The Impostor Queen (16 page)

He moves closer, until his hooked nose is only a few inches from mine. He smells of fish and wet fur. “I am going to ask you a question, and it is very important that you answer me truthfully. Your life depends on this truth. Understand?”

I nod, though my heart is thumping madly.

“Do you have a mark?”

“Wh-what?” I whisper. “Why are you asking me that?” Panic swirls inside me. How could he know?

He smirks as he reads the fear in my eyes. “You're not strong enough to stop me if I want to search for it, but it will be easier if you'd just tell me where it is. I'm not going to hurt you.”

I search for malice in his eyes, but I see nothing except ice. Cold, but not evil. I hope. “On my leg.”

He wrenches the hem of my skirt up. I know the moment he sees it, because he curses. “It's certainly hard to miss. Oskar—has he seen this?”

“No.”

“Does anyone outside the temple know who you are?”

I think of Mim, but I refuse to expose her to more danger. “No.”

“Good. No one can know. Stars, I've been waiting so long for this.” He moves back up to my head and takes my face in his gnarled hands. “You were born the day Karhu and Susi aligned, yes? Do you know?”

“No . . .” But Kauko said the stars predicted my birth—was this what he was talking about?

Raimo's chin trembles as he smiles. “You might have secrets, but you're terrible at keeping them. You've been a princess all these years, haven't you?”

My skin burns with shame, and I close my eyes.

“You're the one who was found,” he says. “They thought you were
her
. But you're not.”

A low sob escapes from my throat as he flays me with the truth. “How can you possibly know this?”

He lets out a bark of laugher. “Because I am
very
good at keeping secrets. So—what happened when you didn't inherit the magic? Did you run away, or did they cast you out?”

“I ran. They . . . were going to kill me.”

He grins as if I've given him wonderful news. “Ah, they never figured it out!” He claps his hands over his thighs, which are covered in a black robe very much like the ones the priests wear. “Well, you've complicated my evening. Try to keep breathing while I prepare a few poultices.”

I frown. “But you were healing me with magic.”

The shadows nest in the hollows under his eyes and make his face look like a skull. “I was trying. But as it turns out, that won't work.”

“Why not?”

Something akin to delight deepens the rows of wrinkles on his gaunt cheeks. “Because you, my dear, are completely immune to magic. It won't help you.” He raises his eyebrows. “But it can't hurt you either.”

I blink at him in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“There are more magic wielders in this land than you could possibly know.” His gaze strays down to my leg, where my blood-flame mark lies stark and red on my exposed calf. “And to every one of them, you could be either their most powerful asset—or their worst enemy.”

I
draw my dry tongue across my chapped lips. “You're saying I definitely have no magic?”

“Not an ounce. Not a jot. Not a drop.” Raimo has moved from my side and is hunched over a wooden board, chopping herbs that fill the room with a fresh, astringent scent. “Not even a tiny little splinter of it. Not even a—”

“I get it,” I snap, then cough with the effort. “Then why would anyone think I was dangerous?”

“All people have some amount of fire and ice inside them. Even if it's just enough to make them hot-tempered or easygoing. Even if it only makes them fit for ice-fishing or blacksmithing. Even in people not from Kupari, where the copper flows through our veins and enhances those elements in a few, causing it to manifest as magic.”

“Copper . . . they locked me up in a box of copper. . . .”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course they did. But you understand—copper is the source. It's the reason the Kupari have magic when no one else does.” He snorts. “And the Kupari people love their magic—so long as the wielders are shut away tight within the temple walls. But never before has one such as you walked among us, completely devoid of fire and ice.”

Shame fills me again. “Was I always like this?”

He shrugs. “Before the Valtia died, you had no ice or fire, but you probably weren't immune to its effects. You weren't the vessel you are now, just like the Valtia is an ordinary girl until the magic awakens inside of her.”

Perhaps his words explain the vast, shapeless void that's opened inside me, the hollow thump of my heart. The numbness that radiates from my blood-flame mark. “How does that make me anything but useless? I'm a mistake.”

“You shouldn't even exist,” he comments as he picks up a wooden-handled pitcher from near the fire and waddles over to me again.

I close my eyes. “Then let me die.”

“Not a chance.” Warm water pours over my back, and he begins to peel away the bandages Mim wrapped tightly around me. “Nothing like you has
ever
existed, Elli. I was starting to believe I'd been wrong all along. But your arrival marks the beginning of a new era for the Kupari. You're going to change everything, for better or worse.” He makes a sound of disgust as he tosses a bloody strip of cloth away. “Assuming you live out the night, that is.”

“How could it be anything but worse?” I croak. “The Kupari need a Valtia.”

“Oh, she's out there.” He pulls away the final strip of gauze. The cool air of the cave bites at my broken skin, but then he spreads something sticky over the lash wounds. It smells like sage and onion, honey and slippery elm. “In fact,” he says as he works, “she'll be immeasurably powerful.”

Like the stars foretold. “How do you know?”

“Because if she wasn't, the cosmos wouldn't have created you to keep the balance.”

“But the Valtia
is
balance.” This is a truth embedded in my bones.

