The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(34)

“I’m terribly sorry,” he says evenly. “You would have preferred to bleed to death honorably in the woods?”

I have nothing to say to that, so I huddle within his bag. Wherever he’s brought me, it’s getting colder. Oskar shivers, and his footsteps falter for a moment—but only for a moment. The needle pricks of daylight that reach me through the bag grow dim and gray, then disappear, replaced by the dull glow of several small fires. All around me, I hear people, laughing, arguing, discussing how best to season the stew, who’s next up for guard duty, who would like to join a game of Ristikontra, who’s stolen the only complete deck of playing cards . . . so many conversations . . . and the laughter of children. Children—in the thieves’ caverns! And their mothers, who scold them for straying too far!

Several people greet Oskar by name as he passes them by. A few joke with him about what’s in his bag. He gives a different answer every time—a wild pig, a few dozen squirrels, a coyote, a nice fat goose—and I stay very still and play dead so no one else offers to turn my pretend into a reality. One high-pitched voice, that of a child, asks him when he’ll be home, and Oskar says he’s not sure yet. A woman asks him where he’s going, and he says he’s taking his kill to Raimo because the man’s too skinny for his own good. I hear so many things, but I don’t learn much. Especially because my head is pounding, and my eyeballs are so hot that it feels like they’re going to burst like cherry tomatoes held over an open fire.

The voices fade after a while, and Oskar is hiking a dark, slippery path. Water plinks and thunks into puddles. Oskar shivers and curses and splashes and growls. He sounds a bit like old Nectarhand the bear in a bad mood. It makes sense—Oskar’s nearly the size of a grizzly too.

“Please tell me you’re still alive back there,” he finally says, breathing hard. “You haven’t moved in far too long.”

“You told me not to,” I say, my voice cracking.

“Stars, you sound awful.”

“So many compliments,” I whisper. I’m not sure he hears me. He clumsily makes his way along, and then comes to an abrupt halt.

“Raimo!” he calls out. His gruff voice echoes off cavern walls. “I’m coming in. Don’t try anything.”

From perhaps twenty feet away, there comes a reedy cackle. “Why, boy, would you actually defend yourself?” The voice is clearly that of an elderly man, but his tone is full of challenge.

Oskar lets out an irritable sigh and moves forward again. “I’ve brought you a patient.”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re playing solitaire.”

“I’m at a very tricky point.”

Oskar is silent. After a few moments, Raimo lets out that creepy cackle again. “Such a fierce glare. One would think you’re actually dangerous. Well, where is this patient—is he here? I’m not hiking all the way to the front cave.”

“She’s right here,” Oskar says, and by his movements I know he’s untying the ropes around his waist and chest. They fall away one after the other, and then he lowers himself to his knees. My world cants crazily as he slides the straps of the game bag down his arms, and then I’m on my side on a cold, rocky floor. It feels good. I’m burning from the inside out. Oskar opens the bag and pulls it away from my face. I can’t focus my eyes. All I can see is the dim glow of a fire and shadows dancing on wet rock walls.

“Try a waltz,” I murmur. Mim taught me once, and we spent all evening giggling and twirling, and the world is spinning like that right now. Thinking of her makes my throat so tight that it’s hard to breathe, and I let out a choked sob.

Oskar places the backs of his fingers against my cheek and curses. “She’s got such a fever.”

“I haven’t seen this one before,” Raimo says.

Oskar is staring at someone just out of my line of sight. “Found her in the north woods, maybe an hour’s hike from the city.”

Raimo makes an annoyed sound in his throat. “And what will you give me in return for my help?”

“Full beaver pelt,” says Oskar.

Raimo scoffs, “You insult me.”

“Two, then.”

“Take her away, boy. My cards await.”

“The next bear I take down,” Oskar snaps. “Meat and pelt.”

“You know that’s not what I want.”

“The answer is no.”

“Then take. Her. Away.”

“She’ll die!” Oskar shouts, his voice ringing through the cave.

“People die every day, boy, especially here. You have to stop collecting strays.”

“I recall you saying the same thing about Sig at first.”

“That kind of lightning doesn’t strike twice, as has been proven every time you’ve brought some other lost, sickly soul here to foist upon me. It’s been at least one each year, and you used up your allotment this past spring when you dragged Josefina in from the marshes. That mad old bat was a handful—and not an experience I’m eager to repeat, at any price.” He’s quiet for a moment before adding, “Except one.”

Oskar crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll do it,” he says from between clenched teeth. “Just me, though. Not Freya. And you’ll stay quiet about it, or . . . I’ll kill you.”