by Sarah Fine
“On your signal, what?” I whisper.
“I’m not talking to you,” he mutters.
As I look between the two buildings that bound the northern road, I can see our path to the ceremonial gates. The constables and the councilmen mill about several yards away, their brown cloaks pulled tight around them as they argue in urgent tones. They’ve always depended on the elders to tell them how the Valtia wants the city to be run, and in exchange for their cooperation, they’ve grown rich and fat—and indecisive.
The head of the council, a man named Topias who I’ve watched on several harvest days, passing his requests for favors from the Valtia to the elders while they all dined on venison and grilled trout, notices our arrival and stalks forward. “What’s this I hear about the Valtia?” he says in a rumbling voice, his thick brown beard brushing his heavy copper councilman’s medallion as he speaks. “We know citizens want action, but we’re trying to negotiate with the elders—”
“You don’t have to, since I have the true Valtia right here,” Raimo replies, slapping at my calf until I hold it out and show the councilman my mark.
“If you’re really the queen,” says Topias, removing his embroidered velvet cap and smoothing his hand over the few wiry strands of hair on the top of his head, “you’ll have to prove it.” He gives me a cautious look.
I sit straighter in the saddle behind Raimo, even though my fear is making it hard to breathe. His cold hand closes over mine, and I feel the pulse of his power magnified by my own. “Very well,” I say in a high, quavering voice.
“Gates,” Raimo breathes.
I lift my left hand and point at the gates.
They glow and crackle. I can feel Raimo tugging more power from within me, and I don’t fight it. The councilmen dive away from the solid copper slabs as they undulate with heat. And then a sudden burst of ferocious, icy air whooshes forward. The gates explode inward.
The crowd cheers. “She’s returned! We’re saved!” the councilmen shout.
“Nice work, Valtia,” Raimo says, looking over his shoulder at me.
He turns to the front in time to be hit in the face with a blast of ice. As councilmen scatter in panic, Raimo collapses against me, giving me a view of the white plaza through the shattered gates.
It’s filled with at least a hundred black-robed acolytes, hands outstretched, ready to defend the temple to their last breath.
CHAPTER 24
I catch a glimpse of the priests and apprentices pouring from the temple entrance before Sig yanks me from the saddle. I grab for Raimo—the old man is so fragile that the fall could kill him—but he’s already disappeared over the other side of our horse.
“Oskar has him,” Sig says, then holds my hand tightly and sends a horrific blast of flame straight through the gates. The screams of the acolytes jitter down my spine as Sig drags me to the side, behind a marble pillar on one side of the destroyed gateway. A terrible, gut-wrenching noise behind me signals that at least one of our horses has been hit by ice or fire. The wielders who came with us are on either side of the gates, their backs against the low stone walls. Aira’s pale-green eyes are alight with fear. Veikko’s hands are shaking. Oskar presses in next to me a moment later, panting, Raimo in his arms. “Elli,” he says, but I’m already reaching for the old man. I grab his limp hands to siphon the excess cold.
Raimo’s pale eyes flutter open. “You’ll have to get through them. Or convince them to join us.”
The acolytes are battling for the very men who plan to drink their blood. It’s so twisted, but as the blasts of fire and ice come shooting out from the white plaza, I’m not sure how to make them listen to us.
“We have to show them the Valtia’s power,” Oskar says, looking down at me. “If we want to get through without killing, you have to make them believe.”
“I’m all right with killing a few,” snarls Sig, but I jerk my hand away as he reaches for it, unwilling to let him use me until I have a chance to figure this out.
“You’d rather eliminate our one advantage?” he asks. “That’s what happens if we’re separated. Raimo said we were supposed to fight together!”
I peer around the pillar and watch a small acolyte stumble over his own too-long robe at the bottom of the steps. And when he throws back his hood, I see that it’s Niklas, the little boy Aleksi brought to the temple all those weeks ago. “Maybe this isn’t the war Raimo prophesied. I’m not sure fighting is what we’re supposed to do right now.”
Sig lets out a sound of pure frustration. “Go on, then. Just remember—you might be immune to magic, but that doesn’t mean they can’t hurt you.”
