The True Queen

  “We’re going to take her throne from her,” I tell our warriors. “After I kill her, and after we punish the ones who killed our chieftain with the most painful deaths we can devise, we’re going to set things back on the right path—and take a new homeland for the Krigere.” I glance behind me at Jaspar’s camp, hating the next words that come out of my mouth. “With all our warriors united, there will be no stopping us.”

  “Thyra would not want our tribe united with one that mistreats our andeners,” Bertel says. I know he is thinking of his own mate as he levels a piercing look on Jaspar.

  “Circumstances have changed,” says Jaspar. “And I am not my father.”

  It’s true. Because I think he might be worse. But there is no way around the reality of now: I need him until my mission is completed. After that, perhaps I’ll slit his throat as he sleeps. “Thyra would have wanted our tribe to survive.” I swallow the lump in my throat. I cannot tell them the rest. How she begged me as she died. How she looked at the end.

  “We will help,” says Kauko.

  “But you just said that when you cross into Kupari, your magic becomes unstable, just as the land is unstable.” Preben moves forward and stands shoulder to shoulder with Bertel. “Ansa, you nearly killed us before.”

  “I can help her,” Kauko assures. “I am old in the ways of magic. The ones who suffer most are the ones without balance between the ice and the fire. My priests have balance.”

  “Does she?” asks Preben, waving his hand at me.

  “No,” says Kauko. “But I know how to keep her magic harnessed.”

  By bleeding me. My cheeks burn, and I feel the flames kindling inside me. “I am under control,” I say, stepping away from Jaspar. “And I am the reason all of you will have a new land to call your home.”

  “One that quakes beneath our feet?” asks Bertel.

  “The stars foretold the most powerful Valtia to ever live,” Kauko says, putting his large hand on my shoulder and squeezing, perhaps to keep me from jerking away. “The land suffers from her absence. When her magic is back within the borders, it will settle.”

  “You’re sure?” Preben looks wary, as do most of the old men and women standing among the trees.

  “Kupari has never been a restive land,” Kauko explains. “Not until our Valtia was stolen from us. What other reason would there be for the earth to protest?”

  Jaspar beckons the warriors closer. “There must be no more aggression between us! Bring all of your tribe to our fires,” he says. “You can think on all of this for the evening. But in the morning, we march. We need every sword and bow to honor and avenge Chieftain Thyra. I hope we can be unified, but if not, you may go on your way and choose a new chieftain to guide you.”

  There is no good reason for Bertel and Preben to deny our warriors warm fires and hot food, so they do as Jaspar says. I am focused inward as the sky darkens. I swear I feel a distant tremor in the earth, but perhaps it is in my imagination. It takes several minutes for me to feel even remotely settled again, but most leave me alone as they go about their tasks for the evening. I squat near the base of a tree and stare at nothing, just listening to the dull roar of blood through my veins.

  “Another quake,” Kauko says as he hands me a steaming bowl. “Do you feel it?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. I am shamefully glad I am not within the borders of the land right now. “I don’t think it’s going to stop when I’m back in Kupari. It didn’t before.”

  “Kupari is dying from the absence of your magic. It craves the power.” The flames from the nearby fire are drawing beads of sweat to his bearded face.

  I rise to my feet with my bowl. “I suppose we’ll see. At least I’ll have the cuff.”

  He chuckles. “Of course.”

  I walk away from him—there is something eerie and unearthly about the elder, and I don’t want to spend an extra second in his presence. Instead, I go in search of Bertel and Preben.

  I find them in a huddle with some of our other warriors, deep in conversation. Bertel spots me coming and their talk falls silent. They make no room for me at the fire and keep their backs turned. It feels as if my ribs have closed tight around my lungs.

  I have no tribe, not anymore. Thyra was the only reason they tolerated me.

  I look down at my bowl of soup, clear broth with mushrooms and a few green bits floating on top. I need this sustenance to regain my strength, but my stomach is churning. My feet carry me backward until my rear hits a tree, and then I slide down until my knees are tucked under my chin. I stare at my reflection in the bowl, a dim, ugly face reflecting the shadows of the fire.

