My face burns with my fear of having revealed too much. “M-my master in town . . . he had recently done business with one of the elders and . . . he had dined in the temple. Apparently it came up. I overheard him telling my mistress that night.”
“You overhear a great many interesting things,” Aira says, her rosy lips curled with suspicion.
“It makes sense, though,” says Veikko. “Those miners were desperate to gain access to our caves. And they’ll be back.”
Ismael looks slightly sick. “And they might bring priests, seeing as they have a stake in the copper too.” He glances over my shoulder, into the main cave, where dozens of families are going about the business of daily life. “I suppose we might be thankful for a bit of the upheaval in the town. I hope it keeps all of them busy for some time to come.”
“It may not be enough,” says Veikko. “I overheard two of the constables near the gate, telling quite a story.” He leans forward, clutching his fur cloak around him as an icy breeze gusts around us. “One claimed that a priest had sent him a message—asking him to be on the lookout for the Valtia.”
A brutal chill runs hard down my back, but Aira lets out a peal of laughter. “What? As if she’d be roaming the streets?”
Veikko shrugs. “They said she’d gone mad with grief and run away. They think she might have escaped into the outlands.”
I think I’m going to vomit all over the stones at my feet. “That’s insane,” I say loudly. “How could she even do that?” I clear my throat to chase away the quaver in my voice. “She’d be recognized immediately.”
Ismael nods. “Maybe. Hard to see how she could hide herself, especially if she wasn’t in her right mind. A bit scary to think about, if you ask me.”
“Exactly,” says Veikko.
Aira rolls her eyes. “You can’t hide that much magic.”
Oskar’s face flashes in my mind. “I agree,” I say quickly. “Especially if she’s unbalanced. It sounds like that constable was playing a trick on his friend.”
Freya laughs. “The stories coming out of that city are crazier every week. Come on, Elli. We need to get going or we won’t be back before dark.”
I can’t get away fast enough. I pull my cloak tight around me as we hike up the trail, as if it could protect me from my own fears. We walk all the way up the steep trail to the marshlands before turning west and journeying to a small copse of trees on a hill that overlooks the Motherlake. The whole time, I’m trying to convince myself that I was right, that the constable was playing a cruel joke. Surely the elders assume I’m dead. Surely they’ve let me go. Surely they’ve realized I’m not the real Valtia? But then I remember what Raimo said: They never figured it out! I swallow back dread as I gather dry twigs.
The sunlight is fading, and the frigid air bites at my cheeks. It might not have snowed yet, but winter has sunk its teeth deep. I’ve never felt cold like I have in the past few weeks. In the temple, it was always pleasantly warm or cool. But now I understand how lucky we all were—my fingers feel so stiff that I’m sure my blood is turning to ice, and the stumps of my pinkie and ring finger tingle sharply and painfully.
“So, what’s your theory?” Freya asks after we pile our baskets full and begin the trek to the caverns.
“My theory?”
“About the old Valtia. Do you think she’s dead?”
The pang of grief knifes through me. “Yes,” I murmur. “I think she’s dead.”
“I’m not sure. If she is, then wouldn’t the new Valtia have shown herself to the people? Do you think she really went mad?”
There’s that urge to vomit again. “Why do people out here care about that so much?” I blurt out. “Is it just the warmth? That’s all the Valtia does for the outlands, right?”
Freya is silent, and when I look over at her, she’s scowling. “We’re Kupari too,” she says, her voice shaking. “Just because we’re out here doesn’t mean we’re not.”
I blanch at having offended her, remembering Sofia’s disagreement with the elders about entering the outlands to be seen by her subjects beyond the city walls. “Of course you’re Kupari! I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“But everyone in the city thinks we’re criminals, right? That’s what the miners called us that day they came to tell us to leave. Thieves. They painted us all with one brush.” Her lips pull tight. “I’m glad Sig set them on fire!”
I stare at her with wide eyes. “And how did Sig set them on fire?”
She bites her lip, then grins with her secret knowledge. “He wields it.”
“There are lots of wielders in the caverns.” I thought I’d met all of them in the past few weeks—and none of them seem that powerful. “Which one is he?”