Oskar touches my sleeve. “He’s right.”
I let out a long, slow breath. “It’s worth the risk. If we shock them, maybe they’ll stop long enough to hear us out. And if they won’t, I trust you to get to me in time.”
“Oskar, use the fountains. Can you?” Raimo asks.
Oskar, strands of his dark hair skimming along his cheeks, looks toward the two massive fountains in the plaza, each burbling with water year-round because the temple is heated with magic. The twin statues of the Valtia tower above them. “I can try,” he says quietly, tossing me an anxious glance. “My control—”
“I’ll help you,” says Raimo wearily. “You have the power, but I have the technique.”
Oskar nods, but he looks worried, and I can’t blame him—Raimo’s breaths are shallow and unsteady, and he can barely hold his head up. “We can do this, but then you’re staying back,” Oskar says to him. “If you go in there, you’ll die.”
Raimo seems too weak to argue.
“I’ll cap it off,” says Sig, as if he already senses what they’re going to do. “They need to see both ice and fire together.”
“And I’ll look the part,” I mumble.
“Move your hands,” says Oskar, “so they think it’s coming from you.”
“Sig could sense that the magic wasn’t coming from Mim. Will they—”
“We don’t want to give them time to,” says Raimo. “Make this quick.”
Sig gives me a little push, and I step from behind the pillar. The acolytes grit their teeth and the air warps around me. Sig curses, and I walk forward quickly to draw the heat away from him. The acolytes’ eyes go wide as I stride into the white plaza, my arms rising from my sides, my coppery hair flying about my face. The water in the fountains glitters with ice that suddenly spirals into the air. It’s as if the frozen column is drawing the liquid straight up from the Motherlake, growing thicker and whiter as it builds on itself, forming an arch over the marble slabs of this plaza, higher than the towering statues, nearly as high as the dome of the temple. The acolytes around me and the priests and apprentices on the steps stare as the ice shifts and shimmers, creating an intricate lattice over my head.
And then it shatters and melts, raining down—but turning to steam before a drop touches the ground. The acolytes lower their hands and look at me, shock etched on every face.
“I’ve come back to claim my throne,” I say, praying to the stars that only I can hear the unsteadiness of my words. “The elders and priests have lost their way, but I can set things right.”
One of the acolytes steps forward, and the spots on her face stir my memories. “Valtia,” Meri says in a broken voice. “Is it you?”
I smile at her. “It’s me, Meri.” She was a ray of kindness in a storm of cruelty. I hold out my hand to her.
She pushes her black hood back and walks toward me, her face alight with joy. But her smile becomes a scream as her robe bursts into flame. The acolytes around her stagger back as she shrieks in pain, the flames devouring her, smoke billowing into the air. I look across the plaza, toward the steps leading up to the temple, and spot Armo the former apprentice, his face twisted and his hands clawed as he burns Meri down. My eyes narrow as rage pulses through me—she was his friend.
“The girl’s a fraud!” he yells. “She has no magic. Destroy her!”
Oskar shouts my name as the acolytes lunge for me, hot and cold hands tearing at my clothes. No sooner has someone grabbed my hair than all of them are thrown away from me with a fierce gust of icy wind. It thunders through the plaza, knocking everyone but me back. I look over my shoulder to see the wielders, with Oskar and Sig at the front, pour through the gates. Raimo is nowhere in sight, and I can only hope he’s safe.
The magic erupts around me. But none of it touches me. It’s almost as if time has stopped. Sound is muted. Priests and apprentices storm down the vast temple steps and into the plaza, flanking the group of terrified acolytes to take on the rebel wielders. As Oskar runs for me, ice arches from the fountain and crashes down as a wall between us. It melts a moment later, long enough for me to see a flash of Sig’s white-gold hair and pale skin, but then it re-forms as spikes, which fly into the air—and come straight for me.
Knives of ice, wielded by blood-fueled priests. My death looks like glittering diamonds in the sunlight. Oskar and Sig are under siege—they can’t stop it. But right before the frozen blades hit home, they veer off track, flying silent and sharp around me, close enough for me to feel their cool kiss. Acolytes scream as their bodies are stabbed straight through, and they fall, writhing, to the marble slabs.
