The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(33)

Something tells me the bears in this forest move a lot faster.

My eyes pop open. “Is it safe out here?” I whisper.

“Mmm?”

“The animals? Bears? Wolves?”

Oskar laughs. “Well, I’ve already claimed you, so the other predators are out of luck.”

The humor in his voice pushes fear out of reach. Or maybe the raging fever that’s eating my bones makes it impossible to care either way. “And are you planning to feed your family with my carcass?”

My cheek vibrates with his silent amusement. “Nah. Truth be told, you’re a bit too skinny.”

“I am not!”

He laughs again, and it’s a sound so free and happy that I actually smile. “Well, all right,” he says, “you’ve a nice heft to you, and I’m sure you’d be very tender with a delicate yet satisfying taste, but . . .” He trails off. “No, I’m not going to eat you. I’m taking you to a medicine man, because I’m fairly sure you’re going to die if I don’t get you some help in the very near future.”

Someone had mercy. It’s an island of relief in a vast lake of horror. I clear my throat, and it makes me wince. “Why are you helping me?”

Oskar’s steps are rock steady as he negotiates a steep downhill and then picks up a trail at the bottom. “No one else was there to do it,” he says, as if it should be obvious.

The trail leads out of the woods and across a stretch of grassland, strands of gold waving in the cool breeze. I’ve never seen such a wide-open space. It’s like looking out over the Motherlake, only instead of water, there’s land. No walls, no buildings. Oskar hikes like he carries people on his back all the time, frequently turning his face to the bright sun. He doesn’t offer any information about himself, and neither do I. Even though we’re not in the city, I would never tell anyone who I am.

Or really: who I was.

I’m so ashamed that I wish there was a way to remove my blood-flame mark, to scrub it from my skin. It’s been a point of pride for so long, but now even the thought of it makes me cringe. Have I deprived the people of their true Valtia? Will the Kupari fall because of me? It doesn’t matter that I didn’t have a part in this fraud; I still feel responsible.

Something else I feel responsible for: Mim. Did she make it to our meeting spot and find me gone? Is she looking for me, worried out of her mind? Or worse . . . was she caught somehow?

The farther we go, the more the grass gives way to craggy stone capped with wigs of scraggly weeds. Soon our path is bounded on either side with walls of rock, and we seem to be descending deeper into the earth. Even through the haze of pain, I feel a twinge of anxiety. “Where is this medicine man?” I finally ask.

“Where no one can threaten or harass him,” Oskar says in a hard voice. “Same as the rest of us.”

His tone, so different from his casual, joking words before, shuts me up. After several more minutes on an increasingly narrow trail, he stops, his feet skidding in loose rock. “I think this’ll go more smoothly if we pull the sack over your head. It’s not a great time to bring a stranger here. Sorry.”

Without waiting for my approval, he reaches back and pulls the edges of the sack up, then ties it over the top of my head. I tense as darkness engulfs me.

Oskar begins walking again, and only a few minutes later, I hear someone shout his name. “Oy, Jouni,” Oskar calls out in response. “Any trouble?”

“None,” says a deep buzz of a voice from somewhere above us. “We’ve been on watch all day. I expected the new Valtia to be at our doorstep by now.” He chuckles. “Or at least a horde of constables.”

My anxiety grows into a stab of fear.

Oskar lets out a growl of displeasure and begins to walk again. “Don’t let down your guard. Sig’s actions will bear consequences.”

There’s a grunt as boots impact stone, and then footsteps shuffle right next to Oskar’s. “I’m thinking the elders and city council are dealing with other troubles now,” Jouni says. “Between the Soturi threat and the fall of the Valtia, the death of a few miners seems a petty concern.”

“Now a human life is a petty concern?” Oskar mutters something about hypocrisy, and his pace quickens.

My arm throbs with pain, but my head throbs with knowledge: Oskar has brought me to the thieves’ caverns. And he’s talking to this other man like he belongs here.

I must squirm, because Jouni makes a sound of surprise. “What did you bag today? Beaver?”

Oskar snorts. “Wolverine.”

Jouni laughs. “And you’re carrying it on your back while it’s still alive? I’m all in favor of fresh meat, but . . .” I hear the hum of metal being freed from a sheath. “Do you want me to put it out of its mis—”

Oskar pivots suddenly, swinging me away from the sound of Jouni and his knife. “No,” he says sharply. “It’s not necessary,” he adds, gently this time. “The creature is mostly dead anyway.”

“Let me know if you need help skinning it,” says Jouni. “I’ll check in later.”

His voice is already fading as Oskar continues on his way. “Hey,” he says in a hushed voice. “Keep still until I tell you to move.”

“These are the thieves’ caverns,” I hiss, out of patience and plagued by hurt.