The True Queen

by Sarah Fine

  I reach for Elli.

  A gasp bursts from my mouth as I feel something take hold of me, pulling my hand into the air and streaking down my arm. It is cool relief where there is fire, and warmth where I had turned to ice. It holds me where I am, lifts me from the ground. I can’t take my eyes off Elli, and she is looking right back at me, luminously pale, her right arm swathed in a bloody bandage, her eyes sunken but ferocious.

  The connection between us is invisible, but the most real thing I have ever felt. Somehow, even though she is at least twenty yards away, she is me and I am her.

  We are the Valtia.

  To my left, I hear Jaspar’s war cry. He sees that I am on my feet again. He is coming for me. I do not take my eyes from Elli’s though. I do not move to defend myself. Instead, I think of what Jaspar deserves.

  His scream is quick and sure and certain. With my next breath, I smell his flesh cooking.

  I can control this magic with my mind, as long as—

  I feel the magic leave me even though I didn’t command it. Ice rushes across the clearing and then melts just over Raimo, dousing the old man in water. The ring of fire around him dies, leaving him with soot-blackened skin, heaving for breath. But alive.

  Elli did that. She used my power and wielded it as her own.

  “Ansa,” she says. I hear her voice so clearly, as if it is my own. “Let’s finish it.”

  Kauko is between us. “You can’t hurt me,” he calls out, a note of panic in his words. “I’m immune!”

  He hurls fire at me. I flick it away with icy thoughts. And then I watch Elli do the same, turning ice to steam that sheens her moon-white skin. She looks on the verge of death, but there is a steadiness in her outstretched hand that tells me she is as alive as I am.

  Alive enough.

  “Blood and victory, sister,” I murmur. “Blood and victory.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Elli

  I hear her. Blood and victory. And I know what she wants. Connected like this, I can see her thoughts as readily as I can my own. I read the longing for Thyra, for peace, for rest. I know how much she wants to go, despite also wanting to stay.

  I understand what we need to do.

  Using the massive well of her magic, I reach inside and draw up ice. I remember the day Oskar and I first realized what we could do, how I amplified his magic and channeled it.

  With a resounding crash, ice bursts from the air and forms thick, glossy walls. They slam down around us, closing us in. The two warriors holding me up cry out with fear, but they do not let me fall. The walls crash down on the ashy remains of Jaspar, reducing him to swirling dust. They close out Raimo and Veikko and Aira and all the others.

  They close in Ansa and me with Kauko. The elder raises a fire that licks at our icy walls, but it can never burn through them, for the frost knits all the wounds together. The sight makes me feel as if new blood is pumping through my veins, clean and warm like a summer flood.

  Kauko wheels his arms through the air as the cold closes in. “It can’t touch me. It can’t touch me,” he shrieks. His palms slide against our fortress of ice.

  Ansa’s blue gaze is as deep as the Motherlake. “You have caused so much pain,” she says. “You have killed so many.” Her jaw clenches. “You took Thyra from me. From our people.”

  “Just as you took Sofia and all the Valtias before her,” I say. “You are not worthy of this magic.”

  “I alone am worthy of this magic,” he shouts. “And I alone can wield it as it was always meant to be wielded!”

  “You have had hundreds of years to wield it in the service of our people, and you have only served yourself,” I say.

  “Now it is time for you to give it back,” Ansa says. Though there is blood oozing from her side, her voice is strong. Her focus is a blade. I feel it in my heart. “Elli.”

  “Yes,” I say, knowing it is time.

  We break gazes but not our connection, which I maintain through our upraised palms. My post starts to shake as the two warriors tremble and cower within our ice castle. They cry out, maybe for mercy, maybe for their lost chieftain. But Ansa and I are riveted on the elder now.

  I feel it in her, the hunt, the chase, the cornering of prey. It is foreign and delicious.

  Kauko trembles. He tries to wield against us, but he can’t. We feel his intentions and his magic because they came from us. They belong to us. I tilt my head and his arms rise to the stars. He screams when he realizes I am the source of the movement.

  Ansa smiles. She blinks and his arms drop. “Our blood is loyal to us,” she muses.

  She wants me to amplify her power inside Kauko. And I can, because my power is inside him too. So I do, first the fire, and he screeches and clutches his heart. Then the ice, which doubles him over. He falls to his knees.

  “I can heal you,” he says, all plea, all the gentleness I recall from my childhood, when he taught me about the chambers of the heart, the function of the blood, the way of the veins. “Please, we can reclaim Kupari together. For warriors, too, if you wish.”

  “His heart,” Ansa says. “I can see . . .”

  Because now I am thinking about it, and she is sharing my thoughts—the reality of tissue in his chest, and the diagram that we gazed upon during what turned out to be our final lesson.

  “Thunder or lightning?” I ask her.

  She knows what I mean because we are one right now. Do we want noise and breadth, size and tremor . . . or do we want sudden and simple and irresistible?

  “Lightning,” she says.

  “Lightning,” I reply. It seems right. We will reward his evil with no ceremony, no clang and clamor, only a complete and resounding silence.

