The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(56)

He grabs a tie from his satchel and pulls his hair back. “What possessed you to touch me at all?”

“I saw what was happening to you, and I wanted to make it better.”

The corner of Oskar’s mouth twitches, and he gives me a bemused look.

It makes me bold. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it? I can tell.”

The look becomes a scowl. “It’s none of your business.”

“Tell me what you are.”

He groans. “I’m nothing,” he says, rising from the ground and holding his hands over the fire.

I get up too. “I don’t have contempt for magic, Oskar. I might be nonmagical, but I don’t have any prejudice against magic wielders. Surely you’ve seen that by now.”

“I need to hit the trail. The snow will make it slow going, and I want to be back before the sun sets.” He tries to step around me, but I don’t get out of the way.

“None of the other wielders are suffering like you.”

His mouth draws tight. “I’m not suffering.”

“I would never hurt you, Oskar.”

“I don’t know you. And you don’t know me.”

“Why are you trying to hide what you are?” I blurt out.

His gray eyes turn hard. “Why are you so nosy?”

“Why are you so scared?”

“Why are you being such a pain in my arse?” he snaps.

As I gape at him, he lets out a harsh chuckle, takes me by the arms, and starts to move me aside. But anger flashes in my chest. I have no right to his secrets, but I’m driven by the memory of his agonized expression, of the ice freezing his skin, of how terrifying his dreams truly are. And if I’m right about what just happened, then I can help him. I grab at his hand, clamped around my upper arm. My fingernails dig in as I try to get free.

His skin flashes cold, and then his eyes fly wide. “No,” he whispers, grabbing my sleeve and pulling my hand from his. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. . . .” He flips my palm over.

He slides his finger over my skin, then gives me a searching look.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Tell me why Raimo didn’t heal you with magic.” His voice is low as he moves even closer, towering over me.

“I asked him not to—”

“You’re lying.” He grabs my left wrist and tugs my palm toward him, then touches the center with his fingertip. I understand that it’s cold like I understand that grass is green, but I don’t feel it. What I do feel: the danger. I rip my hand from his grasp and stagger back.

He tilts his head, staring at the spot he touched. I squinch up my face and rub at my palm. “Ow,” I whimper.

“I didn’t affect you at all,” he says, reaching for my hand again.

I cradle it to my breast and retreat until my legs hit the stone wall that surrounds the shelter. “Of course you did.” I moan, wishing I was a little better at pretending. “I—”

I stare at his broad chest as he gently takes my left hand in his considerably larger one and turns my palm upward again. The only things that mar my skin are my hard-earned calluses. The center of my palm is soft and smooth and warm as he traces it with a cool finger. “Tell me what you are,” he whispers.

“Nothing.” Tears sting my eyes. You could be their most powerful asset—or their worst enemy, Raimo whispers in my thoughts. Why did I risk revealing myself? So stupid. I clench my fist, as if hiding it will make him forget. “Oskar, I’m sorry for touching you, sorry for asking questions, sorry for everything, but I can’t—”

He holds up his hands. “Stop.” My mouth snaps shut. He smiles at my obedience. “Wait here.”

He disappears into Maarika’s little chamber, and I hear him murmuring to her. My heart seizes with fear—is he telling her there’s something odd about me? Is he—

He emerges from her chamber with a pair of knee-high leather boots and a thick leather cloak lined with fur. “Get these on.” He tosses a pair of leather gloves at me. “These, too.”

Stars, he’s going to turn me out in the snow. “I’m sorry,” I say in a choked voice. “Please don’t do this.”

“Put them on, Elli.” He sits down next to his own boots and jams his feet into them. “Move it,” he says when I’m still standing there a few seconds later. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I needed to get going.”

I might be immune to ice magic, but dread is turning my insides cold. With shaking hands, I pull on the boots and clumsily lace them. I don the cloak and pull it around me. I slide on the gloves, which are also fur-lined. Once Oskar has completed his own preparations, I follow him as he strides through the front cavern, where it’s still dark. Not many people are awake at this hour, though I see the glow of a few small fires in some of the shelters, and I hear the trill of little Kukka’s laughter as Senja shushes her. My feet already feel like blocks of ice, even before we emerge from the cave and are greeted by a thick blanket of snow. “You were right,” I mumble.

“I’m always right about snow,” he says, and then tromps up the trail.

I work to keep up, grateful that he gave me these boots, because they keep the snow from soaking my woolen stockings. We hike along the narrow path that leads up to the marshlands. Where is he taking me? “Oskar, please. I’ll work harder.”