The Impostor Queen (21 page)

My stomach drops.

Oskar frowns. “Has that ever happened before?”

The cloudy-eyed woman shakes her head. “But maybe the old Valtia's not really dead.” Her doughy hands flutter over the trough. “I think the elders made up the whole Soturi invasion story to cover up a takeover. They've got the Valtia in chains somewhere. Doing bad things to her.” Her voice rises. “Mark my words—it's the elders who're in charge now. They were just biding their time!”

The way everybody's avoiding looking at her, I'm thinking this isn't her first outburst. Maarika gently nudges the woman with her shoulder. “Josefina, hush. The Valtia's too powerful for that.”

Josefina shakes her head, her grayish-yellow hair swinging around her face. “The Saadella's probably locked up too,” she says in a choked voice. “The elders would do it. They would.” She leans against Maarika like she's about to collapse, and Oskar's mother holds the older woman, though Maarika's forehead is sheened with sweat. I look closely at Josefina, wondering if she wields fire, especially when Aira winces and moves away, plucking at her tunic like she's trying to draw some cold air toward her.

“I was in the city when the Valtia's death was announced,” I venture. “The elders went out in search of the new Saadella. They wouldn't do that if the old Valtia were still alive.”

“That's true—they venture out every day, trying to find her,” says Veikko. “They're offering a fortune if her family gives her up. They've doubled the reward.” His eyes find Oskar's. “But then what's wrong with the new Valtia? The air is bitter with cold! Why isn't she giving us warmth?”

I look up at Oskar. “You feel it here in the outlands?”

He gives me a small smile. “Not nearly as much as in the city, I imagine. We have real winter out here, but she's kept the harshest cold away until this year.”

Guilt rises unbidden inside me. Oskar needs that warmth. He's suffering without it. Aira stands up and approaches his other side. She rubs her hand down his arm. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

I feel a twinge in my chest as I watch her fingers slide over his sleeve, wishing I could be offering him something too.

“What if . . . ,” Aira begins. “What if the new Valtia died of grief? What if that's why there's no warmth?”

“That's another one of the rumors,” says Veikko, moving a little closer to Aira, like he's hoping she'll touch him, too. I think she's a fire wielder, and she's giving off heat, though I can barely feel it. “The people are demanding to know why there's been no funeral for the old Valtia, and no coronation for the new one either. It's not good—especially because there have apparently been sightings of longships off the southeast coast.”

Luukas goes pale. “From Vasterut?” He shakes his head. “We'd better hope the Motherlake freezes soon. Those Soturi bastards haven't given up. The Valtia may have destroyed part of their navy, but those weren't the only forces they've got.”

“How do you know?” I ask. “How big is their empire, and what do they want?” These were all questions the priests dismissed, telling me I would know when I was ready, when I truly needed the information.

Luukas laughs. “What do they want? Copper. Grain. Meat. Slaves. Anything they can take. For the last fifteen years or so, they've been worrying our coastline, a few more raids every year, but nothing more than that. Until they took Vasterut, I would have said they were just a cluster of disorganized tribes, not an empire.”

“But whatever they were before, now they have an eye for conquest,” I say quietly. I remember when the news arrived at the temple, reaching me through Mim's clever ears and eyes—the Vasterutian envoy begged for the Valtia's help, but the elders turned him away without giving him an audience.

“Aye,” says Veikko. “We should have known they'd come for us next.”

“But the Valtia laid waste to their navy.” I wiggle the sore fingers of my right hand within my sleeve, remembering the rolling waves and crashing thunder . . . and Mim, holding me through it all. “Surely that will make them think twice before trying again.”

“Not if they realize we have no Valtia,” says Oskar, staring into the hearth.

“With no Valtia, we might as well offer ourselves up as slaves right now,” Josefina wails, running her hands, coated with sticky brown dough, through her hair. “The priests won't save us. They've only ever been out for themselves.”

“And we have no army,” adds Luukas. He shakes his head. “I never thought I'd say it, but I hope the elders in the temple have a plan.”

“Oh, they do,” Josefina whispers, her hair in matted clumps around her face. “They always do.” She begins to sob, and Maarika puts her arm around the forlorn woman and helps her to her feet, then guides her toward a small shelter near the front of the cavern.

I swallow hard as I watch them go. Josefina's right about one thing—the elders are in charge now. But the Kupari need a Valtia. With everything inside me, I wish I was her. I was supposed to be. And if I had been, the people, even these strange cave dwellers, would be safer.

But I'm
nothing
.

I take a few steps toward the back tunnel, desperation filling my hollow chest. “I—I need to—” Thinking of an excuse is too much, so I wave my arm toward the tunnel and blunder forward, my vision blurred with tears. I have to find Raimo. I need him to tell me what I can do. If I'm supposed to make a difference, what is it? I exist for the people—that was etched onto my heart every day I was the Saadella. Raimo insisted that nothing has changed. So how can I stand by while everything crumbles?

Before I know it, I've run past the relief chamber, past the cavern that contains the freezing stream the dwellers use to wash their clothes and bodies, and turned the corner to reach the tunnel that leads to Raimo's lair. Without torches, the way is dense and inky black. My slippers slide on wet rocks, and my panting breaths are harsh in my ears.

“Elli!” Oskar's voice echoes down the tunnel. Orange firelight beats back the darkness. “What in stars are you doing?”

I lean against the rough, cool tunnel wall as he draws near, the flames from his torch making our shadows dance. “I need to find Raimo,” I say, my voice cracking.

His brows draw together. “Are you ill?”

I shake my head. But then I remember that I'm not supposed to tell Oskar anything about myself, so I nod.

“Well, which is it?” He's shivering in the dank air of this tunnel.