She shakes her head. “Sig hasn’t been around since the fight with the miners. A bunch of the other wielders were angry after it happened—they thought it would draw the attention of the Valtia and her elders. So Sig and a bunch of his friends who are wielders left the caverns and haven’t been back since. But believe me, no one wields fire like he does. He is made of fire.”
The rumors Mim heard from Irina the scullery maid were right after all. There was a strong fire wielder among the cave dwellers. “If he has such an affinity for fire magic, why is he in the outlands instead of in the temple?”
“Why would he want to be in the temple?”
“To live a life of privilege and serve the Valtia and the Kupari people? Such a strong wielder would surely have been chosen as an apprentice, guaranteed to become a priest one day. Why would he want to live in a cave in the outlands instead?” This is something I’ve been dying to ask for weeks.
Freya’s little face squinches up. “Because he didn’t want to be gelded and shaved, to begin with?”
“G-gelded?” My stomach turns as I remember one of my lessons with Kauko, about how male horses often have this procedure to make them easier to control.
Freya leans forward, her braids swinging, and speaks in a low conspiratorial voice. “It’s when they cut off a boy’s—”
I wave my hand in the air. “It’s all right. I understand.” I think of the apprentices and younger priests, few of them as tall as a normal man, many of them with high, reedy voices. I think of all the little boys I’ve seen over the years, led into the temple after having been taken away from their families. And of Niklas, the boy who had been hit by a cart before Aleksi brought him in. Aleksi had said he was eager to get to the temple—but what if he’d been trying to get away? All the things I’ve seen over the years come back to me, painted with a much more sinister tint. For reasons I don’t fully understand, I think of Oskar and his freezing eyelashes. How was he not found by the priests?
I look into his sister’s eyes. “The wielders in this camp weren’t banished from the city, were they? They chose to live out here instead of serving in the temple. They’re in hiding.”
Freya’s mouth twists as she chews that over. “Sometimes older kids will realize they can wield magic and escape before they’re found. But sometimes their parents see what they can do and . . .” She rocks back as if she’s caught herself on that slippery slope. “What do you think Oskar will bring us for dinner?” she asks, picking up her pace as we tread the well-concealed rocky trail that leads to the caverns.
But I can’t hold back anymore. “Oskar’s a wielder, isn’t he?”
Freya stops, her skinny fingers tightly clutching the handle of her basket. “I don’t know where you heard that, but it’s a lie,” she says fiercely.
“Freya,” I say, trying to adopt the tone Mim always took when I was being stubborn about having my hair washed. “I saw him. Last night.” Every night. “His face was covered with ice as he slept.”
Her eyes shine with angry tears. “He doesn’t want anyone to know. He made me promise not to tell.” And now it probably feels to her as if she’s betraying him.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise her. “I’m too grateful for everything you all have done for me
. I’d never do anything to hurt him or your family. You know that.”
She swipes the back of her hand across her cheek. “I wish he would tell people,” she says, still sounding angry. Like the bear cub to her brother’s full-grown grizzly. “I don’t understand why he’s hiding from it. Sig doesn’t hide. He says we’d be just as powerful as the Valtia if we banded together.”
This time I cannot hide my naked shock, at so many of her declarations. “We?”
Her cheeks glow with pink. “Oskar told me to keep quiet about it. But . . . I can wield a bit of fire myself.” She bites her lip. “Nothing like Sig can, though.”
“Sig thinks he can take on the Valtia?” My voice cracks as I say it. Here I’d thought I was foolish for believing the thieves’ caverns were as dangerous as I’d heard—and now I realize they’re more dangerous than I ever believed. “Surely he’s joking?”
Freya may only have a decade or so of life experience, but she’s clearly learned a lot. She peers at my face, then smiles and giggles. “I’m sure he was joking,” she says, starting to skip as we descend below the earth. “Sig’s funny like that.” She gasps as we round the bend—there are several horses tethered to a post in the open area in front of the caverns.
“What is it?”
“Come on!” she says, grinning, tugging my sleeve.
