“What are you doing?”
I don’t answer Dommik. All my focus is right here, on my hands. On the
gashes cut through each palm and the sharp shards of ice stuck to them.
And I beg.
On my knees in desperate prayer, I beg.
I don’t beg the gods, because what have powerful men ever done for me?
No, I beg the magic instead. The magic I shouldn’t have. I beg desperately
for it to do something, anything, to help me save the city I endangered.
Please…
The wind howls.
Snowfall starts to drizzle down from the sky.
And I beg and beseech and pray.
Dommik watches me. A kneeling queen and a silent assassin, the two of
us a seemingly unlikely pair. Except, we have more in common than most.
We’ve both brought on death. He’s just honest about it. He wields a blade
and spills others’ blood. I let someone spill my blood, and now the enemy
will wield their blades against my people.
What I’ve done is far, far worse.
Please…
My eyes are shut tight, my hands shaking, everything in me coiled with a
desperation that seems larger than life itself.
Because I regret.
I regret allowing my powerless life to mold me. I regret not standing up
to my father. I regret marrying Midas. I regret allowing him to keep a
woman in a cage. I regret looking down on the very people I was meant to
serve. I regret taking everything for granted.
I regret becoming this bitter, cold woman, and I want to let that cold out.
To make it do something good.
Please…
I keep praying to this power, keep begging this mercurial magic, and