The Impostor Queen

by Sarah Fine

  “I’m not going anywhere, you arse!” I shout, my voice cracking. “You—you—” If I had magic, I would freeze Sig solid and then shatter him.

  Raimo’s hand closes over my wrist. “We are going to the temple,” he says quietly. “You must. But first we’re going to give our Ice Suurin back his spark, before his heart stops forever.”

  “His spark?”

  He gives me an impatient look. “Oskar can’t control fire. He was never meant to wield it, but he was powerful enough and desperate enough to call to it all the same. When he threw it, though, he sent his only spark of fire magic along with it.”

  I close my eyes, seeing that ball of fire grow as it raged toward the wielders, so big that all they could do was dodge. “And now he’s freezing inside.”

  “Succinctly put.” Raimo beckons to Veikko, Ismael, and some of the other men who are lingering nearby. “Carry him inside and lay him by the fire.”

  Five of them gather around Oskar’s body. His head hangs as they lift him from the ground and lug him to the large fire in the center of the main cavern. Raimo points at the wielders who came with Sig. “You lot can stay outside. Come in and I’ll destroy you.” He mutters something like “obnoxious little scamps” under his breath, then points a shaking finger at Sig. “And you come with me. You owe Maarika an apology and Oskar his life.”

  Sig stays where he is. The temperature drops suddenly, and he shivers. Raimo stares at the fire wielder as cold bleeds from the old man’s scrawny frame. “You can’t do this without your fellow Suurin,” he says in a low voice. “I told you that.”

  “Oskar’s made it clear he has no interest in being my ally.”

  “That doesn’t change a thing.”

  Sig blinks at him. And then he obeys Raimo, trailing us as we rush to Oskar’s side. He’s been laid on a bundle of furs. Veikko is piling flat stones nearby, and Aira and Ismael are heating them with their fire magic. Maarika is sitting by her son, arranging the hot stones around his shoulders, the only protection she can offer. Her hair hangs in sweaty tendrils around her face, half her dress is burned away, and her skin is streaked with ash, but she seems aware of nothing around her—except for Oskar, her hope, her life.

  Freya is crouched by his head, stroking her brother’s long, dark hair away from his face. Her green eyes narrow when she sees Sig. “I thought you cared about us,” she hisses.

  Sig stares at the ground. “I’m sorry, Maarika,” he mutters. “I didn’t intend to hurt you.”

  “Yes, you did,” Maarika snaps. “But you were going to do it by hurting Elli. And my son.” She raises her head, and her gaze is full of fury. “There was a time when I loved you like one of my own.” Her lips clamp together, and she looks away.

  Sig’s eyes are glossy with tears. His jaw is clenched as he struggles to keep them inside.

  “Peace, Maarika,” Raimo says gently. “He’s going to help fix Oskar.”

  I kneel at Oskar’s side. His skin is a ghastly grayish blue. I lay my head on his chest. His heart thumps once, sluggishly, weakly, but it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.

  Raimo sets down his wooden box with a clatter on the stone floor of the cavern. He looks so fragile, but his voice is full of authority as he says, “Take his hand, Elli.”

  Aira and Ismael give him puzzled looks as I slip my left hand into Oskar’s right. His fingers are stiff and icy. I squeeze them.

  “Now take Sig’s hand.”

  “What?”

  Raimo rolls his eyes. “Sig, get down here.”

  The fire wielder squats next to me. He gives me a veiled look as I reluctantly lay my mangled right hand over his palm. His gaze traces my scars as he carefully closes his fingers around mine.

  “Elli, focus on letting Sig’s magic flow through you. Magnify its strength and send it into Oskar.”

  “Wait,” says Aira. “Magic flows through her?” She’s looking at me with hard suspicion written all over her face.

  Raimo waves his hand at her. “Priorities, girl. I’ll explain all of it once Oskar’s breathing again.”

  I close my eyes, waiting for the fiery magic to course up my arm. But I feel nothing. I open my eyes and look at Sig. “You have to give it to me.”

  Sig’s mouth is tight. “There’s a fight coming. I need it.”

  “Oskar will die if you don’t.”

