by Sarah Fine
“How can you ask me that?” I ask in a choked voice.
“I mean no insult by it. You’re also Krigere, Ansa. I didn’t mean to take that away from you.”
“Good,” I whisper, turning my face away. “How do you expect things to work in Kupari, Jaspar? I won’t help you deal with the people there as you and your father dealt with the Vasterutians.”
“Well, that didn’t exactly end well for us, and I’m not stupid. We can install the priests in their pretty little temple since that’s what they want. They can deal with the people while we make sure we get what we need. I want our warriors’ pockets bursting with Kupari copper. That’s it.”
“And you plan to be chieftain of these rich warriors.”
“Of course. Who else? You?”
“No.” Because . . . I cannot see a future beyond this battle, this vengeance.
The line of his shoulders loosens. “I want you close, though, Ansa.”
I backtrack as he takes a step into my space. “I can’t be close to anyone right now. I am an open wound.”
“I could be part of the healing.”
“How would Carina feel about that?”
He lets out a sudden chuckle. “She’d just have to share.”
Our eyes meet. “No.” There might have been a time when I felt conflicted about being with Jaspar, but that time is past. With Thyra gone, I know I am meant to be alone. There is no one else for me, and my future is darkness. “But as long as our interests are aligned, we will be allies.”
He holds his arm out. We’ve reached a fire near my cot, and there are reed mats laid out to protect us from the damp. “Now, for that stew—”
A shout from back in the clearing wheels us around—just before an arrow hums through the air and embeds itself in a tree right next to my face. Jaspar tackles me to the ground, and the camp explodes into a cacophony of war cries and a rain of arrows. But I am staring up at the first one, which is still vibrating from its impact with the wood. Jaspar follows the line of my gaze and his eyes go wide. “It appears your lost tribe has found its way home to us,” he says in my ear as he shields me with his body. His right hand slides down his side to draw a dagger. “And it looks like they’re determined to kill us all.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Elli
We don’t bother to disguise our reentry into the city—the gates are open, hanging crooked from a part of the wall that has crumbled away, and the guards seem to expect our arrival. They watch me as I ride through, flanked by Oskar and Sig, tailed by Raimo and Kaisa. I can tell that all of my wielders are trying to project confidence and strength, just as I am. But I can also tell they are unsettled, fighting the pull to turn inward.
The bloodless land seems to be calling to them—maybe warning them.
I don’t feel it, nor do most of the people in this city. We only see the wounds—the collapsed buildings, the crumbled walls, the crack that runs jagged like a lightning strike from the gateway up the main road, toward the temple at the tip of the peninsula. It’s not a wide fault—perhaps only one to two feet wide in most places, deep enough that you wouldn’t want to fall in—but it makes it look like the city is about to break in two and fall away from its center.
We steer our mounts up the road. The courtyards are full of grumbling, anxious people, some of them with bandages on their heads and limbs. We pass several people carrying buckets of water, and one little square in which maids are ladling soup into bowls for hungry children and grizzled-looking old men and women. I am happy to see the people taking care of each other, but they turn cold gazes upon me as I wave and smile. One man spits on the ground as I pass, but then he yelps as a nearby fire lashes out at his backside with its flames.
“Sig,” I whisper sharply. “You’re not helping.”
His lip curls. “I didn’t hurt him permanently.”
“The people are already suspicious of wielders,” Oskar says from my other side.
“I could give them something to be scared about.”
I close my eyes and ask the stars for patience. “They’re already terrified, Sig. Many of them have lost their homes. They’ve just made it through a terrible winter. They’re hungry and thirsty. They’re scared to death that the Soturi are coming. You’re drawing on a well that’s running dry. And there’s only hatred at the bottom.”
Behind me, Raimo chuckles and mutters to himself. Then he says, “Where is the Saadella exactly?”
