If I had no magic inside me, I would be nothing.
With a wretched groan, I shove and kick her away. She doesn’t fight it. She merely falls back in a sprawl, maybe still weak from my attack.
“What are you,” I say. Because I have realized something—she is not a mere impostor. She is something else.
She gives me a sad smile. “I’m your shadow.”
“What does that mean?”
She pushes herself up, the hole in her fine dress gaping, revealing all her skin, too smooth to believe. Parts of her are scarred, to be sure—her left hand, for example. She has only three fingers, and only stumps and silvery lumps to remind me of what used to be there. But the rest of her, the parts I can see . . . they are too perfect to look at, and so I look away. “Ansa, the power inside you and me—it’s the power of one Valtia. But for whatever reason, when Sofia died, this power split apart. You got the magic.”
“And you?”
“The balance. That’s all I am.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I just felt.”
“Well. Maybe I’m a little more than that.”
I stare at her. There is something so controlled about her. She is dressed grandly but has no pretense at grandeur. She clearly has power but she drops to her knees so readily. She is rueful when she could be petulant. I can’t decide if I want to tear her to shreds or dive into her arms, and the thought is such a betrayal of Thyra that I rock back, feeling sick. “Witchcraft,” I mutter. “All of this is witchcraft.”
“You can call it whatever you want. Do the warriors have magic?”
Warriors. Soturi. Krigere. It all means the same thing. “No.”
“What did they make of you?”
My eyes glaze with unexpected tears and I grit my teeth.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I have a sense of how it feels.”
“Do you?” I shove up and swipe a hand across my eyes.
“I was willing to do anything to help the elders draw out the magic we all thought was hidden inside me.”
“I was willing to do anything to hide the magic that had taken me over.”
“You see,” she murmurs. “We can understand each other.”
“No,” I snap. “No.” Because I am alone, and she is surrounded by people who love her and do her bidding. She has no idea.
“You are important, Ansa,” she says. “You are the one our people have been waiting for. I’m only a placeholder.”
“I have people of my own.”
“People who tried to kill you, if I understand correctly. They let Kauko drink your blood. He would have pushed that fire right up against the wall and burned you to bits. The only reason you were spared is that he doesn’t want to destroy the city. He wants to rule it.”
I set my elbows on my knees and cover my eyes. “He may yet succeed. He has everything he needs except my death.”
I can’t see her, but I am keenly aware that she has stopped breathing. “He has the cuff of Astia, you mean. And he has drunk your blood.”
Our eyes meet. “He has the girl,” I tell her.
It is as if I have melted her bones. She sinks to the ground, her arms wrapping around her middle. “You are saying this to hurt me.” She sounds as if I’ve kicked her in the stomach.
I feel the way she looks. “That’s why he was willing to kill me. He has her. He told me that if I die, the power goes to her. Is that true?”
She nods. “We think so.”
“Then what are you? Why do you exist?”
Her smile is radiant in its sorrow. “I have no answer to that, except that the stars ordained it.” Her eyes go wide and shiny, and they speak of pain and fear too deep to put into the words we share. Then she seems to shake it off. “But as long as I live, I’ll do what I believe is right.” She reaches out and touches my arm. “We have to get Lahja back. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to love me, Ansa. My Valtia. You don’t have to like me.”
“Good. I don’t.” I don’t want to, at least. It feels wrong and right at the same time.
She nods. “All right. But we have a common goal.”
“For now.”
With surprising steadiness, she walks to the doorway to this prison, where she picks up a waterskin and, heaven help me, bread. She offers them to me, and the look on her face is both submissive, like an andener, and fierce, like a warrior. “For now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Elli
When I enter the domed chamber with Ansa, everyone is on guard. She is a compact, wary creature, and her eyes skitter over the scene while her hands roam at her waist and forearms—then she looks down at herself and curses.
“Looking for weapons?” asks Raimo as he hobbles over to us. “You don’t need them.”
“What’s he saying?” she asks, scowling at him.
“He’s just asking me how you’re faring,” I tell her.
“Liar,” she mutters, but her suspicion isn’t barbed. She’s too busy staring at Oskar. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Apart from the fact that you froze his heart midbeat a few hours ago?”
Her nostrils flare. “But you fixed him somehow.” She looks back and forth between him and me. “I am envious of your power,” she whispers.
I laugh. “Would you switch places with me, if you could? You might be surprised how much you miss your ice and fire.”
She closes her eyes. “You might be surprised how much I wouldn’t.” After a moment, she tilts her head and watches as Freya helps him sip a cup of hot broth. Oskar is pale and his hands are shaking. I’ve never seen him look so weak, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach with dread. “How did you heal him?”
“You could do it too, if you learned how,” I say. “Wielders with ice and fire in abundant amounts can do it. I had to channel Raimo’s magic, though.”
She raises her palms and stares at them. “I’ve never been able to control my power. Only the cuff of Astia helped. And Kauko has it now.”
“We’ll get it back from him.” I turn to the plaza as a sweating constable tops the last step.
“Valtia,” he shouts. “Soturi have been sighted on the main road to the city! Hundreds of them, marching this way!”
