by Sarah Fine
Jaspar and Nisse smile, and they look very much alike in this moment. “Perfect, Ansa,” Nisse says. “I know you will make us proud.”
* * *
I lose count of how many times Kauko has to heal me in the following days. Fortunately, he’s very good at it, and since he does it as soon as the ice or fire sinks its fangs into me, my skin is restored quickly and completely.
It doesn’t save me from the pain. But warriors can endure pain.
Halina stays with us to translate, but Kauko learns the basics of our language quickly and does his best to speak to me directly. He brings Sig into the chamber in which we practice, but it seems he does it mostly to keep an eye on him. The deranged apprentice usually sits in a corner, his collar untied and hanging wide, revealing the scarring down his pale, sweaty chest. His eyes burn as he watches me. Sometimes he seems amused, laughing at jokes that only he hears, but sometimes his gaze is so full of hatred that I swear I see flames in his eyes. Kauko ignores him, mostly, but Halina speaks to him as Kauko works with me, her voice gentle and motherly.
First, Kauko teaches me to breathe, because apparently I haven’t been, at least not when the magic is rising inside. Instead, I’ve been holding my breath and letting it out in gusts, unsteady and sudden. So I breathe and breathe and breathe as I bring the fire and ice up, little by little. It helps, but I still lose control often, requiring Kauko to intervene. Sig sits in his corner and sweats—I think he enjoys when my ice fills the room. He tilts his head back and sighs.
“The boy has fire inside him,” Halina says to me one morning. “It tortures him. Day and night.”
“He told you that?”
She shakes her head. “Isn’t it obvious, though?”
When next I see him, I think cold thoughts and let them blow his way, and he blinks at me, like kindness surprises him.
Next, Kauko teaches me to focus. “If you don’t, it spreads everywhere,” Halina translates as the elder sets up a row of stone water basins along a table. “You have to have a goal.”
He instructs me to freeze the water in specific basins while leaving the others untouched. I try, but when I glare at the water, it turns to steam as often as it does to ice, and usually all the basins are affected instead of just one. We spend days on this, and I show little improvement. Nisse comes to watch one afternoon.
“We’re halfway through the winter,” he says to me. “When do you think you might be able to wield as you did before?”
Before was one moment, an invitation that couldn’t be rescinded, when I hurled fire and ice like spears—until they turned on me. “I don’t know.”
He smiles and nods, but there’s an impatient snap to his stride as he summons Halina and crosses the room to talk to Kauko.
“Please, sir,” Halina says, bowing her head as she stands before Nisse. “I’ve had an idea.”
Nisse raises his eyebrows, his lips twitching with amusement. “You have?”
She gestures at Kauko. “He has said that many of his priests and apprentices fled to the Loputon wood.”
Nisse nods. “A miracle if any of them survived. I lost two warriors there—they went to hunt and never returned! It bears the stink of a cursed place.”
“I know a few trappers who can move through it as easily as our city streets.” She glances at me, and the cunning in her eyes sends a tremor through me. “With little red still struggling, perhaps you could pursue other options.” She holds her hands out, palms facing each other. “Two parallel paths. Either will lead to where you want to go.”
But only one will bring me the acceptance of my tribe again. I stare at her, betrayal choking me.
Nisse must read the clammy panic on my face. His smile is kindly as he pats Halina on the shoulder. “I happen to have a great deal of faith in—what did you call her? Little red?” He laughs. “You Vasterutians and your pet names. It’s charming.”
Halina bows her head again and meekly translates as Nisse begins to speak with Kauko about what might be the best material to acquire for my new tunic and cloak, so that I will look fearsome when we invade—the Krigere version of a Valtia.
Relief and gratitude nearly buckles my knees. He’s not giving up on me . . . yet.
