The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(55)

When it comes to understanding what it means to be a “living, breathing, thinking Astia,” though, I’m no closer than I was when I arrived. Those are all questions it seems much too dangerous to ask. All I know is that I can stand in the presence of a powerful fire-wielder and not break a sweat.

Maarika has prepared a dinner of cornbread and dried venison, and we eat in silence. Oskar looks grim and tired as he chews his food, and when he’s finished, he disappears like he does every night to play cards with the men around the big campfire. He’s still out there when Freya and I go to bed.

But as always, I’m awakened by the sound of his nightmares. I creep to the boundary between my chamber and his, and I watch him, locked in a desperate battle with the ice that seems determined to claim him. It spreads up his neck. It slithers into his hair. Tonight it makes his long body curl into a ball, like he’s trying to hold on to any warmth he can find. His broad shoulders tremble. During the day he looks so fierce, so unaffected and unafraid, but when he turns his face toward me, I see the agony and fear etched within the strong line of his jaw and the wide sweep of his brow.

He lets out a choked, vulnerable moan, and that is beyond what I can stand.

I crawl toward him, my heart aching in the hollow casket of my chest. This feeling has been growing inside me every night as I’ve watched him suffer. Oskar could have left me in the woods to die. No one would have known that he’d passed me by, and no one would have blamed him. I was a nameless, discarded, injured girl. But he saved me. He did it for no reason except that I needed help. Not out of guilt, not because he liked me, not because I had something he wanted, not because I was special or magical.

He did it because he’s good, and he values life. And every day that I’ve known him, he’s taken care of me for the same reason. I’m desperate to give him something in return.

I stretch out my palm, and I lay it on Oskar’s frozen cheek.

My mind explodes with visions of jagged ice, sharp enough to tear me apart.





CHAPTER 14


This is no flurry of flakes but a raging blizzard. Avalanches rolling with killing speed into the rocky basin of my skull. Icicles sharp as knives, slicing and carving. I yank my hand away, breathing hard. I’ve seen the frozen Motherlake, the frost that coats the marsh grass, rivulets of ice along the cave walls. But never have I experienced anything like the frigid horror of the last few seconds.

Oskar’s not shivering anymore. His long, dark lashes shadow the hollow above his cheekbones. His mouth is surprisingly soft when he’s at rest, and I have the insane urge to skim my fingertip over the little bow on his upper lip. He exhales, and it’s not foggy and frozen.

What just happened?

I lay my hand on his cheek again. The onslaught is less jarring this time, but it’s still powerful. And it’s definitely coming from him. Are these his dreams? They’re made of the rub and tear of ice on ice, thick slabs of it colliding and shearing off, shattering into countless deadly shards. They’re blinding white and glittering and so cold it burns. But as I sit there, my palm to his skin, the brutal edge begins to dull. The hard ice pellets turn to heavy, wet snow. The ice sinks into the earth.

Because of me, I realize. I stare at the place where my skin touches Oskar’s. And then I close my eyes as the icy magic crosses the barrier between us and fills my hollow chest.

Raimo compared me to the copper lightning rods that adorn most of the buildings in the city of Kupari. He said I could amplify magic, though I have no idea how I could do that, and he also said I could absorb it. That must be what I’m doing now. I smile as Oskar’s cheek turns from frigid to cool under my touch.

He jerks away from me, and my eyes fly open. His are alight with fury as he scoots backward, pulling his cloak around him. “What in stars are you doing?” he whispers.

I look down at my palm, which is damp with the ice that melted off his skin. “I was . . .”

He rubs his hand over his face and pulls his fingers through his dark hair, which falls loose to his shoulders. “How long have you been there?”

I completely lost track of time while I was touching him. “Only a few minutes? Oskar—”

He pulls his knees to his chest, like he needs to put a wall between us. “Did you see . . .” He clenches his teeth. “Why did you come out here? Can’t you respect a man’s privacy?”

“I wanted to help,” I say, edging a little closer.

His brows lower. “I don’t need any help.”

“It looked painful.”

He grips the fabric over his shins and looks away. I can tell he’s thinking about the ice, how it waits for him to slip into dreaming so it can carve the meat from his bones. But then his eyes narrow as his gaze abruptly returns to me. “Did you just do something to me?”

“Why, was something different?”

“Why are you answering my question with a question?”

Because I have been holding them in for so long. Too long. I wipe my palm on the sleeve of my gown. “I merely touched you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

He glares at me. “It might have hurt you.”

If Raimo is right, it can’t. But Raimo also told me to tell no one. “I didn’t realize touching your face could harm me.” I try to sound teasing, but my voice is too unsteady for that.