His eyes meet mine. “Not this time.”

“How do you know so much?” The elders and priests guard their knowledge closely, which has always been incredibly frustrating. And Sofia once told me that most citizens have only the barest understanding of the magic, which makes sense, since the children who reveal themselves as able to wield it are taken to the temple as soon as they're discovered. Except for this man, apparently. Which could mean only one thing.

“Were you a priest?”

His smile glistens in the flickering firelight. “Not during your lifetime.”

It's not a denial. “Why did you leave?”

One of his bushy eyebrows twitches like a living thing. “Let's just say I found my fellow priests to be a bit bloodthirsty.” He takes my ruined hand and lays it on a clean scrap of brown wool. “This is still oozing. I'm going to have to cauterize it.”

I shiver. “You said fire wouldn't affect me.”

“I said magic wouldn't affect you. Ordinary flames made from ordinary fuel are a different matter entirely.” He moves close to the fire. I hear the clang of metal. My stomach clenches.

“What will happen if it's not cauterized?”

“You'll bleed to death. Or possibly die of blood poisoning.”

Neither of those sounds terrible at the moment. Perhaps Raimo senses my thoughts, because he looks over his shoulder at me. “You were raised as the Saadella, were you not?”

“I was,” I whisper.

“So you were brought up with the understanding that you exist to serve the Kupari.”

I look away from his gaze.

“
Nothing
has changed,” he says, his voice right next to my ear. His hand clamps over my wrist. I feel a flash of heat and then a pain so bright that it lights me up, arches me back, fills the cave with the scent of my burning flesh and the sound of my hoarse screams. White flames burst before my eyes, and I pray to the stars for release that doesn't come. By the time he's finished, I'm wishing for death, but he reminds me over and over of my purpose, of my duty, awakening all my memories of my lessons from the elders. My life is not my own. My body belongs to the people. My magic is for them, not for me. Magic.
Magic.

If I could laugh, I would. Raimo is so wrong.
Everything
has changed.

I wake with a jolt, tightly encased up to my neck, warm and unable to move. My body feels like it weighs a hundred stone. My eyelids are too heavy to lift. But my ears work perfectly, and now I hear what wrenched me from the void: arguing.

“Why didn't you just do it while she was asleep then?” It's Oskar, his deep voice as sharp as the blades that hang from his belt.

“You would have me violate the wishes of a young woman simply because she's vulnerable enough for me to force my will upon her?” Raimo asks.
His
voice is full of teasing amusement. “My dear boy, I never thought I'd hear such a suggestion from you.”

Oskar makes a growling sound of pure frustration. “If her wishes were the product of a bigoted, fever-addled brain, then—”

“Oh, she was quite lucid. Her desires were perfectly clear. No magic. Only the ordinary means of healing.”

I never said that, did I?

“Did you explain that she could have been well by now? Did she understand that those ‘ordinary means' would amount to days of pain and—”

“Give me some credit. She's stubborn as a stump.” Raimo's voice rises in quavering, high-pitched imitation. “ ‘Don't come near me with that sorcery! I won't have it!' ” He cackles.

Oskar sighs. “If I'd known she felt that way . . .”

“You'd still have brought her here. And you did the right thing. She's already better. The fever has broken. She's going to live, and we should all be thankful for that.”

“And her hand?”

“No more bleeding and no signs of rot or blood poisoning so far. She probably won't lose it. But she'll be in pain.”

The scrape of boots against stone tells me Oskar has moved closer to my resting place. If I had the strength to move or speak, I would greet him. I have the oddest desire to see his face again.

“Will she be able to fend for herself?” he asks.

“Eventually. Until then, you'll fend for her.”

“What?” Oskar's voice bleeds with shock. “The weather is colder every day, old man. I have to—”

“You have to do what I say. She'll need protection until the spring if she is to survive. I can heal her wounds, but I can't keep her belly full or look after her safety.”

“But
winter
. Thus far, there's no warmth from the temple, and for all we know, it's not coming. Right now I'm the absolute worst person to help her.”

Raimo chuckles. “Oh, son, I couldn't disagree more. And if you do it, I'll release you from your promise until the spring thaw. As it turns out, we can't wait longer than that.”

Oskar is silent for a long moment. “I'll have to talk to Mother. And Freya.” He sounds like he dreads the idea.

“Then do so. Come back for Elli in . . . let's make it eight days. I'll look after her until then, but any longer than that isn't possible. I'm pushing it already.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “And if we happen to be visited by constables again, do us all a favor and don't mention you brought her here, hmm?”

“Did she tell you something about where she came from, or why she was banished?” Oskar asks.

“No,” Raimo replies quickly. “But you were right—she'd been whipped. Whoever did it might be searching for her, and the last thing we need is to be accused of kidnapping servants from wealthy families.”

“They're much more likely to come here because of what Sig did to the miners than because I came to the aid of a banished servant.” Oskar's voice has gone low and bitter.

Raimo grunts. “Perhaps, but we don't need to give them any more reason to bring temple-dwelling wielders to our doorstep, do we? Now leave me alone, and I'll see you in eight days.”