  “You can join us,” Bertel says, taking a seat next to me, holding his own bowl.

  “I know when I’m not wanted.”

  He sighs. “You are something we don’t understand, Ansa. A Krigere is—”

  “I am Krigere.” I grit my teeth. “I have fought and bled for this tribe. I will die for it too.”

  “Thyra was right about Sig,” he says slowly, securing my gaze. “I think she was probably right about you, too. She valued your loyalty.”

  I don’t know whether I want him to stop talking, or to never stop. Hearing her name is both salve and saber. “She told me to protect all of you,” I say. “She made me promise. As she”—I swipe my sleeve across my face—“as she died.”

  He looks toward the sprawl of camp, where wielders are gathered near the biggest fire now that Kauko has healed their wounds. Jaspar’s warriors watched with fascination—if he can do that for them in the fight to come, they believe they’ll be unstoppable. “And we’re sure the elder is innocent?”

  “I didn’t see him when she was hit with the magic. I only saw Sig and another. A dark ice wielder.”

  “But you don’t trust Kauko.”

  “He can be trusted to seek power, and to be faithful to his own interests.”

  “Ah. And you?”

  I look away. “I can be trusted to follow Thyra’s orders until her vision for our tribe is made real.” And to avenge her death with fire and ice and agony.

  He is staring at the side of my face. “And once that happens?”

  I take a sip of my broth, and it is hot and salty, like blood. “Once that happens, my fight will be over.”

  “Your fight.”

  “You heard me. You’ll have your wish, Bertel. No one has anything to fear from me.”

  He doesn’t challenge or question me. He merely sits next to me as I gaze into the fire and drink my soup and imagine the moment when I fulfill my promise and can leave this life for the eternal battlefield. I’ll find Thyra there. She’ll know I was faithful to the very end.

  I cannot wait for that moment to come.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Elli

  They all press in, jaws set, hands hard, and somehow, of all the voices raised in the courtyard, the only one I’m aware of is Lahja’s. She screams as her mother pulls her back and lets the crowd at me, and the sound is a noose around my heart. I call her name, but her father and Yrian squeeze my arms so tight that it steals my volume. I struggle and crane my neck while they drag me toward an iron well post in the center of the courtyard. Yrian holds my wrists and Topias hands Lahja’s father a rope.

  “We’d banish you to the outlands if we thought that would stop you, but you’ve done more for the criminals there than the citizens here!” yells Agata.

  I try to think of the right words. I usually have the right words! But as my heels drag in the dirt and Lahja’s father ties my wrists to the post, all those words abandon me.

  The space is churning with people now, but Yrian shouts to give me some space. At first I’m grateful, but then I see Agata hand Yrian a broken stone, one that has fallen from the archway of the council hall. Others see this and begin to scrounge for stones of their own.

  They’re going to kill me. Right now. Right here.

  Yrian raises his stone. “This false queen stole justice from me. Now I will avenge my son!?
??

  I see in his eyes that he has no hesitation, no qualms, only the grief of losing his baby boy. I wonder if that pain is good—perhaps it means he will strike hard and this will end quickly. I close my eyes.

  The crowd cheers, shouting that this is what I deserve for posing as the Valtia, that I have ruined Kupari, that I am responsible for all their bad luck. I sweat, awaiting the moment the stones will start to shatter me.

  Yrian grunts. I bow my head. Screams fill the courtyard as several people plow into me, blown by a thunderous, icy wind that I feel like the kiss of a star.

  “Get away from her,” roars Oskar.

  “He can’t take all of us at once,” Agata shrieks.

  I am being crushed. Trampled. Around me, wind swirls, but it is clear that Oskar is trying not to hurt anyone—he knows it would only spark greater hatred toward wielders. I suck in a breath as I am knocked to the ground. Someone yanks me up by the hair, and I am held against a hard chest.

  “Get her into the hall,” Yrian says, cutting my bonds and shoving me toward Topias. “We’ll deal with the wielders.”