Sig lets out a quiet chuckle, and I turn to see him watching me. With a smirk, he points to the nearest torch, and a tendril of flame sprouts from its center, spiraling into the room like a ribbon. I gape at it as it snakes prettily toward me. Sig swirls his finger, and the flame obeys, following its motion with loving attention. He stares at it with such devotion, a melancholy wistfulness that makes my chest ache as I watch.
“I wish I could control it like that,” I say. And I’d better learn quickly.
Sig opens his palm, and the fire jumps into it, forming a ball that grows until it’s nearly the size of a shield. I take a step back as sweat streams down his cheeks and chest, wishing for cold to temper the flame. The fireball shrinks a bit, but my cold wind fills the entire room and draws the others’ attention.
“Sig!” Kauko shouts. He jabs his hand forward, and Sig makes a choking sound as his back slams against the stone wall, his face cherry red with heat. Despite his apparent love for fire, he’s very sensitive to it.
“Did he hurt you, Ansa?” Nisse asks, running toward me.
“No, not at all,” I say, wincing as blisters cover Sig’s handsome face. “I think he was just showing me.”
“He’s unpredictable,” says Nisse. “Kauko controls him, but you shouldn’t get too close.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask. “He’s treated less like an apprentice than a prisoner.” Or a caged animal.
“When the temple was overtaken, many atrocities were committed,” Nisse says. “And apparently Sig was nearly burned alive when his magic was turned back on him. Kauko saved him, but he couldn’t heal him for hours, so Sig has been left with his scars. Kauko says it has affected his mind and memory, and that Sig does not know friend from enemy right now. The elder seems devoted to the boy, though.” He bows his head and speaks very quietly. “And apparently he has fire magic in abundance, and he is a good ally to have when we invade. Between the elder, this fire wielder, and you, there is no chance the criminal wielders who hold the temple now will triumph over us. They’ve put an impostor queen on the throne, but she has no power of her own. However, the wielders around her are very powerful, and they are the ones we will face on the battlefield.”
“We have a month of winter left.”
“But we don’t want to give them time to prepare for our attack. There are rumors they are raising an army, and that means warrior lives will be lost if our victory is not decisive.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I look out the window at the gray sky. “I . . . I heard a rumor that there are many warriors who have sealed themselves up in a different part of the city.”
Nisse’s green gaze turns decidedly cold. “I wonder who you’ve been talking to.” But then he sighs, and the ice melts. “Truthfully, I fear for them. They’ve been holed up for weeks, and though I’ve supplied them with food, it’s not all they need. With so many people packed into such a small space, with inadequate drainage, I’m afraid disease will come to visit them.”
A chill shimmies down my back. “No,” I whisper, thinking of all those andeners and children, all those warriors. “They still refuse to come out?”
“They demand to hear from Thyra. They will act on her will, and her will alone.”
“Have you let her speak to them?”
Nisse scratches at his beard, which he’s cut short as the singed bits grow back. “I would, but I am afraid that what she has to say will doom them as surely as her silence.”
“You think she would tell them to fight you.”
“I don’t think she’s going to encourage them to join me, do you?”
I shake my head. She was utterly determined to stop him, and he seems to know that, but still he has allowed her to live. “You’ve been generous with her,” I
murmur.
His mouth curves into a small smile laced with surprise. “I’ve tried, though she resists any attempt to win her over. She won’t even come out of her chamber—or eat the meals we provide. Hasn’t for days. She’s starving herself to death.” He pauses, looking down at his feet. “I don’t suppose you would consider speaking with her? You know and love those warriors as much as she and I do. Maybe you could persuade her to tell them what they need to hear?” His chuckle is dry as a summer drought. “Including that I’m not the one starving her? She tries to make me into the villain at every turn, and it turns out she’s extremely good at it. But if we can convince all the warriors that uniting our fractured tribe is best for all, we’ll be stronger than ever. And then, when you’re in control of your power, we’ll be prepared to make our march on Kupari as one united force.”
