Page 230 of Frost and Death
My magic at play is horrifying to see, the past repeating itself as Nikolaj loses movement.
He withdraws another dagger, attempting to hack away my powers molding to him and the speed of it multiplies. His tanned skin alters to a sickly pale tone as the ice splinters and bursts up his chest.
It cracks with each new angle he shifts into, the crystals freezing him to the ground. His movements turn frantic, cleaving and sawing at his own body, with the hope of escape.
But as the puddle of blood grows underneath me, I collapse on my right side, weakly wrapping my arms around myself. I shake uncontrollably in agony as I watch my magic right one of my endless wrongs.
Terror etches itself in Nikolaj’s features and body as the Snow Queen’s touch steals his life.
I close my eyes at the end of a man I thought I knew, expecting grief to hit me, but instead, there is a void.
With one problem gone and one more left, I seek my own peace, begging my magic to numb the pain and to finally remove the threat I am to everyone.
I pray hard, hoping the Deities will let me return to my family.
My head droops, seeking to rest against the stone floor, but it meets something soft.
A tender hand rests on my hip, and I groan in pain from the movement, the blade shifting in my chest.
When pale blue eyes meet mine, I immediately wish to cower to my early grave.
“Tove,” Jerrick chokes out.
His audible pain sends a tear down the side of my face.
I never thought I’d hear him say my name ever again.
But a coppery tang is in the air, my attention on the blade and the vast amount of blood seeping from my body. It trickles down my arm and pools around me.
Jerrick cups my face, directing my focus to him.
“Don’t look. I’m here, my love. I’m here,” he soothes. “I’ve always got you, remember?”
My chest hollows, and I wheeze, seeking to fill my lungs with what my body needs. But the air is too far away...
“I-I’m so, s-so, s-s-soooorry.” I shiver and pant.
I never wanted to hurt him.
I never meant to lie.
I hope this… This is enough.
The ceiling above me moves down as the frost, the chill, and the cold seep around me, changing. It is not a glimmer of power nor a small kernel of home when I reach for it.
This coldness is dark, gloomy—grave.
Jonas, Viggo, and King Beauvais come into my line of vision.
Jerrick analyzes the blade in my chest and turns to the now frozen statue of Nikolaj.
A numbing sensation pricks itself along my fingertips and toes as Jerrick looks at King Beauvais.
“Please,” Jerrick begs the man hovering above.
Blinking is too strenuous to do at this point.
I lean into Jerrick, warmth soothing me as the numbness creeps up my arms, weighing down and reducing the use of my hands and fingers.
