by Sarah Fine
I suppose that means part of my heart is still alive after all, if I can feel these things.
The princess is crying again, and I pull her away from me and look her over. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head. “But they chased me. The barbarians.”
“Krigere,” I say, because I want her to know where I came from for some reason. “They are Krigere, and there are many good things about them. We can make them our allies if we find the right path.”
She only sobs harder.
“You got away from the camp? How did you do it?”
“Elli took me. She turned a priest’s magic against him and we ran.”
I glance at some of the trees around us, hoping to find Elli in a similar predicament, but all I see is moss and birds’ nests. “Where is she now?”
“They caught her.” She sniffles. “He jumped on her and pushed her down.”
“He.” I grit my teeth. “Did he kill her?”
“I don’t know,” Lahja wails. “They took her away and I did what she told me to. I hid.”
So Elli sacrificed herself to help Lahja escape, killing a man in the process. She is made of iron wrapped in the softest fleece, I think. Again, it reminds me of Thyra, and the thought of both of them makes me ache, especially as one devastating truth ricochets around in my head:
The same man who murdered my love now has Elli at his mercy.
“Can you show me where the Krigere are camped, Princess?”
Lahja looks up at me with her big blue eyes. I can see the fear in them, but also the courage. “Will you help Elli?”
“I’ll die for her if I need to.” I’m going to die anyway. I can think of no better reason.
“I don’t want you to die, though,” she says to me, her skinny little fingers fisting in my tunic. “I want you to save Elli, and for you to come live with us. We can be a family.”
Ah, the foolish wishes of a child. “Let’s get the first part done and then see where we stand, all right?” I try to make my voice light, but Lahja is frowning now.
“You do love us, though, don’t you?” she asks.
“Yes.” It comes easily, this truth. But I can’t stand the way she’s looking at me. It’s as if my chest is water, and she can look right through it and see my heart. I take her by the wrists. “I’m lowering you down to that foothold right there, all right?” I point to the one I mean.
She whimpers but nods, and she doesn’t struggle as I ease her off the branch and hold her by one wrist to allow her to wrap her other arm around the trunk and shimmy down. When she’s reached the ground, I come down and land next to her. “Let’s go find the old man. I want him to know what’s happened. Then we’ll make a plan to save Elli.”
We start to retrace my steps along the sinkhole, and when the Kupari see her, they start to shout and cheer. As we near the clearing where I left Raimo, Lahja slips her hand into mine. When I look down at her, she beams up at me with such confidence, such faith, that for a moment I almost believe I can triumph. So I smile back, and pray to the heavens for victory.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Elli
I am where Kauko wanted me months ago—tied to a plank, beneath his knife. I would be lying if I said I was not scared. And it hurts, so much more than the blade, to think of what Oskar might have felt when he was living his final moments, when he was saying good-bye to this world and all his hopes and dreams. I would give anything to have him by my side right now, and my only comfort as Kauko and Jaspar and other unfamiliar faces stare down at me is knowing that perhaps I’ll be with my love soon.
Kauko dashes my hope quickly, though. “This is but a test,” he says to his rogue priests, and to Jaspar, who has dropped the pretense that he does not understand. “In all our history, there has never been a human Astia. We must be cautious in the extreme.”
I glare at him, but no one is looking in my eyes now. I am like a hunk of meat on a carving table. I am not a person to these men. I turn my head so I can’t see his knife, and when the searing pain comes, I don’t scream. But as I feel the warm blood slip across my wrist, as I hear the soft-loud tap-tap-tap of it hitting the cup pressed beneath my arm, it takes all I have not to cry. This has been the fate of Valtias in all our centuries past, thanks to Kauko and the priests who followed him. Men who ruled these infinitely powerful women with lies, cunning, and blades.
“We will see what this blood can do,” says Kauko. A shadow passes over me, and I look up to see him holding a small, roughly hewn cup over my body. My blood is smeared on his fingers and the edge of the knife hanging from his fist.