Nothing magical can harm me. I look behind me, and there’s a crowd of black robes between me and my Suurin, who are fighting for their lives against a horde of priests and apprentices. If they can’t reach me, I can’t magnify their power. But even without me, the small group of rebels is holding their own, pushing the enemy back. Oskar and Sig are shoulder to shoulder now, protecting each other and wielding as one force, though the fire strikes with precision and the ice is wielded like a blunt instrument.
And I’m standing in the middle of the plaza. Forgotten. Unchallenged. I look up the long flight of steps leading to the domed chamber. Inside is the child Saadella—and the elders. The fury twists inside me. I walk forward, only dimly aware of the Valtia statues in the fountains cracking, of marble exploding outward as blasts of fire and ice tear them apart. The shards pock the marble slabs at my feet, but not a single bit strikes me. But when a wall of flame crackles and blasts against my back, the ashy cinders of my burning dress fill the air. With a pang of sorrow, I know my carved dove is aflame, but I let the fiery garment fall from my shoulders. My boots become charcoal as the marble at my feet becomes hot as a roasting pan.
Naked, barefoot, I move forward. The instinct is so deep. Suddenly I understand why Sofia was so kind, so loving to me. I may not have inherited the magic, but I inherited this. With every shred of my being, I love that little Saadella, as much as I love myself. I don’t know her name, but I don’t need to. She’s my sister, my daughter, my heart. I will never allow the elders to harm her or have her.
There is blood all around, suffering all around, death all around. I can’t look. I don’t want to know who we’ve lost. My eyes burn as I think how all of it could have been prevented. I mount the steps, leaving gray footprints on the pristine white marble and gleaming copper inlay. My hair is ruffled by wind that others will feel as a gale. None of it can slow me down. I hear my name and look behind me. Oskar and the others are advancing—they’ve reached the destroyed fountains now. My dark-haired Ice Suurin looks strong and fearless as he and Sig coordinate their movements, manipulating the temperature to lift a hunk of marble statue in the air. The giant slab of stone falters, and Sig yells at Oskar to focus the cold above the rock and keep it there. Together, they clumsily hurl it at the priests, who barely deflect it.
The elders inside must be aware of what’s happening, but they haven’t come out. They’re depending on their acolytes and priests to die for them, while they hide in the temple with the Saadella.
What if they’re hurting her?
What if they’re escaping?
I stride quickly up the steps until I reach the semicircular plateau of stone that marks the entrance to the temple. Pillars of marble rise mighty and strong every twenty feet or so, holding up the massive copper dome above us. The battle has progressed to the base of the steps, and when I glance beyond them, I see people flooding into the plaza. Nonmagical people, wielding their scythes and spades. Sig and Oskar are surrounded by black-robed wielders, deflecting spikes of ice and magically hurled chunks of broken marble. A small crowd of acolytes have their hands up in surrender, but bodies of wielders litter the wide expanse, crushed and stabbed, burned and frozen. Magic can kill in so many different ways. The elders must know all of them.
But none of them will work on me, and perhaps that’s the reason I’m here. As Oskar and Sig begin to climb the steps, I walk into the domed chamber, my only thought the helpless little girl held prisoner here.
“Is your nakedness meant to distract us?” says the hard voice I fear the most. “I hate to disappoint you.” Aleksi strides out of the Valtia’s wing, his dark eyes full of hatred.
On his wrist is the cuff of Astia.
I look down at my own soft, naked body. It looks so ordinary. I raise my head. “My clothes aren’t fireproof, unfortunately.”
For a moment, uneasiness flickers across his expression, but when his fingers stroke across the copper cuff, he grows bold again. “Where have you been all these weeks? Gathering a tiny army to challenge us? I should freeze you right here and let your body decorate our chamber.” He raises his arm to strike.
I don’t flinch. “Where is the Saadella?”
His thin lips tighten. “Lahja is safe from your influence.”
“Lahja.” Her name is like a drop of sweetness on my tongue. “I need to see her.”