“They said they were taking her to the council hall,” says Kaisa. “Part of it is still standing.” Her face is tearstained, and her robes are torn. She and the others fought—even Helka and Janeka, who have no magic at all, tried to keep the mob from getting to Lahja. Apparently, Janeka was hit in the head during the struggle and injured badly. As for Kaisa, she fought with her magic and her body. She muttered to me earlier that she tried to give her life, but they wouldn’t kill her. They told her to deliver the news to me instead.
“Did they say what they wanted?” I ask. We were in such a mad dash to get here that I didn’t bother to inquire before.
“The council announced your belief that copper was the reason the earth shakes, and told of your desire to throw the temple stores into the ground. People were outraged. They stormed the temple to confront you, but not finding you there, they decided to take the Saadella. But some of them remain, trying to dig out the copper from the catacombs. They want to distribute it among the people.”
My face flushes hot with anger. “So they merely pretended to help, and then they betrayed me. How lovely.”
“They don’t sound that scared,” said Sig. “If they were, they wouldn’t have challenged you like this.”
“What do you want to do, Elli?” Oskar asks.
“I need Lahja back,” I murmur. “I can’t think of anything else while she’s in danger.”
“If she dies, the magic will truly be lost,” says Raimo. “Besides, we’re not sure the copper is actually—”
“It will work,” I snap. “We’re giving the land back what we stole.”
Raimo sighs. “It might not be enough.”
I give Oskar a worried look, but he is turned toward Raimo. “What do you mean?” he asks. “What else would the land want?”
“We can talk more of it once the Saadella is back in our hands,” says Raimo, his voice a little too light.
Sig shifts on his saddle and curses. “Hopefully that will be soon. I feel so . . .”
“I feel it too.” Oskar lifts his calloused palms from the reins and peers down at them. “I’m not sure how well I can control it.”
“We can make a big entrance,” says Sig. “Shock them into giving her up.”
“We have to be careful,” I say as the council hall comes into view. Up ahead is a huge crowd of people. The morning sunlight glints and sparkles off newly forged blades and sharpened scythes. We armed the people to defend themselves against an invasion—all blacksmiths in the city worked night and day for weeks—but now it seems they might use them to attack us, the very people who would protect them. “We don’t want to hurt any of them—and we especially don’t want to put Lahja at more risk. I will go in alone.”
“No,” Oskar barks.
“You can stay near, but they need to see that I mean no harm.”
“Forget meaning no harm,” he says. “You can’t do any—”
I touch his sleeve, the one that hides his terribly injured hand, then look over my shoulder at Kaisa, who doesn’t know I’m not the true Valtia. “I can do anything I need to do, but my people are mine to protect. I refuse to try to intimidate them with my magic.”
She gives me a grateful, hopeful smile I don’t really deserve.
“Raimo,” Oskar growls. “Talk some sense into our Valtia, please.”
I laugh. “Am I a stubborn child now? Or am I the queen?” The edge in my voice seems to keep all of them silent. We reach the edge of the crowd, and I dismount. People back away from our little group of wielders, and I
walk toward the badly damaged council hall through the space they create. Topias has been told of my approach, clearly, for he stands just outside the entrance, which is blocked by shattered stones that have fallen from the outer walls.
“Valtia,” he says. “We came to talk to you at the temple last night but discovered you had fled the city.”
“I did not flee,” I reply. “I went to heal my Suurin, who had been injured in a battle with rogue priests in the Loputon.” I gesture to Oskar and Sig, who loom on either side of me. “You see that they are strong again.”
Topias cringes back. “You bring your strongest wielders. Do you need them to protect you?”
I tilt my head. “Do you need to kidnap a little girl to get your way?”
He sputters, and I hold up my hand. “Let’s not continue to ask silly questions. I want my Saadella. She is my daughter in magic and our future queen, and she is no pawn. If you have issues with me, take them up with me.”
“We had to have your ear,” Topias says, looking around at the crowd.
“You have to listen,” shouts a woman in the crowd.
“You can’t just serve yourself and your wielders,” cries another.