Everyone starts muttering at once, and despite that, I can still hear warning bells clanging throughout the city. I turn to Ansa. “Are they attacking?”
“They’ll want to negotiate a surrender,” Ansa says.
Sig sits up quickly, then flops down again, looking weak and dizzy. He says something to her in a guttural language—her language, I realize. Ansa replies, and I hear her true words, not a one of them carrying any meaning for me. But when she turns back to me and speaks, I understand her perfectly. “I’ve just told him that Kauko has the little girl, and he thinks that is very bad. He says to ask about your militia.”
I think of all the men and women of Kupari who volunteered to defend our city, some of whom have been armed with bows and swords. “Nearly all members of our militia fled to tend to their families when the quakes began, and I haven’t called them back. I don’t even know how many are still alive.”
She gives me an incredulous look. “Have they no discipline?”
“No,” I tell her. “They don’t. They were not raised to fight. They were raised to expect the Valtia to provide and protect, as she always had.”
Her lip curls. “If I am Valtia, they will be expected to defend themselves like true men and women should.”
I lean forward. “Against whom? Against Soturi?”
Her fists clench. “My people are led by a rogue now. A rogue and a Kupari priest.”
“Are they true allies?”
She grunts. “Only for as long as their interests align. After that there will be war, because both are convinced of their superiority and rightness.”
“And my people caught between two opposing forces.” They’re already on their knees. How much m
ore hardship can they withstand before they crumble completely?
Ansa is looking out on the city, her lips pressed together. “You have no defenses, no fighting force.”
“Tell her she’s wrong.” Sig’s voice is ragged with fatigue as he pushes himself up from the floor.
Oskar is already standing. “Kauko will want the temple.”
“But it’s crumbling around us,” I say.
Raimo gestures for the other wielders to gather. “It won’t stop a greedy old sorcerer from trying to take what he believes is his.” He cackles. “He doesn’t know you’re tossing all his stolen riches into the ground!”
I translate for Ansa, not wanting her to be excluded.
“Jaspar wants those riches too,” she says when I’m finished. “Kauko has filled his head with visions of copper and plenty.”
“Will they hurt our people on their way into the city?” I ask.
“Not if they don’t resist,” Ansa replies.
Oskar interprets the shake of her head. “They’ll want to save their strength for those who will actually fight them.”
I look at Oskar over the top of Ansa’s head. His jaw is set, but there are purple circles under his eyes, and the rest of his face is nearly as white as his corpse hand. The truth hits me with the force of yet another quake—I’m losing him. I step around the Valtia and mold myself to his side, wrapping my arms around his body and pressing my face to his chest. “You don’t have to fight,” I tell him. “Ansa and I can face them.”
“Ansa will be their primary target,” says Raimo.
“No, he’ll want her power,” I mumble. “Her blood. They won’t hurt her.”
“Sig just told me they have the Saadella,” Oskar says, even as he kisses the top of my head. “If they kill Ansa, they will have a Valtia they can control.”
“What is everybody saying?” Ansa snaps.
“That you will be the focus of any attack,” I tell her.
She bites her lip. “They have archers.”
I picture an arrow zinging through the plaza. “But we have wind.”
“If we can offer a show of force,” says Ansa, “we might be able to cause doubt in the ranks. Maybe one in four warriors was loyal to Thyra. They are united with Jaspar not out of loyalty, but because they don’t have any other options.”
“Maybe we can offer them one.” I take her hand. She stiffens, looking startled, but she doesn’t pull away. Her magic prickles jaggedly along my skin. It hurts like no other magic I’ve felt, but I don’t have any other option, either.
The alarm bells are clanging frantically throughout the city now, from one end to the other, and as we emerge from the temple and look out across the city, I see a dust cloud to our south. Ansa points. “That’s them. Marching.”
Below us, in the plaza, Livius and his men have paused in their crucial task and have gathered next to the crevasse with a full cart of copper. I descend the steps with my wielders behind me. “What is your progress?”
Livius tears his eyes from the cloud and looks up at me. “This is the last of it, my Valtia,” he replies with a bow of his head. “No more could be found.”
Relief sings through my veins and I give him a bright smile. “Your timing is perfect. Please finish your task, and then get these men away from here—go back to your families.” I raise my voice to make sure the workers all hear me. “The temple may yet have need of you in the service of the Kupari people, but the coming fight is not yet yours. Get to safety once you have completed your service to the land.”
My words, combined with the ringing of the bells and the billowing brown dust that signals the approach of the horde, seems to fill the exhausted crew with new purpose. Oskar, Sig, Veikko, Aira, Raimo, Kaisa, and a dozen other wielders stand with me on the steps to watch the last of the temple’s vast store of copper tumble into the depths of the earth. “This will stabilize your magic,” I say to them. “Do you feel it?”
When the last bars fall, the heat and light within the fissure flares wildly, and though it is hundreds of feet deep, we feel the searing air against our skin. Oskar lets out a breath and puts his hand on my shoulder. I place my fingers over his and squeeze. As the air cools once more, I turn and face my tiny army. “We will fight them together,” I tell them. “But if you see the Saadella, take the utmost care. She cannot be harmed.” I’m praying to the stars that they’ve had the sense to keep her away from danger.