He grimaces. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Do you?” I stand my ground as he stalks forward. Any minute Oskar and Sig will stride into the temple, and we’ll put an end to this madness together. “I sensed you were evil. I just never knew how much.”
His jowls quiver. “We’ve guarded and protected the Kupari our entire lives. We sacrificed in a way you could never understand. We’ve done everything we could for the people. And you—not only did you find a way to deny the magic that should have been yours, you’ve raised a rebellion right when we need unity!”
“Unity.” My fists clench. “Did the acolytes feel that unity as you bled them to death? How many have you tasted, Aleksi? How many have you killed?”
He pales a shade. “This is a ludicrous accusation.”
“Then where are the cloistered acolytes?”
A drop of sweat slips from the top of his bald head and slides down his cheek. “I don’t owe you any answers. You’ve destroyed this great people, Elli. Your rebels were responsible for the fire yesterday, weren’t they?”
“Why Mim?” I ask, sorrow tightening my throat.
“The Soturi announced that they were coming to meet with our queen, and we needed someone to play the part,” he says simply. “And she had no magic of her own. No will, either. We knew she wouldn’t cause trouble.”
“Because you tortured her!” I shriek, my fury hot as iron.
Aleksi sneers. “Like you, she was worth nothing! But you are even worse. You felt entitled to what you never deserved. Instead of obedience and submission, you—”
“Obedience and submission? The Valtia is supposed to be the queen!”
“You are far from a queen.” His thin lips curl in contempt. “Your rebels will bring the Soturi to our borders. Their chieftains are probably galloping straight to Vasterut to gather their forces. When they return, our downfall rests on your shoulders!”
His fingers flex, and fire bursts around me, a swirling, dancing, roaring wall of flame. The warmth licks at me like a tender caress, and despite my instincts to cower, I walk forward.
The flames part like a curtain to allow me through. Aleksi’s eyes go wide. He raises his arm, and the cold descends, but it can’t even raise goose bumps along my skin. “You were prepared to kill me. You whipped me, you nearly drowned me, and then you were going to discard me. Ha
d you planned to drink my blood, too?”
He edges toward the entrance to the catacombs, tossing nervous glances at the Saadella’s wing as he does. He touches the cuff of Astia and tries another blast of flame, but it dies quickly. “You found your magic,” he says.
I smile as I hear Oskar’s voice just outside the temple, shouting to Sig about where to strike next. “I guess you could say I did.” I take a few steps backward. I want Oskar and Sig to reach me quickly.
“They’re coming!” screams Armo, staggering into the chamber with burned hands and patches of frostbite across his bald head. “We can’t hold them back!” He stumbles and falls, then scoots along the floor until he’s over the seal of the Saadella. “Elder, pl—”
Fire rolls between two pillars and unfurls across his back. The plea becomes a scream as Sig stalks into the domed chamber, glaring at his old friend with flames in his eyes. Aleksi snarls and shoves his arm out—but the attack isn’t made of ice. He sends pure heat at Sig, who has no cold to counter it. I start for the Fire Suurin, desperate to protect him, but Aleksi lunges forward and grabs me. I slam my elbow into his soft belly and he huffs, his chubby fingers twisting in my hair. Sig falls to his knees, his skin red, his eyes squeezed shut. Aleksi wrenches me against him as he sends another blast of fire toward Sig.
It hits a wall of icy air. Oskar strides into the temple, thunder in his gaze as he takes in my naked form, legs drawn up to my chest, fighting to free my hair from Aleksi’s merciless grasp without touching his bare skin—I don’t want him to have my power, or even know of it. Unfortunately, that means I can’t free myself just yet.
Oskar hooks his hand under Sig’s arm and lifts the fire wielder to his feet. Sig draws in deep breaths of the cool air in Oskar’s wake as sweat streams down his bare torso. His cloak clings to his damp back and shoulders, and he leans against the Ice Suurin to stay upright.
Oskar’s jaw is tight as he stares at Aleksi. “You’re making your final mistake, Elder,” he says quietly.
“The only mistakes are yours!” shouts Aleksi. “Listen to the destruction in the white plaza. So many young wielders! Our future!”