  He gazes steadily down at our joined hands. “And I might die if I do.”

  “Now who’s the coward?”

  A flash of heat blasts up my arm, but it zings back the way it came a second later. I sink my three fingernails into Sig’s flesh as rage fills my empty spaces. When Oskar touches me now, his magic flows so freely, like he’s offering himself. His feelings for me are the reason he was so weak when Sig attacked. His love for his mother is why he’s dying right now. I can’t let it happen. “Sig. Look at me.”

  Sig peeks at me from beneath golden lashes, every part of him trembling with tension.

  “If you do this—if you save him—I’ll go to the temple with you. I’ll help you take down the priests.”

  Sig’s brown eyes are fierce on mine. “Swear.” I can smell his fear. He’s spent his life surviving, doubting everyone, looking out for himself. He holds his magic so tight, afraid he’ll be helpless without it.

  It’s all he is, I realize. Fire is all he is. Without it, Sig doesn’t exist.

  “You have my word, Sig.” My voice is a caress. I smooth my fingertips over the divots left by my nails. “Now help me save Oskar. I know you don’t want him to die.”

  Sig closes his eyes, and immediately I feel the warmth bleed from his palm and swirl along my bones. My mind becomes a sea of molten iron. Lightning. Sparks. Raging infernos. I gasp as the fire creeps its way through my body, lighting me up.

  “Build on what he’s offering and give it to Oskar, Elli,” Raimo instructs.

  “I don’t know how,” I murmur, caught in the dancing flames.

  He pokes my shoulder. “One would think you’re a useless hunk of copper, girl. Don’t you have a will? Use it!”

  I bite my lip and focus, gathering the heat inside my hollow chest. I imagine kindling the fire, then scooping it up to my shoulder and letting it slide down my arm, straight into Oskar through our joined hands. But it merely sways and swirls inside me, flickering up before receding again.

  “I think maybe you don’t want him to live,” Raimo taunts.

  Sig’s grip on my scarred right hand tightens, and he offers me more fire. It overflows my chest and courses down my left arm, my wrist, my fingers. But then it hits the icy wall of Oskar’s skin and shrinks back. I push against it with all my might. Oskar is more than ice. He’s more than magic. Without it, he’s still a whole person, able to love and protect and laugh and live. My hand shakes as I force the heat toward him, willing his heart to move warm blood through his chest, willing his body to accept what I’m offering, to reignite the spark he needs to survive. Slowly I melt the frozen barrier. And then, all of a sudden, it gives way, and the heat pulses into him.

  He lets out a shaky sigh, his breath fogging from between his lips. I tear my hand from Sig’s and throw myself on top of Oskar, pressing my cheek to his, offering him whatever warmth I have.

  “My mother,” he whispers.

  “I’m right here,” she says, her face creased with worry. “I’m all right. No burns.”

  “Elli?”

  I lay my palms on his rough cheeks and press light kisses across his brow. “I’m here.”

  Sig gets to his feet, his boots scuffing against the loose stone. “But it’s time to go.”

  Oskar’s eyes pop open, dark as a thundercloud. He sits up with me still on his chest, so I end up in his lap. He coils his arm around my waist. The cold pulses from him, already stronger than it was. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

  Sig gives him a ghostly smile. “Oh, but she is. Just ask her.”

  Oskar’s gaze snaps to mine. “I have to,” I murmur.

/>   Raimo uses his walking stick to pull himself to his feet. “Elli struck a deal with Sig,” he says mildly. “But it barely matters. We’re all going.”

  Aira, Ismael, and Veikko glance back and forth between me and Raimo with identical looks of confusion. “Us, too?” Veikko asks.

  “Oh, yes,” Raimo says. “It’s time.”

  Oskar looks like he’s been hit over the head. “What?”

  Raimo sighs, so stooped that he’s only a head taller than Oskar, who’s sitting on the ground. “You’ve put this off for so long, Oskar, but you can’t deny what you are anymore, or what you were meant to do.”

  “I’m not meant to do anything,” Oskar says, moving me off his lap so he can get to his feet. “Except to care for my family.”