  We stare at Kauko’s chest. His eyes bulge as the blood in his heart turns to ice. He makes a soft, choked noise and falls to the ground.

  Then he catches fire, which burns so hot that it melts the walls of our ice palace in an instant. My warriors sway a little, and the gray one sinks to the ground while Bertel holds my post with all his might, his face tight with horror and fear. Ansa says something to him in a soothing voice as we feel the wind against our skin. The clearing is full of staring people—no one is fighting. They are all facing us, surrounding us.

  Ansa’s blue eyes meet mine once more. “Will you offer them safe harbor in this land?” she asks, and because we are still connected, I know she means her warriors.

  “We will,” I tell her. “Will they treat us as equals?”

  “We will.”

  “Then we will be one people,” I say.

  I end our connection before she sees the rest of my thoughts. I am too tired to go on. I have lost too much. My body is too broken. She will be the one true queen of this new people. I am meant for the stars.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Ansa

  She thought she could hide her plan from me, but she is wrong. I see her arm fall to her side. I read the weariness in her eyes. But she can’t die. She can’t. She needs to stay and lead these people, because I can’t. I’m too tired. I miss Thyra so much that my bones are soft with it, and I have lost too much blood. Jaspar has killed me. I wish I could thank him.

  I sink back to the forest floor where he left me. I stare up at the sky with its burned-leaf edges. And then I close my eyes and embrace darkness, hoping at any moment Thyra will step out of it and lead me to my new forever-home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Elli

  When I wake, I’m clothed in white, and I am on a straw bed that whispers as I shift my weight. I seem to be inside a tent, and I can hear others bustling about outside. Ansa is lying next to me, in a clean tunic and breeches. Her eyes are open.

  Neither of us appears to be dead.

  I start as Raimo leans over me, the scraggly ends of his beard swishing against my chest. “You can heal each other,” he says, looking back and forth between us. “But you must decide. Either both of you stay, or both of you go. It will take the two of you to bring eac
h other back to life.”

  I close my eyes. In my dream, I was with Oskar again, in our cottage by the lake. His boots were in front of the fire, and our bed was warm.

  “How much do you miss him?” Ansa asks.

  I turn my head and look at her, and in her eyes I see the question. “As much as you miss Thyra, I expect.”

  We stare at each other. My throat goes tight. “I know there is much work to do here,” I say. “But if you want to—”

  She inhales and then winces with pain. Her skin is like frost in the square, a mix of gray and white. “Do you want to?”

  Yes. And no. And—“Lahja.”

  Ansa sighs. “I know.”

  If we die, she will be the Valtia, long before she is ready.

  I can’t tell what Ansa really wants. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stay. I reach over and take Ansa’s hand. Her fingers thread with mine. Our connection is forged instantly and easily, a path well-worn. Now we are more than shared magic. We are a shared being.

  I feel her longing for Thyra, and I am aware of her pain as she feels my craving for Oskar. If we stay, this pain will always be with us.

  If we stay, we can bear it together.

  Ansa squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Is it all right if I’m not?” she replies.

  I chuckle, weak and pained. But then I grow serious. “There is much work to be done. A city to be rebuilt.”

  “A people to shelter.”

  I nod. “And feed.”

  “And keep warm when the cold comes.”

  “A Saadella to raise.”

  “That would be the fun part,” she says.

  I hold her hand tightly, knowing that if I let go, the darkness will come again. “You can’t leave me.”

  “I know,” she whispers. “I won’t. But you can’t leave me, either.”

  “All right.”

  The healing is like breathing. It comes over us that naturally. I feel every part of her body as if it were my own, and I know what it needs. The fire and ice are like eager children, desperate to please, happy to cause a smile. The magic does our bidding without demanding our conscious thoughts. We lie there and share memories while we grow stronger with each minute. We share our hopes, too. For lives without fear or servitude. For peace and plenty.

  The Suurin made sure that our land was restored. They gave their lives in exchange for the health of the earth, the future of our people.

  The understanding hits me hard—if I had left, it would have been a betrayal of Oskar and everything he sacrificed. He is gone, but I can live for him and take care of what he left behind.

  “I know,” Ansa says again. “We will.”

  She understands the same thing about Thyra. Her responsibility to the warriors her chieftain left behind extends beyond their mere survival in this battle.

  “We’ll make sure of it,” I say.

  Together, we rise from the table. I let go of her hand and I am myself once more, strong as I ever was. Ansa stands straight, her shoulders square. Raimo grins from our bedside. “Well done.”

  I frown. “Why didn’t you just heal us?”

  “Oh, I could have.”

  “But you risked us choosing to die!”

  “No need to be dramatic. I knew you’d make the right choice.”

  “Why, did you find another prophecy?”

  He shakes his head and leans on his walking stick. A warm wind blows through the trees. “I had faith in your will, Elli.” He nods at Ansa. “And in hers.”

  Ansa smiles. It is not an easy smile. It is hard won, with an edge of sadness.