  “Elli!” It’s Oskar, surrounded and fighting. His left hand is pinned to his side, useless. His gray eyes are desperate with fear—and hurt. He jerks his arm up to block a large rock someone has aimed at his head. In this close proximity, he’s either going to lose control or lash out just to survive. And with all the trouble wielders have had harnessing their magic lately, this situation could be deadly for so many—including Lahja, who is still screaming nearby.

  Her cries tear at me, uncovering my rage. I need a wielder. One wielder. That is all I need to put a stop to this. I fling my arm out, but Oskar is several feet away, still fighting to get to me while people try to smash him with stones. He is barely fending them off, and the air is getting colder by the second. The frost licks at my fingertips. It feels as if I am a hair’s breadth away from wrapping my fingers around that power and using it as my own. . . .

  Topias starts to drag me toward the arched entrance to the council hall, but then he cries out and releases me. “Please, no!”

  His eyes are on the shirtless man who has forced his way between us.

  Sig has snaked his way through the mob—his eyes are wild and his face is dripping with sweat. “I’m trusting you,” he shouts.

  He reaches for me. I tangle my fingers with his and dive into his arms before someone else can tear me away. “Wield it,” he says against my ear. “I can’t right now.”

  The inferno of his magic blasts across my palm and up my arm, and I shove my scarred, three-fingered hand into the air. My teeth are gritted as I try to control the massive power. Flames sprout from my fingers and rise as orange serpents, hissing and sparking. Sig’s eyes go wide as he holds me close.

  “Your eyes,” he says in a choked voice, but I don’t need him to tell me.

  I know they are glowing. I’m glad. I’m elated, in fact, as people gasp and stagger back from the heat with terror on their faces. “Let the ice wielder go or I will burn you,” I say, and my voice is monstrous with the magic inside me. Sig holds me tight, bracing against anyone who tries to separate us. He is trembling as I magnify the heat and flames. His head is bowed against my hair.

  Oskar lunges for us as soon as the mob gives him a chance, sending a hard burst of wind to push them away. His good hand finds my bare wrist, and suddenly I am the Valtia, both ice and fire at my command. I wiggle my remaining fingers, and ice and fire entwine like lovers, a swirl of snow and spark. I search the faces and find Agata, who is crouched with Lahja and her mother against the wall.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, my citizens, but if you do not yield, I will. Clear a path to the street. Now.”

  Warily, they do, revealing Raimo and Kaisa just outside, holding the rest of the crowd at bay. But their hands are shaking badly. And so are Sig and Oskar. If they falter, the mob will be on us. I can read that future in Yrian’s glittering dark eyes. He holds another stone at the ready.

  I stare him down, allowing some of the magic to dip and undulate just over his head. A promise. He hunches his shoulders and scowls.

  “My wielders and I are going to return to the temple now. In spite of your attack on me, I leave you in peace. But I will not abandon you, even though you have abandoned me,” I say. Authority rings in every word.

  This, I think. This is what it would have been like.

  That is not what I should focus on now. “Give me the Saadella.”

  Her mother only holds her tighter, and it pricks at my heart. I need my Lahja, but her mother is the one who bore her and loved her before I ever knew she existed. To have a Saadella for a daughter is to have a shredded heart. “Bring her,” I say to her mother. “She is mine, but you may accompany her.”

  The woman is white with fear of me, but she rises and comes slowly toward us.

  “We’re going to walk to the temple,” I say quietly to Sig and Oskar as they stand on either side of me. We stride toward the street.

  Raimo and Kaisa step aside as we emerge. “We’ll watch your back,” says the old man. “But for star’s sake, hurry.”

  We’re surrounded by round-eyed townsfolk, who watch my spectacular display of magic with a mixture of awe and mistrust. Both my Suurin are quaking now, unsteady on their feet.

  “Don’t feel right,” Sig whispers.

  “Me neither,” mutters Oskar.

  I glance behind me to see Lahja’s mother carrying her, and Raimo and Kaisa falling in behind. We are a ragged procession in a hostile crowd, but right now, no one dares threaten us.