  “You’re the Ice Suurin!” Raimo yells, his arms shaking as he holds on to the stick. “This war will find you whether you want it or not.” He watches as Oskar pulls me to my feet and brings me close. “It already has, I’d say.”

  I touch Raimo’s gnarled hand. “Tell us what you know. Please. You can’t expect Oskar—or any of us, for that matter—to go into this blind. We’re all here. We need to understand.”

  Raimo glances at his wooden box and rubs his palm over his bald head. “I suppose you are all here.” He lets out a bemused cackle. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so many years that it seems odd that it’s actually happening.”

  “You were a priest,” I prompt him. “And somehow you came into possession of the prophecy that’s been missing from the temple for ages, didn’t you? That’s how you know all these things.”

  He grins, showing all his yellow teeth. “I stole it.”

  “But wasn’t it kept in the temple?” Oskar asks.

  “No. We were all living in the old fortress by the lake,” Raimo says, picking up his box and hobbling over to the community hearth. He sinks onto the stone with the box in his lap. “The temple was still under construction at that time.”

  We all gape at him. “The Temple on the Rock is over three hundred years old,” I stammer.

  Raimo gives us all an amused look. “True. And so am I.”

  CHAPTER 22

  We settle ourselves around the old man, hungry for answers, stunned by the understanding that he’s older than the temple itself. But somehow I can’t bring myself to doubt it, and I can tell by looking at the others that they don’t either. It makes a strange kind of sense.

  Raimo’s fingers slide over the carvings on the surface of the box. “Contrary to what many like to believe, the Kupari are not native to these lands. Our ancestors had only arrived here a few hundred years before I was born, fleeing the murderous warrior tribes of the far north.”

  Veikko’s eyes go wide. “The Soturi?”

  Raimo nods. “I suspect they are the very same, though they have only recently crossed the Motherlake in any number. Our ancestors made the great journey guided by the stars, believing they were safe on this peninsula surrounded by the vast waters. And so they were, for a long time. They discovered the copper that runs through the veins of this land, and here they settled.”

  “Did they know the magic came from the copper?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “That was a slow, mysterious process, so gradual that the link was not clear for centuries. Our people were fed by the magic in these lands, growing strong over generations as it seeped into our blood. And then, here and there, it began to manifest. Wielders were born.” He looks over at me. “The first Valtia rose up, so powerful with ice and fire that she was named the queen. She ruled from that fortress on the northwestern shore. It’s in ruins now. The platform in the square is made with some of the original stones. But it was within those walls that the first priests were initiated into her service.”

  His thumb toys with the clasp of the box. “Wielders walked free, but many of us were eager to learn and serve the magic—and the queen who seemed to have so much of it. But though any wielder can learn to control and refine the power he has”—Raimo’s pale gaze flicks to Oskar, and he arches his eyebrow—“wielders have only as much magic as they’re born with. Not everyone was satisfied with that, and some went in search of ways to increase the magic inside them.”

  “Like shutting themselves inside trunks of solid copper,” I say with a shudder.

  Raimo rolls his eyes. “Yes, and other, equally ill-advised methods. Some fasted, some had themselves whipped or put themselves through near hanging or drowning, and some decided to rid themselves of . . .” He clears his throat and makes a snipping motion with his fingers. The men around us quietly cringe, but Raimo cackles. “I always thought it was a stupid practice myself. And none of it worked, except to band together those who’d been through it in a warped kind of brotherhood.” He opens the box. The only thing inside is a torn, creased sheet of parchment. “But some of us turned our eyes to the stars, just as our ancestors had, looking for wisdom, answers, portents of the future. After all, the stars were how we survived the scourge of our enemies and found a refuge where we could live in peace. We created the charts and argued over what they predicted.” He chuckles, a phlegmy, weak sound. “Fun times.”

  Oskar sits down next to the fire. He’s looking wan and weary, but still so much better than several minutes ago, when I thought I’d lost him. “Fun times . . . three hundred years ago.” He eyes Raimo like he expects him to sprout wings or horns.

  Raimo grunts. “The divine portents told of an object that would magnify the magic, and so we created the cuff of Astia for the Valtia as she grew into old age.”

  “She actually lived to be old?” I ask.

