The Impostor Queen

  “This wasn’t your fault, Elli,” he says when I finish. “I saw you across the square after it happened. I heard the desperation in your screams and read the horror in your eyes—” He lets out a breath. “I suppose both of us are responsible for hurting those around us, but I also believe neither of us would if we could avoid it.”

  “Does that matter, if the result is the same?”

  His hand falls away from my back. “I have to believe it does.”

  I straighten, drawn up by the pain in his words. I understand the necessity of that belief, especially for Oskar. There’s no way I’m taking it from him. “Then it does,” I say quietly.

  He starts forward again, at a sure and steady pace. “To be honest, even if it didn’t, there was no way I was letting you go.”

  Up ahead the moon shines down on a wide expanse of marsh grass. We’re almost out of the woods. “Why?”

  He lets out a hard, hollow bark of laughter. “Why did you leave?”

  “Why are you answering my question with a question?”

  He smirks as I repeat his challenge from our last argument, then pulls the string from his messy hair and reties it so it isn’t in his face. “You did it for us, didn’t you? You left because you thought you could keep the priests away. You were going to give yourself up to them.”

  “It would have been selfish to stay.”

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “It was selfish of you to leave.”

  “How can you say that?” I try to pull my hand from his, but his fingers are locked with mine.

  He rounds on me, his dark shape blocking out the moonlight. “You let me believe you would come back, and then you walked away without a word.”

  “You were in so much pain, and that was because of me too!”

  “Really? You forced the elders and constables to attack us? Amazing.”

  “You wouldn’t have been hurt if you hadn’t tried to protect me.”

  He makes a growly, frustrated noise and grasps my shoulders. “Do you have any idea how I would have felt if they’d hurt you?” He gives me a little shake. “I told you I understood why you pushed me away after we kissed. And what’s so clear to me now is that you don’t understand.”

  I look away from the intensity of his gaze, my hands braced against his chest to maintain the distance between us. “I don’t want to fight.” My voice is as shredded as my heart.

  “Then we won’t fight. But you’re going to listen to me.”

  He releases my arms and starts to walk again but holds my left hand tightly. His cold magic pulses into me, and I close my eyes and feel snowflakes melting on my cheeks. “I’m listening,” I murmur.

  “Good.” But then he’s quiet for a long, long time, and I begin to wonder if he’s lost his words. We’re treading a path through the marsh grass, the frozen ground hard beneath our soles. To our right, the dunes glitter, and beyond them lies the Motherlake. The caverns are less than a mile away.

  “You tie your boots wrong,” Oskar finally says, his voice low but startling as he breaks our silence. “I always wondered why. At first I thought maybe it was because of your fingers. Every time I saw you knotting the strings, I wanted to come over and tie them for you. I never did, though.”

  I glance down at the toes of my boots, poking from beneath my skirt with every step. “Why?”

  The pale light from above caresses his stubbly cheeks. “You always looked so focused and determined, and once you’d finished, your smile was as bright as a star. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

  “Well, now I feel foolish.” I wonder if he hears the unsteadiness in each word.

  He tugs my left hand, pulling me to his other side. His arm wraps around my waist, and he gently takes my mangled right hand in his.

  He looks down at my open palm, stroking his thumb over the calluses on the fleshy pads beneath my remaining fingers. “In the first days you were with us, you had so many blisters, and I could tell they hurt.”

  I stop breathing as he lifts my hand and kisses the center of my palm.

  “I know each one, Elli,” he says softly. “This one’s from grinding corn—” He traces the firm callus beneath my middle finger. “These came from the loom—” He kisses my three fingertips, and I feel every brush of his mouth low in my belly. It’s the sweetest of tugs, almost lifting the weight of my sadness and grief. “This one from skinning pelts—” His lips skim over the flesh between my thumb and pointer finger. “Every time I saw a new one, I wanted to pull you aside and bandage you up.”

  “But you didn’t.” I wish I could stop shaking.