“I’m trying,” I say, watching as Kauko kneels next to Sig, who is crumpled on the floor, his eyes swollen shut and his blisters weeping. Most of my days end with me looking just like Sig does now, or stiff with frostbite. But I don’t tell Nisse this. He has accepted me into his tribe when he could have stoned me as the enemy. Just as he could have executed Thyra. But instead he gives her chance after chance. “And I will speak to Thyra. Though I’m not sure she’ll listen to me.”
Nisse puts his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Ansa. You are a true Krigere.”
I am smiling as he leaves the room, and I continue my lesson, with Sig hunched in the corner, healed and handsome once again, but the fire gone from his eyes. He seems dull now. Numb.
Despite my hopeful conversation with Nisse, though, and my new determination to speed my preparation for war, my control is no better. I struggle through the afternoon and end up sweating ice pellets of frustration. Even Kauko seems flummoxed. Halina hands me a cloth to wipe my brow as she translates for him. “He says you have no balance between the ice and the fire. Without balance, neither can be controlled. The Valtia is supposed to have perfect balance in her magic.”
“Maybe I’m not the Valtia,” I say.
“Oh, he’s sure you are.” She frowns as she watches him yank Sig up by the arm and usher him toward the door. “He keeps saying something about how she took your balance.”
“She? The witch queen?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s someone else. The impostor. I’m not completely sure who he means.”
“Ask him.”
Halina calls Kauko over and questions him. “He says they . . . read the stars wrong. He says you lack something all other Valtias have had, and . . .” She grimaces.
“What is it?” I glance at Sig, who has come back into the room as Kauko speaks, and is staring at his master with that strange light flickering in his dark eyes.
“Kauko says the only other way to achieve balance is for him to bleed you,” Halina says.
“Bleed me?”
She nods. “He would make a cut in the vein and drain a quantity of your blood, to siphon off the extra magic.”
“How would that help me achieve balance? Wouldn’t that just leave me weak?”
Kauko has produced a small blade from the pocket of his robes, and he demonstrates making a quick cut in the crook of his elbow while Halina watches with her mouth tight and downturned, as if she’s trying not to be sick. “He says it always works, especially when done regularly. Every Valtia has been bled to stay balanced at some point.”
I think back to the impatient flick of Nisse’s stride, the edge in his voice as he talked of the timeline for invasion, the possibility that those rebel Kupari wielders and their impostor queen are preparing for our attack. “I’ll do it.”
The torches in the room flare as Halina gives Kauko my answer. He grins and ushers me over to a chair, then grabs a basin and tosses the water out the window. He gestures for me to raise my arm and slides the basin beneath it. Sig approaches the table with wide eyes. He’s shaking, staring at the knife as if it were a sword. Kauko doesn’t seem to notice—he’s very focused on my arm.
I grit my teeth as the blade cuts deep, the pain lancing along my bones. My blood flows bright and sure, forming a small puddle in the basin after several long moments. “How much am I supposed to shed?” I ask.
Halina translates my question, but Kauko doesn’t seem to hear. He’s utterly absorbed by what he sees in the basin. His hands shake as he finally presses a cloth to my arm. “I guess that’s enough?” I ask.
Kauko licks his lips as he lifts the basin from the table, but then he shouts in surprise and drops it as its contents start to steam, and the basin falls to the floor and cracks. My blood doesn’t spill, though. It’s dried to flakes in a matter of seconds. Kauko stomps his foot and turns to Sig, who starts to giggle again. He grabs Sig’s arm and shoves him toward the door, barking at him nonstop in Kupari. Both of them head into the corridor, and Halina and I stare after them.
Finally, she turns to me. “That boy . . .”
“What just happened?” I look down at the cracked basin, my dried blood.
“Sig did that.”
“Cooked my blood to dust? Why?”
Her brows are drawn together. “Is that the right question, though, little red?”
“What do you mean?”