Ansa walks next to me as I step onto the crooked marble slabs of the white plaza. She is pale, and her hand shakes as I lace my fingers with hers. “You have such assurance,” she murmurs.
“We are destined,” I say. “Me, the Suurin, and you. We’re going to fight these barbarians and save Kupari.”
“I don’t want to kill my own people,” she barks, yanking her hand from mine. “You think I am something I’m not.”
“But—”
“No. I hate Kauko and want to see him stoned. I hate Jaspar and want to plunge a dagger into his heart. But the rest—they are good,” she says. “They are strong and true, and they have families waiting for them. Partners and children. They are not barbarians.” She scowls at the expanse of our once beautiful city. “They are better than Kupari.”
Uncertainty trickles down my throat. “The Kupari are your people, Ansa.”
“They are not,” she growls.
“Elli,” says Sig, “you’re making a hash of this. She may be our Valtia, but you’re asking her to do battle with her tribe. The people who made her what she is.”
I put my hands up, showing Ansa I mean no harm. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about what this is like for you. Can we start from common ground?”
Her eyes narrow.
“The priests. Kauko.”
She gives me a grim smile. “Now, them I would be happy to kill.”
“Then we must focus on holding back the rest without hurting them. Would Thyra’s warriors rally to your side if they see your power?”
She looks down at her hands, which are shaking more than I’d like. I glance at the crevasse. The air above it is still wavy with the heat that rises from within. The earth’s veins flow with copper once more, glutted with a few hundred years of hoarded riches. I frown as I survey my wielders. None of them look as renewed as I’d hoped, but perhaps the new steadiness will take a while to sink in, just as the copper is carried to all the starving parts of our land.
I straighten my shoulders. “Our goal is to preserve life on both sides,” I shout—leveling Sig with a particularly hard glare. He sways in place and looks back at me mutinously. “But traitor wielders are a different matter. Kauko and his priests will be your targets.”
Sig grins and elbows Oskar, who grimaces. “Hardly a fair fight,” Sig says. “But I’ll take it.”
“Don’t underestimate them,” Oskar says. “Remember Kauko drank from Ansa, and he has the cuff. That fire in the wood was pure evil.”
The other wielders look weary but ready. “We’ve faced priests before,” says Veikko.
Aira swipes her sleeve across her sweaty brow. “Do they feel as bad as we do?” she asks softly.
“Elli . . .” Raimo begins, but something in my expression closes his mouth.
“We’ll need wind,” I say to the wielders, wishing I could offer them more than words to prop them up. I glance at the open, broken gate to the plaza in time to see Livius and his crew jog through. They make their way past the tottering council building, and I wave at Livius just before he disappears around the corner. Now there are only wielders in the plaza. Fewer than twenty of us against a thousand Soturi. “Ansa and I can take on the priests if the rest of you keep their arrows away from us.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” Ansa mutters. Her hands are trembling. All of her is trembling.
I take both her hands in mine, and I look into her blue eyes. “You and me. As long as we are touching, we are one.” I stroke my thumb along the back of her hand, and the throb of her power nearly steal
s my breath. My lips part.
She watches my mouth. “One what, though?” she whispers, looking troubled.
This answer should be simple, but in this moment it suddenly feels complicated.
“There they are,” Sig says to us.
I squint through the dust and see shadows moving within. They’re in the square, and I watch the shadows grow darker and darker as more bodies gather. “Stars,” I murmur.
They’re huge, and there are many of them. I can see the weapons dangling at their sides. I swear I feel the ground rumble with their footsteps. Ansa’s palm is sweating against mine. “I don’t feel good,” she breathes, almost to herself.
How could she? She’s facing off against her own people. I peer at them, hoping to spot the wielders who could give her a reason to fight, since the army of warriors before us seems to be sapping her of her will.
Instead of black-robed priests, though, a lone figure walks forward, his arms at his sides, his hands empty. “Is that Jaspar?” I ask. He is yet another she said she’d be willing to kill.
“No,” she says, leaning forward, obviously trying to make out the form within the swirling, dun-colored cloud. Then she gasps as the person walks to the threshold of our plaza. He has brown skin, like I have heard many of the Vasterutians and Ylpesians do, and white hair that signals his age despite his broad shoulders and muscular physique. “Bertel!”
Bertel looks like the unhappiest man in this world, and that is saying something.
Ansa gives the wielders a fierce glare, then says something to them in her guttural language.
Sig laughs before translating. “She says that if we touch a hair on his head, she’ll kill all of us.”
Ansa nods at Sig. She tries to pull away, but I hold on tight. “Ansa! Remember that Raimo said their goal is to kill you!”
She grabs my wrist in an iron grip and my fingers go numb, enabling her to break free. “He’s waving a white cloth. They won’t attack.”
Before I can stop her, she’s running across the plaza toward the man, who does indeed have a pale cloth dangling from his belt. He is frowning deeply as he pulls it out and waves it. He is looking at the ground, not at Ansa.