My heart hammering, I walk with Freya into the front cave. There’s a crowd of people milling around the center, where a young man is standing on the community hearth. He looks about Oskar’s age, but they couldn’t be more different. He’s of medium height, perhaps two hands taller than me—and a hand shorter than Oskar. He’s pale as a sequestered acolyte, like he never emerges into the sun. His cheekbones are so sharp they look like they could cut someone. His close-cropped hair is white-blond spun with gold that glints in the light of the flames around him. Although most people are wearing cloaks or at least heavy, long-sleeved tunics, this man is shirtless, wearing only trousers belted at his lean hips and a pair of leather boots. His body is angular, chiseled muscles over long bones. His eyes are two black-brown points of darkness, the only thing about him that doesn’t seem made of brightness. His arms are spread, and he’s giving some sort of speech, his voice echoing so heavily that I can’t yet make out the words.
“That’s him!” Freya squeals. “Sig’s come back!”
CHAPTER 13
My stomach goes tight as we approach the crowd and I hear Sig say, “Now is the time to go on the offensive! This is an opportunity.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.
The people around him grumble. “Winter’s on us,” one man shouts. “We’re better served by making sure our food stores last until spring!”
Sig smiles, and his dark eyes seem to glow. “But you could spend the rest of your winter in the temple,” he says to the man, his voice smooth like melted copper. “I’ve spent the last few weeks exploring the city, listening to the rumors. I’m telling you, there’s food aplenty in the Temple on the Rock.”
“But what you’re suggesting is suicide!” cries Josefina at the back. “The Valtia would crush us—with the priests at her side.”
Sig shakes his head, that confident grin still gleaming. “If there were a Valtia, perhaps. But where is she? Why hasn’t she shown herself? Our winter warmth is nowhere to be found. The temple has been locked up tight since the day after the Valtia died, but the priests still come out every day to look for the Saadella. The elders are publicly saying the new Valtia is in mourning, but the streets are flowing with rumors that she’s gone mad and run away.”
“You’re willing to bet your life that the priests are lying?” Senja asks.
I’m not imagining it—his eyes really are glowing. The dark pupils flicker with the flames inside. “I am,” he says. “Who’s with me?”
“There aren’t enough of us,” says Aira, standing right at the front. “The temple is full of trained wielders. We should gather more before we even consider entering the city as a group, let alone trying to take the temple.”
My mouth drops open. Apart from the elders, there are thirty priests, thirty apprentices, and a legion of acolytes within the temple, all willing to defend it to the death. “You’re woefully outnumbered,” I blurt out.
I cringe as Sig’s head snaps in my direction, looking for the person who made the comment. I don’t breathe again until his gaze passes over me. “Maybe there are more of them than us, but the priests are lazy and soft,” Sig says after a few tense seconds.
He raises his arms and twin balls of fire appear and hover over his palms. There’s a murmur of admiration from the crowd. “They’re too used to luxury to challenge people who have known true hardship.” He brings his arms down and the flames shoot from his hands, right into the large fire where the men gather to play cards. It sends sparks flying into the air, and one little girl screams. I gape—I have never seen anyone but the Valtia conjure fire from nothing.
Another young man steps up onto the hearth, one I haven’t seen before today. He’s wearing a light summer tunic and has long, reddish-blond hair tied back in a messy tail. “I agree with Sig that this is the best time to take action,” he says, and as soon as I hear his deep, buzzing voice, I recognize it from that first day outside the cave—he’s the one Oskar called Jouni. He nervously rubs his palms on his trousers and grins when Sig nods with approval. “We haven’t had the first snow yet, so I think we should—”
“The first snow is coming tonight,” says a low, gruff voice behind us. Oskar’s near our shelter with a full game bag. He’s got his heavy fur cloak on, with the hood pulled over his hair. But I can see his eyes, granite and hard, as he comes toward the crowd and ends up next to me and Freya.
He pushes his hood back from his face and looks at the group around Sig and Jouni. “It’s going to be several inches at least.” His gaze finds Jouni’s. “So what were you about to propose?”
Jouni looks crestfallen. “Never mind,” he mumbles.