  “Things were not always as they are now,” Raimo says. “And we had no idea at the time that another would rise as soon as she died. We were all so new to the magic.”

  I look down at the parchment in the box. It’s covered in the same runes the cuff of Astia bears across its thick, coppery surface. “But if the priests had found a way to create something that would magnify magic, and they wanted to increase their own power, then why didn’t they make themselves cuffs too? We have more copper in this land than we know what to do with—well, we did, and especially back then—so why didn’t every wielder have one?”

  Raimo laughs again, his chest rattling enough to make me wince. “Again, you think the Astia is just an ordinary hunk of metal. No wonder you hold yourself in such low regard.” He waves his hand as heat suffuses my cheeks. “Oh, it’s a good question, Elli. And the answer is standing right in front of you.”

  His gaze finds Sig’s. “The cuff of Astia was created using the blood of two Suurin, the only ones to exist before the two of you. They were the start of it all, so devoted to the Valtia that they were willing to die for her.”

  Sig grimaces in disgust. “Die for her? To create a piece of glorified jewelry? What a waste.” He glances at Oskar, who’s staring into the small fire at the center of the stone hearth.

  Raimo shrugs. “The Suurin knew their fates. They chose to offer their magic to generations instead of forcing it to be bounded by their brief mortal life spans.”

  Sig too shifts his gaze to the flames, which flare as if they know their master.

  “Their blood is in the red runes,” I say, remembering the crimson shapes that glint on the cuff’s copper surface.

  “Blood is powerful,” Raimo says. “Magical blood especially. And that discovery is how everything became so horribly twisted.” He scratches his stringy beard. “One of the elders who created the cuff partook of the blood of the Suurin.”

  My stomach turns. “You said you found some of your colleagues to be a bit bloodthirsty. You meant exactly that.”

  Raimo nods. “As soon as he tasted it, he must have felt the power.” He gives us a pained smile. “It took me a long time to figure out what he was doing, but by that time, he’d brought so many over to his way of thinking. Not everyone could have a cuff of Astia, but all could partake of blood, if they were willing—and if they had a source.”

&nbs
p; A tremor goes through Sig, and he takes a few steps back as if he’s been shoved by some terrible realization.

  “Then the old Valtia died and a new one rose up,” Raimo continues. “That’s when we understood that her magic was special. Like the magic of the Suurin, it was so vast that it outlived its vessel. The new Valtia had the same features as our dead queen, the hair, the eyes, the mark. She’d been a normal girl until the Valtia died, and then the magic roared inside of her.” Raimo’s dirty fingernails scrape at the carved runes on the box. “She was powerful. But she was just a girl. No match for a conniving old wielder who was willing to cut off his own balls and drink blood just for a chance to have more power. His was the insistent voice in her ear, guiding her every step of the way. She had to isolate herself from family and friends. She had to keep her body pure and untouched, for use as a magical vessel.” Raimo’s voice drips with contempt. “And then this blood-drinking elder and those aligned with him convinced her to change the laws. All magic wielders were to be brought to the temple. Like the Valtia, they were meant to serve the Kupari people. It was an easy enough thing for the citizens to believe. After all, suspicion and envy had begun to sprout up between those who could wield and those who couldn’t. And the priests piled bronze coins into the hands of any parent who delivered a magical child to the steps of the new, grand Temple on the Rock, easing the path to oppression with promises of a life of discipline and service.”

  Sig sounds as unsteady as he looks when he asks, “But that’s not what those children got, was it?”

  “Oh, they did, in a manner of speaking,” Raimo replies. His blue eyes flicker with rage. “The boys were gelded and the girls were shaved, to steal their identities and control them. They were all trained to trust in the elders. And they were all desperate for favor, because the priests picked their favorites to become apprentices. But the others, the ones whose magic was unbalanced, or who asked too many questions, or who seemed likely to challenge the elders’ authority, or who had the great misfortune to be female in a temple filled with scared and selfish old men . . . They were broken. And their blood is what keeps the priests and elders powerful and young. Look at the elders, and then look at me. Who’s prettier?” He gives us his hideous grin. “I found a way to prolong my life, but it has its price. Five months of every year, to be precise.”