“I—I—wanted to ask him . . . about my . . .” I hold up my right hand.

He lifts the torch and peers at my palm. “The blisters?”

I pull my hand back and gaze at the torn skin and toughening calluses. “No.” The pain of them is satisfying. It means I've worked hard. “It's actually—” I gesture at my scarred knuckles and say the first thing that comes to me. “You'd think, once they'd been cut off, that they'd really be gone. That I wouldn't feel them anymore. But the opposite is true.” My voice has become a strangled squeak. “They hurt me more now than they ever did when they were part of me.”

I'm not just talking about my fingers, I realize. I'm talking about my life. Mim. Sofia. My future. My duty. All sheared away, all haunting me.

Oskar's eyes are dark as he moves closer. He offers his embrace hesitantly, like he thinks I might shy away. But I'm so wretched that I accept it, leaning my head on his chest and grimacing, my eyes squeezed shut, the pain of all my ghosts overwhelming me. He strokes my long hair and shushes me as if I were a child. “I didn't know you were in so much pain,” he says quietly. “You seemed to be doing so well.”

“I need Raimo.” My hands ball in Oskar's tunic. I wish I could lay all of this across his broad shoulders, because I am so tired of carrying it alone. “Raimo sent me away too soon. He has answers that I need.”

“You won't find him now, Elli. He disappears every winter, and has for as long as I've known him. If I thought it was possible to find him, I'd take you to him myself.”

I believe Oskar would do it. I can tell by the sorrow in his voice. I press my forehead to his firm shoulder, inhaling the scent of wood smoke and sweat and something cold and astringent. “I don't know what to do,” I whisper. “Everything fell apart, and I can't put it back together.”

Oskar's heart kicks hard beneath my hand. I look up at him, but his face is tilted toward the tunnel's ceiling. “I know what that's like,” he murmurs.

His arm falls away from me, and I step back. “And what did you do?” I ask.

“I went on,” he says. “I kept living.” He offers his free hand, and when I take it, he looks down at me. “I'm sorry it hurts.”

It will always hurt.
That's what his eyes say.

But what can I do? Fall apart? Scream and cry? No. I am meant for something. I'm not ready to stop believing that yet.

I swipe my sleeve across my eyes and let out a long breath. “I suppose I'll keep living, then,” I say, the words echoing down the tunnel.

Oskar squeezes my fingers. With my hand in his, he leads me back to the main cavern.

A
s the days grow short and the darkness stretches long, I keep living. But Oskar seems to die a little every night. He stays up late and stares at the fire, but eventually he nods off and the ice begins his nightly torture. Though it's painful to witness, I can't leave him alone, even though he hasn't spoken to me since that day in the tunnel. I don't take it personally—he hasn't spoken to anyone else, either. It's as if his whole self is focused inward.

In the fortnight since Freya and Maarika put an end to my hiding, I've ventured out every day, eating lunch with the women around the community hearth, bringing Oskar tea as he plays cards by the big fire in the evenings. I meet people's eyes. I smile. Our conversations are about now—the best ways to oil boots to keep the damp from seeping in, how to angle a knife to more efficiently scrape fur from flesh, how much water to add to the cornmeal to keep us satisfied while stretching what we have left.

But there's a bigger
now
that won't leave our minds. Every day we talk about whether the Saadella has been found, why her family hasn't given her to the elders yet, how thick the ice on the Motherlake has become—and whether the Soturi would dare try to cross it on foot. I'm as hungry for answers as the rest, perhaps hungrier since I have so much to learn about this world and my place in it. But when the talk turns to the Valtia and why she's abandoned us, I make my excuses and leave in desperate search of something else to do, my stomach churning with a bitter brew of failure and shame.

One day Maarika sends me off to mind Kukka while Senja bakes. The little girl delights in her magic, luring icicles from cracks in the rocks and making them grow like fragile twigs right before my eyes. “Mommy taught me,” she says, giggling, making me wonder what Kupari would be like if magic wielders lived like everyone else, had families like everyone else. If magic was taught as naturally as children learn to speak and behave—under the watchful eyes of their parents instead of in the temple, under the strict guidance of the priests. Would we be stronger as a people, or weaker? Would we have more magic among us, or less?

When Senja returns, I go back to the shelter and find Maarika building up the fire. “Oskar will be home soon,” she murmurs.

I squat next to her and begin to pile flat stones at the edge of the pit—when he comes in gray and shivering, he'll be able to spread a cloak over them and have a warm place to sit. Maarika's gaze takes in my movements, and she presses her lips together. “I always wonder if today will be the day he doesn't make it home,” she says.

The stark admission makes me fumble one of the rocks, and it topples off the edge of the pit and lands just a hairbreadth from my toes. Maarika lets out a quiet breath of laughter and helps me pick it up again. “I think it every day, but I rarely say it.”

And now I'm thinking it, and I don't like the way it makes me feel at all. “Oskar seems very strong.”

She shrugs. “I know. But people are lost in an instant in the outlands. It has always been that way.” She sits back to let me continue my work, a haunted, faraway look in her eyes.

“You've lost someone.” My voice is hushed—I'm afraid to scare away her words, because Maarika shares so few of them.

“My husband, many years ago.” Her eyes flick to mine and then away. “A hunting accident. And before that, my brother and his entire family. They lived on the shore, in the house where I was born, where my parents died.” She throws a bit of stray bark onto the flames. “We used to visit them often. My brother's daughter, little Ansa . . .” She smiles and leans over quickly, her rough fingers stroking at the ends of my hair before falling away. “She had hair like yours, and it gleamed in the sunlight. She and Oskar used to race each other up and down the dunes, and she would always beat him.”