  His eyes meet mine. “Because you were proud of them. I saw you looking at them with something like wonder on your face. I watched you run your own fingers over them, wincing and then grinning. And when I understood why, when I found out who you were and thought about what your life must have been like before, I was even more amazed.”

  Why does he have to say this now, when everything is falling apart? I don’t think I can stay with him. War is coming, the Kupari city is in chaos, and a few miles from here lies a group of magic wielders who know what I can do. They’ll come after me. It won’t take long.

  As long as I’m alive, I can be used. A tool for killing and destruction.

  I force my voice into lightness. “Had you been wondering why a maidservant from the city was so useless and coddled? Or did you think that was why they whipped me?”

  He lets out a bemused laugh. “I suppose I brushed it off. We live differently out here. Or maybe I was too taken with you to question your magic.”

  “Magic,” I scoff.

  He smiles, one of those rare smiles that makes his eyes crinkle. “When I first found you, I wasn’t affected by it, but every day, its hold on me grew stronger. And nowadays, your laugh makes me feel like I’m falling. When you look at me, I’m suddenly warm. The sight of you makes my heart speed. Do you really think the only magic in this world comes from fire and ice?”

  He turns my hand over and kisses the shiny pink scars where my two fingers used to be, and that’s all it takes to make my tears streak down my cheeks.

  “Now tell me it wasn’t selfish of you to leave,” he says.

  “I didn’t want to be a duty or an obligation,” I mumble.

  “You’re neither.” He takes my face in his hands, cool palms against my hot cheeks. “Nor are you a convenience, a tool, a weapon, or, stars save me, a queen, though you have all the grace of one. Not to me. You’re just Elli.” He leans down and touches my forehead with his. “And you have to understand that is more than enough.”

  If he tries to protect me, he could be hurt. If I stay to protect him, I could be used against him by another wielder. Are the two of us together strong enough to hold off our enemies?

  My head aches with these thoughts, when all I want to do is lose myself in Oskar. He swipes a stray tear away with his thumb. “Do you understand now?”

  I close my eyes and nod, my hands rising to hold his against my cheeks.

  He kisses my forehead. “Then tell me you feel the same, or I’m going to be pretty embarrassed.”

  The laughter bursts from me, sudden and real, and I open my eyes to see his devastating smile. I rise on my tiptoes, reaching for him. I want to absorb more than his ice magic. I want to freeze this moment in all its perfection, so I have it when I need it most. “You were wrong when you said you had no heat,” I say with a husky laugh.

  “I always feel warm when you touch me.” He catches my hand and presses it to the side of his neck. “There’s only one thing about it that feels bad.” When he sees the question in my eyes, he continues. “I don’t think there’s any way it could possibly feel as good to you.”

  The look in his eyes melts everything inside me. “Wrong again,” I whisper.

  Our uneven breaths burst from us as we collide. His dark, scraggly stubble scrapes my face as I fist my hand in the front of his cloak and pull him down, aching for more. I kiss him wit
h everything inside me, all my gratitude, all my desire for him—my gentle, fierce Oskar. These frantic moments distract from the ache of Mim, but even more than that, they’re light as air and hot as a spark in my palm. His cool skin renders mine taut and tingling. Even with his icy magic pouring into the hollow of my chest and filling my head with visions of the ice-covered Motherlake, I feel like I might catch fire at any second.

  Wait. Icy magic. Pouring into me. No.

  I push him away. Mim’s love for me led to her doom, and now I’m placing Oskar at risk, too.

  He draws his thumb along his bottom lip. “Is it Mim?” he asks quietly. “I know your grief is fresh.”

  “Yes. No. Actually, it’s you,” I stammer as his face twists with confusion. “You’re giving me too much of your magic. It’s not safe. You need it.” When we first met, he could touch me without the ice flowing into me, but now . . .

  He gives me a sheepish look. “When you’re that close to me, I want to give you everything. I don’t want to hold back.”

  I put my hand on my chest. “I feel it.” And I recognize it for the gift it is. But I can’t accept it.

