The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(102)
I touch his back. “Thank you,” I whisper. In case I don’t have another chance to say it.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “I’m yours to wield.”
We reach the top of the stairs. Oskar stands in front of me. “Raimo,” he says.
“Do you have her?” comes the creaky reply.
Oskar steps aside and guides me into the chamber with the Saadella still clutched against my body.
We’re surrounded. The chamber is packed with people. Raimo, leaning on his walking stick, his pale eyes glittering. Usko, half his coppery beard singed away. Veikko, his fingers gray with frostbite. Tuuli, her brown hair loose around her face, still shivering but otherwise unhurt. Aira, her neck and hands burned and blistered. No stout, black-bearded Ismael. No beaky-nosed Mikko. But there are at least twenty constables, clubs at their belts. Countless citizens, still bearing scythes and hammers and tongs, their faces smudged with ash. A few dozen acolytes, their robes torn, some of them bleeding, some of them burned, some of them shuddering with chills. And the councilmen, all staring at me—my nakedness covered only by Sig’s cloak and the child huddled against my chest.
Topias, the head councilman, removes his embroidered cap and steps forward, his head bowed. “My Valtia,” he says quietly. He kneels in front of me. “We acknowledge you as our queen.”
My heart thumps hard in my hollow chest as every person in the domed chamber falls to their knees and bows, their foreheads touching marble.
CHAPTER 26
I walk into her chamber with my offering behind my back. I’m running late because I’ve spent half the day in meetings with Topias and the other councilmen. Lahja’s already dressed in the new scarlet-and-copper gown made just for her, those bouncing ringlets tamed into coiled braids at the back of her head. She’s lying on her belly on a soft rug in front of the fire, her stockinged feet kicking in the air as she stares down at a picture book. Her handmaiden, who also happens to be her older sister, Janeka, a girl of about twelve with a quiet demeanor and long black hair, sits nearby, knitting her a new cap. I chose her myself. I wanted Lahja to have a familiar face within these walls. I want her to know she is safe.
Janeka’s eyes go round when she sees me standing at the edge of the rug, and she makes a startled squeak. Lahja’s head jerks up, and she spins around, looking frightened.
“It’s just me,” I say quietly, dropping to my knees. “I brought you something.” I bring out my gift, a doll given to me by Sofia, one I found tucked away in my belongings, the ones Mim packed before I escaped and she was taken into the catacombs. I hold it out to Lahja. She’s such an exquisite creature, wide, smooth brow, big blue eyes, rosebud lips. But her serious, wary expression tells me of everything she’s been through. There was no Valtia to enfold her when she was brought to the temple. A few of the maids told me she hasn’t said a word since she arrived, but Janeka has told me she used to be a chatterbox.
“Do you like it, darling?” I ask as the little girl inches forward, her eyes on the doll, which is painted like I will be soon. My coronation is today, and all my fears sit heavy inside me, enough to bring me to the ground. I stroke my fingers over Lahja’s little hand as she touches the doll’s face, but I keep my right hand tucked beneath the porcelain figure, afraid my missing fingers will scare her. She rubs her thumb over the soft, silky fabric of the doll’s dress, and a tiny, fragile smile pulls at her lips. She nods, and my chest squeezes tight.
“Good,” I whisper. “Later, we’ll play with her. It’s almost time for me to get ready. I just wanted to see you before I got dressed.”
Before I look like Mim did, in the last minutes of her life.
Lahja’s eyes meet mine. She leans forward and kisses my cheek. Slowly she puts her arms around my neck, and I enfold her, silently promising to do right by her. She’s not mine. I’m not hers. The true Valtia should be here, not me. But until she is, I’m going to stand between Lahja and any danger that comes.
I kiss her good-bye and stride into the hall. I won’t let them carry me in a sedan chair, seeing as I’m perfectly capable of walking. I enter the domed chamber. It’s been cleaned and repaired in the last two weeks. A few of our acolytes are placing candles around the edges of the chamber in preparation for the procession. One of them is Kaisa, the girl with blue eyes and a mole on her cheek. Her head is covered in short blond fuzz. It seems ridiculous for the acolytes to be bald unless they really want to be, and I told them so. She waves at me as I make my way toward the Valtia’s wing, and I wave back.
If she knows I’m not the true Valtia, she’s not saying. No one is. Their need to believe is so strong and desperate that it silences all doubt.
Never doubt, whispers Sofia. I will never stop missing her.
My stomach tightens as I enter the ceremonial dressing chamber. It’s just me today—I won’t let Lahja be painted up for this occasion. She’s so young, and I’m afraid she’ll associate it with what she went through, watching Mim burn before her eyes. Today she’ll ride with me, on my paarit, and she’ll be comfortable. I’ll make sure of it. We need her smile today.
I glance out the window at the Motherlake. Her winter armor is cracking, but it hasn’t yet thawed. I never thought I’d fear the spring, but now the thought of it fills me with dread.