He has everyone’s attention, but now the two warriors who were watching me before have pressed their way into the circle of bodies around me. Bertel’s lip curls at the sight of my bleeding arm, and the gray one’s jaw is tense. Something about these two is different.
“Will you drink it now, Elder?” asks Yves, who sounds eager to regain favor with Kauko after letting me and Lahja escape from under his nose.
Kauko gives him an amused smile. “No, not this time, my friend.”
Bertel says something to Jaspar, who shrugs. “Should we staunch the bleed?” Jaspar asks in Kupari, gesturing at my arm, which is strapped firmly over my head, to the top of the plank. “Seems valuable.”
“Or a deadly poison to those of us who have fire and ice inside us,” Kauko says.
All the rogue priests cringe in unison, eyeing the cup in Kauko’s hand with new fear. “Poison?” Yves asks.
“Yes, friend.” Kauko gives him an appraising look. “What does an Astia do?”
“It amplifies power!” says Noam, his long arms swinging at his sides. “And helps the wielder to control it. If her blood has the power of the Astia, then it could make us all more powerful!”
“Perhaps,” says Kauko. “But what else does the Astia do?”
There is a moment of silence in our group, but then Yves says, very quietly, “It balances power by conducting some of it away.”
“Away, where?” Kauko asks.
“Out of the wielder,” says Yves. “We were taught that this is how the Valtia is able to wield such massive amounts of magic while remaining unhurt by the fire and the ice. Her magic is balanced, but in the process of wielding it, it can tip one way or the other, which can be deadly for her because she has so much of both elements.”
“All correct,” says Kauko. “In fact, the Valtia has so much magic that sometimes the cuff of Astia is not enough to save her.”
“Only because you weaken her by draining her blood,” I snap.
Kauko ignores me, as do most of the others, save for the two dour older warriors at the edge of the circle of men. Bertel mutters something in his guttural language, then abruptly tears a strip of cloth from the bottom of his own tunic and winds it around my forearm. He isn’t gentle. I hiss as the edges of my wound are mashed together. As he so often does, Kauko looks amused and says something in Krigere to the man, who doesn’t meet Kauko’s eyes as he rises to his feet and steps back to stand next to his gray friend.
“My blood is different from the Astia,” I say as the pain lessens a bit. “It will drain every drop of magic you have, just like I drained Osten before turning his magic back on him.”
The rogue priests somehow manage to look both terrified and steeped in hatred. Kauko is the only one who isn’t affected by my words. “You have every reason to lie, dear Elli,” he says. “It only makes me more eager to see what your blood can do.”
“Then drink, by all means.” It’s a bluff, but right now a bluff is all I have. I truly don’t know what my blood will do to him. I hope it eats his insides, but I’m guessing I won’t be that fortunate.
Kauko holds up the cup. I swear, none of those priests are even breathing now. Their full attention is riveted on him. “Shall I solve this mystery?” he asks them.
There is a mumbling affirmation, eager and sweaty. Kauko’s smile widens. “Then I shall. Yves!”
Yves bl
inks at him. “Yes? Would you like me to get you something, Elder?”
“You can bring yourself over here—and drink from this.” Kauko holds out the cup, wiggling his blood-smeared fingers.
“But I—I—”
“Come, Yves. You want to be an elder someday, do you not?”
Yves glances at his fellow priests and continues to stammer.
Kauko beckons to him. “It is time to demonstrate your worthiness.”
The other rogues have backed away from Yves, just a step, but a step is enough to put him inside the circle instead of on its edge. The Krigere warriors watch with interest, and Jaspar wears a smirk. Yves looks around for support, and when he finds none, his shoulders sag. Without a word, he trudges over to Kauko. His hands shake as he accepts the cup. His nose wrinkles just before his lips touch the rim. He tips it upward and brings it down just as quickly. His lips shine with my blood, and my stomach turns.
“There,” says Yves. “As you wished it.”
Kauko shakes his head. “Drink it all.”
“But—”
“All.”