  That is good, because I am dangerous. More power than I’ve ever felt or controlled is coursing through me, spiraling high into the air. The clouds have parted to escape it. The air has turned sticky and electric. I am affecting the weather. I feel as if I could pull the sun from the sky and harness the moon.

  Oskar groans. “I—I don’t know. . . .”

  Sig stumbles over his own feet and nearly loses his grip on me.

  “Am I taking too much?” I ask. “Draining you?”

  He shakes his head, and drops of his sweat hit my sleeve. “No, it’s—”

  The crack is deafening. We’re tossed to the ground like grains of sand on a windy dune. All around me, people yell and scramble and screech. Sig and Oskar struggle to rise from the churning earth. I call for my Saadella, but my world is a swirl of dust and grit, of falling rocks and rumbling earth, and she is gone.

  “The plaza,” Oskar shouts, his voice hoarse. “The rocks—”

  We’ll be safe there, out from under the looming buildings nearest the temple grounds. I shove up to my feet. The townsfolk have forgotten all about us as they scurry back into the square or down to the shore to escape the danger of collapsing buildings. I stagger up the road toward the broken gates of the white plaza. It’s so close, but it takes minutes to get there instead of seconds.

  Minutes during which the land seems determined to rid itself of all of us, as a dog might shake drops from its fur. Dust billows around me, filling my mouth and eyes with grit. It feels as if, at any moment, the ground might simply give way beneath my feet.

  The only reason I know when I reach the plaza is that the stones go from dirty gray to white. I try to run for the temple but Oskar tackles me, and we fall. I cling to him, wondering if these are our final moments, wondering if that was the battle we were to fight, and if Raimo foresaw no future because this is the day it all ends.

  The slabs of marble tilt suddenly, and we roll down a steep slope where once the world was flat. Oskar lands on me, squeezing the air right out of me. Spots bloom beneath my closed eyelids. His magic simmers against my skin. I don’t know where anyone else is—I’m only aware of Oskar trying and failing to shield me as we crash down. He is wheezing, struggling for breath. And I can do nothing for him because our world is falling apart.

  But then it finally falls still. My hand finds his cheek, which is frigid and stiff. I siphon the magic, but he still fights
to breathe. I raise my head—we are on one side of the plaza, and white slabs jut up like broken teeth from the gates to the temple.

  “Oskar?”

  “I’ll be all right.” He sounds so weary, and his face is once again a battleground of frostbite. “See how the others fared.”

  Reeling, I rise to my feet. Kaisa and Raimo are huddled closer to the gate, both ashen. Sig is on the other side of the plaza. And between us is a crevasse. Heat emanates from it as I climb the white slabs and survey what used to be the pristine, grand entrance to the Temple on the Rock.

  Now it is occupied by a crack in the ground wider than the main road and deep enough to see the blood of the earth glowing in a thin orange river at the bottom. My eyes follow its path out through the gates and through the city until dust obscures it. I turn and trace it all the way toward the steps leading to our temple. It stops right at the base of them.

  I have never thought of the earth as a being. But at this moment, I swear, I feel its threat. Another quake will widen this fissure, and the temple will be swallowed.

  Behind me, Oskar moans. I scramble down the slabs and go back to him. Unsteadily, he sits up. One hand is red and blistered with cold, while the other is white and dead as ever.

  “Is it bad?” Kaisa calls.

  I glance over to see her helping Raimo to his feet. The old medicine man is pale and shaky, but his eyes are sharp. He says something to Kaisa, who nods. “Raimo says you must attend to Sig.”

  Of course. If Oskar is bad, Sig will be worse. “Go to him, Elli,” Oskar says when I hesitate. “He needs you more than I do right now.”

  I run toward the steps of the temple, because that’s the only place the fissure is narrow enough to cross. I feel its deadly heat as I climb a few steps and end up on the other side, then jog unsteadily to Sig, who is crumpled in a raw patch of dirt where the slab has been torn away completely. My stomach turns as I see him, his skin an oozing mess.

  “Don’t touch me,” he whispers through cracked lips. “Unless it is to stab me in the heart and end this pain.”