She picks up a cracked half of the basin, and my blood becomes a brown haze that clouds the air. “Maybe the better question is—why was old Kauko so upset about it?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kauko did not return after he bundled Sig out of our training room, so my arm throbs with its new, unhealed wound as I walk with Sander toward Thyra’s chamber. It’s on the other side of the tower, just below the main level. “What have you heard about our warriors?” I ask. “How are they faring? Nisse is concerned that disease will find them.”
Sander gives me a nervous glance. “He’ll know I told you.”
“He didn’t seem upset. He wanted me to talk to Thyra about it.”
“And what will you say, Ansa?” He tilts his head. “Have you jumped?”
I suck in a breath. “Don’t ask me that right now.” For some reason, it makes my cheeks burn, though I have no reason to be ashamed.
He looks down at me for a long moment. “Have you given it much thought? All of us who are raid prizes, we grow up knowing we come from someplace else. We all have to make peace with it.”
I lower my gaze to the floor. I’m not sure I ever did.
“None of us have ever discovered we were meant to rule in that other place, though,” he adds.
“It doesn’t matter. I am Krigere.”
“I won’t argue with that. All I’m saying is—that’s not all you are. And I would think it would complicate things, especially as you consider helping your chieftain . . . whichever one you end up choosing . . . to destroy the people over whom you could have been queen, had you not been stolen as a child.”
“Not now, Sander,” I growl. The thoughts swirling inside my head are already too much, and they threaten my control.
“All right,” he says softly. “I suppose your choice will become obvious soon enough.”
I chew my lip. “Did you know she’s starving herself?”
“I’ve seen the guards handing off her dishes, piled with untouched food, to the kitchen staff.” He rubs the back of his head, quick and frustrated. “This can’t go on forever. Something—or someone—will break. I suppose I have a choice to make too.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Though I think yours might matter a good deal more than mine.”
That truth sits sour in my stomach. I grab his arm as we enter the corridor where her chamber lies. “I just want to belong to a tribe, Sander. I need to be part of something strong. You of all people understand that.”
He looks down at my hand, curled into his sleeve. “I do, Ansa, though my opinion isn’t one that holds weight.”
“It does with me,” I say. “We’ve had our differences, but we are alike in many ways.”
He nods, though his smile is drenched in sadness. “Then I
suppose . . .” He sighs, looking up the hall to the six guards sitting outside Thyra’s door. “I suppose whatever strong thing you choose should depend on how you define strength. I’ve been thinking on that a lot lately.”
It feels like something massive is pushing against the walls of my skull, demanding attention I can’t offer right now. “Speaking of strength . . .” Eager to move away from the subject, I wave toward the guards, one of whom is using a stone to sharpen his dagger. “Is she so fearsome that she requires half a squad to guard her?”
“After Thyra escaped her chamber, Nisse tripled the guard and threatened all of them with death should they fall asleep during their watch. He won’t let anyone but his own hand-picked warriors near her.” He arches an eyebrow. “So I guess that means he trusts you now.”
Part of me feels pride and relief at that, but a small part of me, a tiny, tenacious kernel of loyalty to Thyra, itches and aches. “I’m only speaking to her for the sake of our warriors. They shouldn’t suffer for this loyalty.”
“Sometimes that’s what loyalty demands,” Sander says, coming to a halt halfway down the corridor. “And I will leave you now. I’m not allowed to get any closer.”
The guards have risen to their feet and are eyeing him. He waves, and they nod as he turns and walks away. “Nisse told us you would be coming,” says one, a young warrior with sandy hair and a scar cutting through his eyebrow. “Good luck in there. If she offers you anything to drink, I advise you not to accept.”
All of them laugh as he pushes the door open, and I enter with my heart galloping. Thyra sits on a straw pallet on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest. Her hair has grown these past many weeks, and it curls at the nape of her neck and at her temples. Her cheeks are hollow and her eyes are bloodshot. “I know who sent you,” she says, her voice raspy with disuse and weakness.
