunt faces covered in ash. The wooden figures of the gods.

Father Ardo, I believe this is your realm.

I lower the emerald torch to the Masked Men's boats. If they truly are of the realm of the gods, walking beneath the lights, they'll perish once their connection to the sea is lost.

If they're men, well, cowards still burn, don't they?

"Et ardeat." I intone, lowering the torches to the boats, where the emerald fire seeks out the powdered jars that the Masked Men threw earlier. The fire ignites the first boat, then the next and the one after. The frozen sea turns into a barren waste of fire and brimstone. The air smells strongly of rot and flame.

The Masked Men scream, moving towards us in one, angry unit.

"They're humans after all..." I mutter.