“The Valtia is supposed to protect us,” roars a man, a sailor by the look of his weather-beaten skin and washed out eyes. “All we’ve had during your rule is hunger and death!”
Topias seems emboldened by this support. “Your plan to destroy the city’s wealth when we need it most was quite unpopular. As many of your decisions have been. We demand a change in return for the Saadella.”
“I must see her,” I say. “We can talk after I know she’s safe.”
Topias casts a nervous glance at the four wielders pressed in around me, shielding my back from the churning mob behind us. “You will come alone.”
My heart is racing. If my bluff is called, what will I do? I smile at him. “If you like. I am more than enough.”
The blustery council leader swallows hard, and this pleases me. “This way, then.”
I turn to Raimo and Sig, Oskar and Kaisa. “I’ll be back soon.”
Oskar looks like he wants to shake me, but instead he gives me a jerky nod.
I follow Topias around the side of the building, to a tunnel that has withstood the wrath of the earth thus far. I barely pay attention to where I am going—my mind is whirling with all the things I must do, and my heart is craving my Saadella. We reach an enclosed courtyard with walls covered in budding vines. In the center, what used to be a fountain has crumbled. On the far side is a canopy made of rough burlap skewered on wooden poles, and beneath it sits a knot of perhaps a dozen people or so. Some of them rise when they see me coming, and then I hear the one voice I need shriek, “Valtia!”
I open my arms to receive her, but a brown-haired woman grabs her and holds her back.
“Let me go, Mama,” Lahja screams.
My stomach tightens. They’ve brought her parents to be with her, people who tried to escape the city rather than give her to the temple. I let my arms fall to my sides. “Lahja, it’s all right. I see you, and I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Where did you go?” she asks, still squirming in her mother’s arms, her coppery curls loose and bouncing. They’ve dressed her in a simple peasant’s gown and put little leather slippers on her feet.
“I was needed outside the city.”
“With the outlaw wielders?” Agata steps from behind Lahja and her mother. The woman has her hair wrapped in a cloth and a plain dress on instead of her usual richly embroidered garb. “Do you care about them more than you do about the people?”
“You are all my people,” I say, forcing patience into my tone. “And there are no outlaw wielders. There are only citizens who defend Kupari using their gifts, whatever those might be. . . .” I glare icily at her. “And those who don’t.”
Agata purses her lips. “Does that include you?”
“I won’t dignify impertinent questions.”
“How about this one—will you use your magic to defend the city and rebuild it?”
I blink at her. “You may rely on it.”
She gestures up at the crumbling edifice of the council hall. “Then why not start right here, right now? You can mend our hall and make it safe to meet there once more.”
“You kidnap my Saadella and draw me here to test me?”
She gives me a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Valtia, I only ask for a small thing that will restore the confidence of your people. Why do you deny us even the smallest display of your magic?”
“Because my magic is meant for great things,” I say. “Not as a tool for pettiness.”
She drops her veil of guilelessness and looks around her at the council members and other prominent citizens gathered beneath the canopy. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“It’s as you said,” Lahja’s father, a tall man with a weak chin, says.
Agata nods, looking satisfied. “I told them you wouldn’t show us your magic. I knew you wouldn’t.”
I clench my fists—my palms are slick with sweat. “Because I was brought up knowing that a queen does not have to justify her decisions as long as she always focuses on protecting and nurturing her people.”
“A real queen, yes,” says Lahja’s mother. She clutches my Saadella tightly. “I thought I had offered my baby to a real queen.”
I hold out my arms to Lahja, and she kicks and struggles to reach me. “And that is what I am. Lahja knows this. She feels the bond.”
“She’s a child,” barks her father. “She sees a pretty lady in a fancy dress. Nothing more.”