Yves lets out a little whimper. He closes his eyes tightly. The sound of his swallows are loud in the silence of the early afternoon. A few times, his body heaves, as if it is trying to reject this gift of Kauko’s, but he manages to keep it all down.
Finally, Yves lowers his trembling hand. He wipes his sleeve across his mouth. “It is done,” he says bleakly.
“And how do you feel?” Kauko asks.
Yves opens his eyes. “I feel . . . fine?”
“Show us your fire and ice.”
Yves holds out his palms, frowning. For a moment, my heart soars, because nothing happens, and all my wishes that my blood will steal their magic seem to be coming true.
Then a ball of fire erupts on Yves’s left palm, and a jagged ring of ice bursts into existence on his right. Yves laughs, his relief thick in the air. “It didn’t steal my power!” he crows.
The priests sag, stiff shoulders going soft. Kauko is grinning. “Do you feel more powerful than you were?”
Yves stares at the fire and ice in his hands and frowns. “No,” he says after a long moment.
Kauko sighs. “That is too bad.”
He holds out his hands and blasts Yves with ice, sending frigid vapors swirling around the circle. The other priests and all the warriors shout and stagger away from the catastrophe, their eyes wide with surprise and horror as they take in the white cloud and glittering splinters of ice that dance in the air. Only Jaspar doesn’t retreat—the Krigere prince merely squints into the storm, hard curiosity on his face. And perhaps a bit of jealousy.
Kauko’s fingers are clawed and his thick sluglike lips are pulled into a sneer as he quells his ice, but as soon as the glinting mist starts to dissipate, he brings his other hand up and hurls fire. A few of the priests scream as the flames engulf Yves. Cinders and ash spiral into the air and I smell burning wood and cloth.
Kauko calls back the fire and lowers his arm. He and Jaspar and I stare at the smoky cloud around a man who had been one of the elder’s strongest remaining priests.
As the haze dissipates, a form becomes visible. Pale and unsteady, Yves blinks at his own naked body. My heart is crushed.
Kauko beams as he turns to Jaspar. “You see what has happened here?”
“The fire and ice. They did not touch him.”
“Oh, but they did, Jaspar. They took his robe!”
Yves looks shocked as he tries to cover his privates with his shaking hands. All the other priests seem too stunned to offer him a blanket to cover his fleshy bare body.
Kauko looks as if he’s been lit from the inside. “This changes everything. No one will be able to stand before me.”
“Before us,” says Jaspar, his voice newly suspicious.
Kauko offers him what even I can see is a condescending smile. “Yes, us, of course.”
Jaspar moves forward with alarming quickness and snatches the seared cup that was hanging from Yves’s fingers. “You give us some of this,” he says, shaking the cup at Kauko. He draws a dagger and moves toward me. “So we can fight Kupari.”
I press my back against the board, bracing for more pain. Kauko lurches between the Krigere prince and the plank where I lie. “Do not be hasty! We have been given a precious gift here, and we must decide how best to use it!”
It. Meaning me. My blood. My life.
All I can see is Kauko’s backside as he stands over me, his hands spread to his sides, his palms radiating power.
“Then let us decide,” Jaspar says, his tone as sharp as the blade he planned to use to open my veins.
“My priests and I will be on the front lines of this fight,” Kauko explains. “We will be facing a group of vicious criminals who wield a good deal of magic.”
“And if my warriors are immune to this magic, they can cut them down in an instant.”
“Ah, but do we know how long this immunity lasts?” Kauko tosses fire at Yves, who lets out a shriek. Kauko chuckles. “Not that long, it seems. This blood would be wasted on you and your warriors.”
“Making us easy targets for you,” says Jaspar.
“We could have attacked you at any point,” Kauko replies. “And we have not.”
“We could have done the same.” The swish of sand tells me Jaspar is on the move, and a moment later he comes into view. He looks me over with the same concern one might offer a barrel of mead. “How much do you think we can get from her?”