  Oskar sighs and turns his face to the east, where the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon. “We’d better get to the caverns. Everyone should be packed by now.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace safe. Maybe the northwestern edge of the Loputon. There’s a smaller cave system there that could shelter us until spring.”

  I bite my lip. This doesn’t feel right. I don’t have any intention of letting Sig use me to destroy the temple, but running away while the Kupari are suffering doesn’t feel right either. Not with the threat of the Soturi looming, not with the chaos destroying the city.

  Oskar sees my hesitation and frowns. “Where do you want to go, then?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But Raimo said I was made to serve.” For the last twelve years, I’ve thought about it every day, how my people need me, how it’s my responsibility to protect and nurture them. “I can’t run from that.” Even though I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

  Oskar takes my hand. “Once Freya and my mother are safe, I’ll go with you wherever you need to go. I’ll face it with you.” He puts my hand on his chest. “You can have my magic to wield as your own.”

  Hope rises inside me. “All right.” But I hesitate again as he tries to pull me down the trail. “I don’t think the cave dwellers are going to be happy to see me. I’m the reason . . .” A lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. “Senja,” is all I can whisper.

  “Like so many other things, that wasn’t your fault. And I told them you aren’t the Valtia. Once they thought about it, it seemed fairly obvious.”

  “Do they know what I am, though?”

  He lets out a quiet huff of laughter. “That’s a bit harder to explain. But here’s what I did tell them.” He waits for me to look up at him. “You’re part of my family now. If they have a problem with you, they will have to deal with me.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “And my mother. And Freya.”

  I shudder and giggle at the same time. “Oh, that must have cowed them.”

  Oskar grins. “They were terrified.” He throws his arm around my shoulders. “Come on.”

  As the sun rises, we make our way down the trail and reach the open area outside the massive cavern entrance. It’s a bustle of activity, with families loading horses with supplies. A few people give me startled or worried looks, but no one challenges my presence. The bodies of the elders and constables are gone, and the space is filled with bundles of furs, cooking pots, and tools, all laid out on blankets.

  “Oskar!” shrieks Freya, scurrying out of the cave. “You found her.” Her braids swing as she runs to us and throws her arms around me. “I was trying to warn you, but you didn’t hear.”

  Oskar strokes her hair and then peels her off me. “Are we packed?”

  She nods and points to a roan that’s loaded with their belongings. “That’s our horse.”

  “Go tell Mother we have to leave now.”

  “Already? She’s cooking breakfast.”

  Oskar’s eyes meet mine. “It needs to be now.” He gives her a little shove, and she takes off. “Don’t think of running away again,” he says to me as I entertain thoughts of doing exactly that. “I’d hate to have to tie you to our horse.” His voice is teasing, but I detect the uncertainty, the worry.

  I’m scared to leave him, and scared to be with him. I entwine my fingers with his. “I’m just scared.”

  He smooths a lock of hair away from my face. His smile is tender. He’s opening his mouth to speak when the blast of fire hits him square in the chest, tearing him from my grip.

  CHAPTER 21

  Oskar staggers back, agony etched across his face, as Sig and eight other wielders walk from the mouth of the narrow trail, their hands outstretched. With a hard flick of his wrist, Sig flings another ball of fire straight for my ice wielder, and Oskar barely manages to get his hands up in time to destroy it. He grimaces as the flames lick his skin, turning it red. Anxiety flashes in his eyes—at the moment he doesn’t have enough magic to defend himself from all of them.

  Most of the cave dwellers scatter, running for the cavern. Ismael, Aira, and Veikko stay, hovering near the cave entrance, looking back and forth between Oskar and the nine wielders here to bring him down. I am frozen with panic. I don’t know how best to protect him.

  Sig’s hair is standing on end, and his dark eyes are wild as he glares at Oskar. “I should have known you would come for her as soon as I saw that ridiculous bird she carries in her pocket. But I’m afraid I’m going to need her back.”

  “Elli, get into the cavern,” Oskar says quietly, his breaths uneven and pained, his eyes riveted to Sig’s lean form. The other wielders fan out, surrounding us.