The citizens spread out in the courtyard, surrounding me. Agata waves her hand, and one man pushes a wooden door open—it reveals the street outside, just up the road from where I left my wielders. The townspeople see the opening and push inside, flooding the tiny courtyard as I try to backtrack. Sig and Oskar are nowhere to be seen, and they might not even realize what’s happening. Fear trickles down my back. Lahja’s father and another man, who I realize is Yrian the bereaved blacksmith, take hold of my arms. They are not gentle.
“The Valtia won’t show us her magic,” Agata shouts. “Would you all like to know what that means?” She turns and points to me, hatred burning in her eyes. “It means our supposed queen is an impostor. She has no magic at all.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ansa
Jaspar rolls off me and together we belly-crawl for the cover of a fallen tree. Arrows whisper through the air and thump into wood and dirt. Most seem to be falling short of our position. I cautiously lift my head, trying to figure out how to stop this fight, and witness Kauko raise his arms and send a massive blast of ice into the darkness of the trees just outside his clearing. One of his priests lies dead at his feet, and several more are huddled against trees with arrows protruding from shoulders and thighs and backs.
“They’re aiming for the wielders,” I say, and then I’m up and running, knowing it’s up to me to stop this before Kauko kills what is left of Thyra’s tribe. “Stop!”
I am breathless by the time I reach Kauko’s side, but I keep pushing forward, heedless of the few arrows that slice through the air around me. “It’s Ansa,” I shout. “Cease your fire!”
“Cease fire,” shouts Preben. The silver-bearded warrior emerges from behind a tree, bow in hand. A moment later, a few dozen others come into view. They run to two of our older warriors who lie in the open—frozen solid by Kauko’s counterattack.
Bertel rises from the hollow, his bow on his back but a dagger in his hand. His brown skin shines with sweat even as his breath fogs from his mouth in the frigid air.
I turn to Kauko and try to wave him off, but the elder smirks. “That is coming from you, Valtia. Not me.”
“And whose fault is that?” I glare at his wrist.
He looks unapologetic. “The magic truly is infinite,” he says quietly. “You have no idea how powerful you are.”
I face Bertel again, as the elder seems pre
occupied with my power and not our current predicament. I’m facing nearly fifty of our grizzled old warriors who are looking at me as if I’m a traitor.
“Where is Thyra?” Bertel asks, leaning to look behind me. “She went after this old sorcerer here, and he looks soft and healthy as ever—with you at his side.”
The mention of her name, spoken outside the confines of my own head, brings on a fresh wave of hurt. I put my hand out to steady myself against the nearest tree. “Thyra is . . .”
Bertel’s face sags when he hears the grief in my voice—and then his jaw clenches. “Did this—” He has started to pull his bow from his back when Jaspar appears at my side.
“Elder Kauko is not guilty of killing Thyra!”
“So she really is dead,” Preben says. “Our chieftain is dead.”
Shoulders slump and a few of the warriors cover their eyes or mouths, trying to contain their shock and horror. Jaspar puts his arm around me, and I realize I was sinking to the ground, my grief too heavy to bear.
“What happened?” asks Bertel. “We were under attack for hours.” He sweeps his arm toward the clearing where the wielders were practicing their arts just before the ambush. More of the priests have emerged from behind trees. Together with some of Jaspar’s warriors, they are tending to the wounded and casting suspicious glances at our motley old group of fighters.
Jaspar explains what happened, how he and his scouts observed the attack and came upon me and Thyra. He looks to me for the rest, and his hands are warm and firm on my body, holding me upright, as I explain. “It was Sig. And another Kupari wielder.”
“I knew it,” snaps Preben. “That one was unstable from the start. Thyra was right.”
Bertel gives me a hard look, and I hear his thoughts as if he’d spoke them aloud—and you were wrong.
“He was even more unstable once we reached the Kupari border,” Bertel says as he hangs his bow from its quiver once more. “And so were you, Ansa.”
“All wielders suffered,” says Kauko. “That is why we withdrew to prepare and gain strength.” He gestures at his beleaguered priests. “The impostor queen incites the land itself. She has violated all that is right.”