“A good portion could go to perhaps fifteen men.”
“Really? That’s it?” Jaspar gives me a disappointed look.
Kauko turns and looks down at me as well. “That’s not all, but we need her alive for a time.”
“Why?”
“Because she is the reason the Kupari people will surrender. They want their queen back—and we have her. If we eliminate their fighting force and then offer them this gift, her pathetic and useless life, they will kneel before us, and lives will be saved.” He nudges my shoulder with his malodorous toe. “Well, not hers, of course.”
Jaspar looks thoughtful. “A quiet people is good. Very good.”
Kauko nods. “Yes, far better than what you had in Vasterut.”
Jaspar smiles. “Very good.” He turns his head and shouts to his warriors, and the camp is immediately in motion, clanking weapons and flapping leather. “We attack now.”
My heart is jolted in my chest. “Now?” The city isn’t ready. No one is ready. And I’m a tool of their destruction.
Kauko gives me a friendly smile as he draws his knife once more. “I’ll drink to that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ansa
I am eating some sort of fish stew by a fire when our scouts come racing into camp, their lips moving as fast as their feet. Lahja presses herself to my side as they shout at Raimo and Livius and Aira and Veikko, who all gather around with frowns and tense shoulders. I can’t make out any words, save one: Soturi.
Lahja looks up at me. “They’re coming,” she says in a choked whisper. “On the march. Everyone’s arguing about how to lure them into the woods instead of letting them take the city.”
I close my eyes. It’s almost time. I kiss the little girl on the forehead. “I have to talk to Raimo. You stay here.” I rise, and Raimo turns to me as I approach. “I need someone to take Lahja and keep her safe.”
He looks past me to where our princess huddles by the fire. “We can, but . . .” He gestures for the two weathered scouts and trills to them in Kupari before meeting my eyes again. “If Krigere kill all fighters . . .”
“I know. Nothing can keep her safe.” Because if I am dead, and if Elli is dead, then Lahja will be the Valtia, and Kauko and Jaspar will try to use her. And, if I am to understand this magic correctly, the moment I die, or maybe when both Elli and I are gone, a new Saadella will be created. A new, vulnerable girl with a mark of red flame somewhere on her body, who can be found and kept just as Elli wa
s. If I don’t stop Kauko and Jaspar and all the warriors, things will be exactly as they were. No one will be free. “Tell them to try. I don’t care how far they have to take her.” A sudden thought occurs to me. “Oskar’s mother. She was strong. And she’ll need comfort now. If they can, they should place Lahja in her care.”
Raimo nods sadly. “I’ll tell them.”
I return to the fire and put my arms around Lahja. “You have to go with those men now. They’ll keep you safe.”
Her little face crumples just before she buries it in my chest. “I want to stay with you!”
Tears are on me so suddenly, and I don’t understand them. This is good, what I’m doing. It’s right, and it will lead me back to Thyra. I shouldn’t want to stay. “I have something I need to do, and I’ll be better able to do it if I know you’re safe and well.”
“When will I see you again?”
There is nothing to do but lie. “Soon.” I start to let her go, but then pull her close once more. “Listen to me, Lahja. If this magic comes to you, you must use it. You understand? You use it and you don’t hold back.” I take her by the shoulders and I look down at her. “You will destroy anyone who tries to hurt or control you. You will be your own master, and you don’t let anyone make you a slave. You will remember that you are the queen. If you do that, I will be with you always.”
She is crying. Maybe from fear, maybe because she senses this is a forever good-bye.
“Everyone leaves me,” she says. “Mama, and Elli, and you.”
“You are strong enough to bear it, Lahja. You will never break.” These are the plaintive wishes of my heart, made into sound and sent toward the heavens. If only I did not understand this world half so well.
It can break anyone.
I squeeze my girl one more time and then let her go. The leather-faced scouts speak to her in gentle tones, and one puts a floppy hat over her coppery curls, concealing them. The other wraps her in his cloak and picks her up. I turn away as they carry her from camp.