  We leave our tent. We are in the white plaza, the waves of the Motherlake lapping at the shore beyond. A few yards away is the scar that marks the place where Oskar and Sig saved us with their lives. Ansa’s hand slips into mine again, offering me the steadiness I need.

  “Elli,” shrieks a familiar piping voice. From across the plaza, Lahja comes running, with Maarika and Freya jogging after her. Janeka and Helka stand behind them with the surviving temple wielders, looking worn and weary but alive, alive, alive.

  Our Saadella jumps into my arms, and I turn to allow Ansa to join in our embrace. She does, and we are a knot of love and relief. Lahja puts an arm around each of our necks and kisses us each on the cheek. “You did it.”

  All around us, people are dropping to their knees, and that is when I realize that Kupari are not the only ones here. Bertel, his gray friend, and a host of other warriors have been helping Livius and his stone crews stack building stones in neat rows. But now they are all kneeling before us.

  “Rise, please,” I call out, because it seems silly for everyone to stop what they’re doing simply because we got out of bed.

  Ansa chuckles as she listens to my thought, then she shouts something in Krigere. Her warriors rise with an answering call, and in her mind I understand what it is.

  Blood and victory.

  Will you change that now? I ask her.

  No. It is who we are. I just don’t know what that means yet.

  Fair enough. We all have some things to figure out.

  Lahja is wiggling between us, and Raimo is staring as if he knows we are having a conversation inside our own heads. “The town council requests the honor of your attendance at their next meeting,” he says.

  “Ansa and I will decide later,” I tell him as we put Lajha down. Bertel and the gray one—

  “His name is Preben,” Ansa interjects.

  Bertel and Preben are coming over to us. They kneel before Ansa again, and as they speak, I realize I can understand them because I am touching her.

  With his head bowed, Bertel hands Ansa a dagger. “You may kill me now. I betrayed you.”

  “In his defense,” Preben says, even though his head is bowed too, “he was told that if he didn’t give the signal, twenty of Thyra’s warriors would be executed. Me included.”

  “You redeemed yourself in the wood,” Ansa says. “When you protected Elli and made it possible for her to help me.”

  “We will serve you for the rest of our days,” says Bertel.

  “Serve me by gathering a group to go fetch your andeners and children,” says Ansa.

  The two men rise, smiling, and nod respectfully at me as they walk toward a group of other warriors.

  “She would have been happy to see this day,” Ansa says. “She would have been so happy.”

  My throat is tight with Ansa’s grief. “She would have. Oskar would have been too.”

  “Will we ever be whole without them?” she whispers.

  “I don’t know. But together we can live every day, striving to honor their memories, and their sacrifices.”

  Ansa takes a deep breath as Lahja leans her head against her side. “I don’t know anything about ruling.”

  “Good thing there’s two of us,” I say.

  “Three,” says Lahja.

  Ansa laughs, and it is a welcome sound. Her gaze falls on Maarika and Freya, then on Raimo, then on her warriors, and on Livius and his stone crew, and then on me. Her smile is beyond words and beyond thought—it is something I feel in my marrow, in my soul. We will take this moment, and we will live in it, and every one that follows. We will carry each other through each breath. We understand our path will not always be smooth, but we also understand that the one that brought us here was impossible, and yet here we stand. We are two girls atop two nations; we are one new and unfathomable thing together. We are unstoppable and sovereign. We are willing to die for our people, and for each other, and for the little girl who is our future.

  We are the true queen.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to the wonderful team at McElderry for helping me bring this final book of the series to readers, especially my editor Ruta Rimas and editorial assistant Natascha Morris. Thank you to book designer Debra Sfetsios-Conover and photographer Michael Frost for creating yet another visually arresting cover. And thanks to the e
ntire team at Simon & Schuster: Justin Chanda, Clare McGlade, and everyone else who had a hand in making this book. More thanks go to my agent, Kathleen Ortiz, for providing all manner of support and advocacy.

  Thanks also to my family and friends. Lydia “Gravy is My Opium” Kang, you are my dearest friend, and I am grateful for your green dot every single day. Peter, you and me in a cottage by the lake, please. Mom and Dad, Cathryn and Robin, Asher and Alma, I love you, I love you, I love you.

  And finally, thank you to the readers who stayed with Elli and Ansa all the way to the end of their journey. The path wasn’t a smooth one, I know, but I hope in the end the tale was worthy.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SARAH FINE is the author of Of Metal and Wishes, Of Dreams and Rust, The Impostor Queen, The Cursed Queen, and the Guards of the Shadowlands series. She was born on the West Coast, raised in the Midwest, and is now firmly entrenched on the East Coast, where she lives with her two children. When she’s not writing, she’s working as a child psychologist. Visit her at sarahfinebooks.com.

  MARGARET K. MCELDERRY BOOKS

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  ALSO BY SARAH FINE

  Of Metal and Wishes

  Of Dreams and Rust

  Of Shadows and Obsession, an e-short-story prequel to Of Metal and Wishes

  The Impostor Queen

  The Cursed Queen

  MARGARET K. McELDERRY BOOKS

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.