The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(57)

“Is that even possible?” He gives me an amused sidelong glance. “I’ve rarely seen anyone work harder than you do.”

“I’ll keep at it,” I tell him. “If you let me stay, I’ll—”

He stops walking. “Why wouldn’t I let you stay?”

“Where are we going, then?”

“Hopefully to find a few snow hares. The tracks will be easy to see today.”

My brow furrows. “Why are you bringing me with you?”

His gaze slides to my right hand, two fingers of my borrowed glove hanging loose. “Because if I’m going to do this, I don’t want anyone else hearing or seeing anything.”

I stare up at him with wide eyes. “I’d never tell anyone about you,” I squeak.

Oskar begins to laugh, a beautiful, deep, alive sound I haven’t heard for weeks. The knives at his belt clink together as he doubles over and puts his hands on his thighs.

“Your face,” he says, his eyes tearing up. “I swear, you’d think I’d threatened to kill . . . you . . .” He stops laughing. “Wait. Is that what you think?”

I raise my eyebrows.

He stands up straight again. “You really believe I’d do that?”

My heart has slowed a bit, but the aftershocks of fear vibrate along my limbs. “Like you said, Oskar. I don’t know you. You spoke more to me when you thought I was dying.”

A strand of his dark hair has worked its way loose from the tie, and he sweeps it back from his face. “I spoke more before Raimo told me you hated magic, a lie he obviously concocted to hide the fact that there’s something very strange about you.”

I cross my arms over my middle and stare at his boots. His gloved finger nudges my chin up.

“When I was young, we lived in the city,” he says, pulling his hood over his head and starting to walk again. “My father was a hunter.”

I trip over my own feet and stumble as I start to follow. Oskar catches a handful of my cloak and pulls me upright. “Are you all right?”

“I’m just recovering from the shock. You actually told me something about yourself.”

He rolls his eyes and hikes down a hill. “I didn’t want to be a hunter. I wanted to stay inside all day, right in front of the fire, and carve little animals out of wood.” He chuckles. “The cottage was full of them.”

The sun is hovering above the trees to the east, making the rolling hills around us sparkle. It’s a fluffy, dry snow, so I’m able to keep up with Oskar’s long strides as he heads west, toward the dunes that mark the edge of the Motherlake. I don’t dare fall behind, because I’m clinging to every word he says.

“My father was a hard man. And he thought that I was soft. From the time I could walk, he took me with him in summer and fall, hiking these outlands in search of game, wolves and bears and beavers, pelts we could barter and meat that would keep us alive. When I was eight, he decided I would go with him every day, no matter the weather.” Oskar pauses and turns his face to the east, closing his eyes as the sun offers a bit of warmth. “I hate the cold. I’ve always hated the cold.”

“I don’t understand.” I look at the tiny smile on his face as the sunlight caresses his brow. “You’re an ice wielder, aren’t you?”

“You already know I am.”

“How can the cold bother you, then? Why aren’t you, I don’t know, impervious to it?”

He looks pensive for a moment. “Do you know anything about the Valtia?”

I let out a dry croak of laughter. “A little.” But I’ve learned more about magic in the last month than I did in twelve years in the temple.

Oskar nods. “So you know that she wields both ice and fire in perfect balance.”

“Right.” My voice sounds as hollow as I feel.

“And that she possesses extreme amounts of both.” He beckons to me and begins to hike again. “But you also know by now that many people possess this kind of magic, just not as much, and not as balanced. They can’t do anything like she does.”

“Nothing like she does,” I whisper, huddling within my cloak as we reach a copse of trees to the south of the rolling white dunes.

“Some people have a bit of ice, like Veikko and Senja and little Kukka, and others a touch of fire, like Aira and Ismael, and like Jouni, too. Most wielders tend toward one more than the other, but nearly everyone has some amount of both elements,” Oskar continues. “Except for a few of us. We have only the tiniest spark of one element, and so much of the other that it nearly kills us.” He guides me to a gnarled tree and sweeps his arm across a branch that’s jutting out at the level of his hip. Then, without asking permission of any kind, he grasps my waist and lifts me onto the branch. I’m shocked by the feel of his hands on me, but he pulls away quickly. “You’ll be more comfortable there, with your feet out of the snow.”

“Thanks,” I say, a bit breathlessly, surprised at how badly I wish he would touch me again. “So . . . you were telling me you have only ice magic.”

“It feels like it’s trying to tear me apart sometimes.” He rubs his chest, and I have a flashing memory of ice blades jutting from Sofia’s body, killing her from the inside out. “But worse than that, I have so little fire inside that I can’t stay warm. And that’s why I hate the cold.”