  Ismael tries to push Aira behind him, but she insists on standing next to her father, her hands raised and her green eyes full of determination. She glances back at the smoldering central fire, probably wondering if it will be enough. “Sig, we’ve already dealt with an attack yesterday,” she says in a loud voice. “Don’t do this. What are we, if we’re willing to turn on one another?”

  Sig’s fingers twitch. “My thoughts exactly, Aira. So why don’t you ask Oskar what he did to Jouni?”

  Aira gives Oskar a questioning look.

  “Elli,” Oskar repeats, more urgent this time.

  I walk toward Oskar, reaching for his hand, knowing he needs me now more than ever. “I’m not leaving.”

  Sig’s teeth clench and his hands rise. “Don’t touch him.”

  “Elli!” shrieks Maarika from only a few feet to my left. Before I can stop her, she lunges in front of me, her arms spread to protect me.

  Just as Sig hurls his fire.

  Oskar shouts for his mother as the flames hit her skirt. Sig stumbles back, his eyes wide, but the others blast Oskar with their magic, pulling ice from puddles around them and fire from their torches, all of it aimed at my ice wielder. Maarika screams, and I stagger for her, planning to throw myself on top of her and smother the fire—it’s made of magic, and it can’t hurt me.

  Before I can reach her, Oskar falls, his cloak billowing smoke, his arm outstretched, his fingers spread wide only inches from the flames. His eyes are filled with desperation and fear. I expect the ice and cold to flow from him, but instead, the fire peels itself off Maarika’s burning skirt and jumps onto his palm. His fist closes around it, and he hurls it toward the magic wielders. Their eyes go round as it roars toward them, growing larger the farther it travels. Usko tackles Sig to move him out of the way while the others dive to the ground. It hits the steep rock wall of the drop-off and explodes into nothing.

  Maarika falls backward and Aira catches her, patting frantically at her blackened gown. Her legs are pink with heat, but she’s not burned. My heart thrumming, I turn back to the wielders. They’re still on the ground. And their eyes are on Oskar, shock on their faces. r />
  He’s facedown. A choked sound comes from me as I sink down beside him. “Oskar. Oskar.” His skin is frigid. I try to draw the cold away, but it’s like a solid block of ice beneath my palm. I can’t siphon it off.

  “He threw the fire,” Sig says quietly, staring at Oskar’s body.

  “Because he didn’t want to hurt Maarika,” snarls Veikko, blade-sharp icicles growing along the rock wall beside him, manifesting his rage. If Oskar had used his ice, he could have frozen his own mother solid. Just like he did to his father.

  “But I thought Oskar couldn’t wield fire,” I say in a ragged voice, trying to turn him over. Veikko rushes over to help, and we roll Oskar onto his back. He’s stiff and cold and oh stars no . . .

  “He can’t wield fire,” a creaky voice calls out. Raimo hobbles out of the back of the cavern, his white hair tufty around his head, a walking stick clutched in his knobby hand, a wooden box tucked under his scrawny arm. “And that’s why he’s dying.”

  Ismael, who’s bent over Maarika and his daughter, so close that his bushy black beard is snagging on Aira’s dark hair, straightens up. “Raimo,” he says, surprised. “It’s still winter.”

  Raimo jabs his walking stick at Sig. “Someone woke me up with a thaw.”

  “That wasn’t me,” Sig mumbles.

  “It was priests and constables here to get her,” says Aira, pointing at me.

  Raimo’s pale eyes meet mine. “Elli, what have you been up to?”

  “Oskar needs help.” Those are the only words that will come. My hand is on Oskar’s cheek, but nothing’s happening. I’m having trouble breathing as I stare at his unmoving chest.

  Raimo’s gaze flicks to Oskar, but then he turns to Sig. “Are you finished wreaking havoc?”

  Sig gets to his feet and lifts his chin defiantly. “I came to get Elli. I’m going to the temple and taking her with me. There is no Valtia, and the city is in chaos. Our time is now. We’re going to—”