Sig, on the other hand, looks disgusted. His full lips twist into a sneer. “Scared of a little snowstorm, Oskar?”
Oskar arches an eyebrow. “I’m more worried about the storm of stupidity that’s brewing right in front of me.”
There’s an audible gasp within the knot of people around Sig, whose jaw clenches as he steps down from the hearth and begins to come through the crowd. I stagger back and bump into Oskar, who clamps his hand over my shoulder and moves me to one side, out of Sig’s path. As Sig draws near, I catch his scent, smoke and a strange metallic tang, like the smells that come from a forge.
“Just because the miners haven’t come out here yet doesn’t mean they won’t,” he says. “They know these caverns are full of copper they could mine to trade for food with the south.”
I glance over to see Ismael looking at me, perhaps wondering if I’m going to blurt what I know yet again. This time, I stay silent. I don’t want to give Sig any more reason to attack the town or the temple—but it seems he already has all the reasons he needs.
“When things get desperate enough, the miners will return, with constables and maybe priests.” Sig’s voice is quiet even though he stands several feet away from Oskar, like he doesn’t want to get too close. “It’s only a matter of time.”
I hold my breath, hoping Veikko won’t tell him that the priests might also come to the outlands in search of the lost, mad Valtia, but Oskar speaks before he has a chance to.
“For the first time in years, I completely agree with you.” Oskar’s large hands fall to his sides. “Which is why we should be guarding our home and not traipsing across the outlands with our heads stuffed full of impossible dreams.”
“He’s right, Sig,” calls out Ruuben, putting his arm around Senja. “This place is safe for the winter. Let’s forget about this for now.”
Sig’s nostrils flare. “Oskar,” he says softly. “We shouldn’t have to live like this.” He lowers his voice even more. “We shouldn’t have to hide. Neither
of us should have to hide. This is our chance to change things.” There’s a fierce kind of softness in his eyes, a plea. He cares what Oskar thinks.
Oskar’s stare is icy and hard, though. “I’m not hiding. I’m living.”
“If you can call it that.” Sig rolls his eyes, but they shine with barely suppressed emotion. “You are such a coward. You always have been.”
Oskar’s face is relaxed, his fingers loose. “Stay if you want peace. Otherwise, leave. No one here wants to help you start a war.”
“War is what we were meant for, Oskar, and you know that.” Sig turns slowly in place, his pale skin smooth in the chilly air of the cave. He looks at the crowd, faces full of wariness, pinched mouths, tense shoulders. For a moment, his eyes meet mine. His gaze is like a flame across my skin, trying to burn down to my marrow and see what’s inside. He tilts his head. “You’re new.” He takes a step closer. “What’s your name?”
The air around me suddenly grows warm, then hot, and Freya grimaces and steps away, like she can’t stand it. “Cut it out, Sig!” she whines.
Once again, I feel the heat like a thought, something without temperature. I know it’s there, but it doesn’t make me sweat. “I’m Elli.”
His dark eyes slowly glide over my body and face. “Are you an ice wielder?”
What? Why would he ask me that? “I—”
“She’s under my protection,” says Oskar, stepping between us, menace radiating from him in palpable waves of cold.
Sig chuckles, but it’s a bitter sound. “Oh, Oskar. No one told me you’d taken up with a girl.”
My stomach does an odd swoop, and I edge to the side so I can look up at Oskar’s face as he says, “Sig, leave. Now.”
Sig takes a step back, wearing a sneer. “I can’t wait for the day you lose that tightly wound temper. We’ll have fun then, you and I.”
“I said leave,” Oskar growls.
Sig turns his attention back to me. “Nice to meet you, Elli. Try to stay warm.” He smirks. “But I suppose you’re quite fond of the cold, aren’t you?” His eyes linger on mine for a moment, and then he strides out of the cavern and into the winter outside, as if it’s a perfectly natural thing to walk around half-naked. As the lingering daylight reaches him, I see that his back is striped with silvery scars from the base of his neck all the way to his waist. The lash marks on Elli’s back were worse than any I’ve seen, save one, Oskar had said.