The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(43)
She kissed my hair. “We were made for this. You and me. And that means we’re strong enough to bear it.” She gently pried my hands loose and clasped her fingers over mine. Her pale-blue eyes were fierce with determination. “You’re strong enough to bear anything, Elli. That’s why the stars chose you.”
I raise my head. Nothing has changed, Raimo whispers in my memory. I might not be the Valtia, but if the old man is right, I was chosen all the same. I grit my teeth and reach for the pestle again. “Everything is different,” I whisper. “But nothing has changed.” And then I find it within myself to chuckle. “Except that now I really am a servant.”
The fingers of my right hand are too clumsy and sensitive to grip the corn, so I hold each cob clamped between my ribs and my elbow as I use my left to strip the kernels, and then to grind them into meal. Maarika comes out after a while and tells me it’s not fine enough, so I pour the bowl of crushed kernels back onto the grinding stone and return to work.
My left palm is blistered and the bandage on my right is dotted with blood by the time Oskar returns with a brace of pheasants. He glances down at me, hunched over the grinding stone. His eyes flick to my hands. And then he disappears into the back and has a murmured conversation with Maarika, so quiet I can’t hear.
Freya returns and we have a quick meal, after which Oskar disappears to play cards. Freya takes me to a small side cavern and shows me where the relief chamber is, a deep hole one must carefully squat over as she does her business. When it’s my turn, I spend several moments eyeing the pit, once again torn between a fit of giggles and a bout of tears. I wish I could ask Freya to hold my skirt, but she relieved herself without that kind of assistance a moment ago. It takes a few awkward minutes, but when I manage to do my business without falling in or ruining my dress and stockings, I count this as a true success.
The massive cavern is awash in noise and music and laughter throughout the evening, but I’m so tired I could sleep through anything. I lie on the pallet of fur that Freya sets out next to her own in the other small, curtained-off area at the rear of the shelter. “Why did Oskar tell you I was a thief?” Freya murmurs as she snuggles up under her blanket.
“Oh, he was making fun of me. I was told these caves were full of bandits.”
She leans forward. “They are,” she whispers. “But not all of us are criminals.”
My heart kicks against my ribs. “Doesn’t that scare you?”
Freya giggles. “Oh, no. I can defend myself, and even if I couldn’t, no one would bother me. They won’t bother you, either.”
“Why?”
“Have you taken a good look at Oskar? Would you want to mess with anyone he cared about?”
“I see your point.” And though he doesn’t care much about me, Raimo said he was honorable, and knowing what little I do about Oskar, I believe it. With that reassurance, I sink into black, empty sleep without regard for anyone or anything around me.
I jerk awake to the noise of a groan. Tense and wary, I sit up as I hear it again—the sound of suffering. It beads my skin with cold sweat, awakening memories of the days I spent clinging to life and wishing for death. The cavern is mostly dark, and Freya is breathing deep and slow next to me, clearly asleep. But in a crack of open space between the pelt and the wooden frame, I see that the fire’s still burning in the front chamber. A flicker of movement draws me to the space to peek out.
Oskar lies wrapped in fur next to the fire, so close to it that I’d think he’d be sweating. But instead, he’s shivering violently. I push the pelt aside and crawl closer, wondering if he’s hurt or sick. But then he rolls onto his back.
His breath puffs from his parted lips in a frigid white cloud. His eyeballs move rapidly beneath his closed eyelids, and he moans like he’s having a nightmare. I scoot forward a few more inches and then freeze in place.
As Oskar lets out a pained sigh, ice crystals grow along his dark eyelashes, turning them white.
CHAPTER 11
Freya stirs and mutters in her sleep, so I slip back to my pallet, my mind reeling with what I’ve just witnessed. While Oskar’s dreams held him prisoner, a thin crust of frost covered his skin, spreading along his cheeks, turning his short, scraggly beard white like an old man’s. His jaw flexed and his face twisted into a grimace, temporarily melting the ice, but a few minutes later, it had formed again.
It seemed painful. Exhausting.
Magical. There’s nothing else it could be. And I remember what Kauko said about the terrible dreams: It is a burden the most powerful wielders must bear.
When I finally hear Oskar rise from his place by the fire, I close my eyes not a second too soon. He pulls back the pelt-curtain between us. “Elli?” he whispers.
I yawn and stretch like I’m just waking up. “Yes?”
“Can I talk to you?”
I get up off the pallet and follow him into the front chamber. Outside the fur walls, people are moving about, starting their day. “Is everything all right?” Fear makes my stomach churn. If he asks me to leave, I’ll have nowhere to go.
“Everything’s fine.” He rubs at his face. The ice is gone, but he looks tired. “I just want to make sure you know enough about what’s going on here to stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble,” I echo, remembering all Raimo’s warnings, especially what he said about me being a weapon or an asset in the hands of any wielder. “Trouble is the last thing I want.”