The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(64)
Oskar gives me a strange look. “You never expected to kiss someone?”
I look away, panic wrenching itself loose inside me. Oskar’s going to think I’m insane. I remember the moments when I wondered how it might feel to be in someone’s arms, to know he wasn’t there because I had commanded him to stay, but because he wanted it as much as I did. Now Oskar’s right next to me, handsome and strong, actually asking if he can touch and kiss me . . . and all I can do is wonder if his affection is real, or whether he feels about me the way the people feel about the Valtia. Yes, they love her, but when her magic doesn’t serve them, how long does the adoration last?
I lean over and kiss Oskar’s rough cheek, which causes his brows to rise in pure puzzlement. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this,” I whisper, blinking idiotic tears away. What in stars is wrong with me? “And I’ve got chores to do.” I scoot to the edge of the boulder and slide off.
Oskar’s feet hit the ground at the same time as mine. “Wait—Elli! Didn’t you want me to kiss you?” He sounds perplexed. And more than a little frustrated.
So am I. My mind is a mess of questions and fears and wants and wishes, and all I know is that I need to get away from him or I’m going to cry. I begin to walk, but I don’t make it more than a few steps before Oskar’s in front of me. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say honestly as I try to step around him. “It just happened so fast. I’m . . . I’m not sure I’m ready. . . .” I grimace, bowing my head to make sure he doesn’t see.
Oskar takes me by the shoulders. “If you’re not ready, I can accept that. But I’m having trouble believing that’s all that’s going on.” He pulls me closer, his gaze hard on mine. “Please. I’ve held myself back so many times. I’ve tried not to pry. But I can tell that there’s a war going on behind those eyes, and I’m desperate to understand it.”
“Oskar, if you’d never discovered what I can do, would we be standing here right now?”
He frowns. “How could I possibly know that?” He takes my face in his hands. “All I know is that a minute ago, I had you in my arms, and you kissed me back. It felt right.” He hesitates. “Didn’t it?”
It felt so right. But something inside me has gone all wrong. I want to tell him everything so he can help me figure it out, but Raimo’s warnings keep my secrets locked tight inside. As long as they’re there, I’ll never know the truth of Oskar’s feelings, because he’ll never know what I really am. I barely know what I really am. I lay my palms on his chest. “This isn’t fair to either of us right now. I—I think it would be better if we kept things as they were.”
What am I saying?
Oh, stars, why am I saying this?
Oskar’s gray eyes flicker with pain. “If that’s what you want.”
No. It’s not. In fact, I want him to argue. I want him to challenge me. I want him to say again that we’re right, that this is good, that he can’t let me go because his heart won’t allow it. I want him to fight.
But instead he lets me go and runs his hands over his hair. “I didn’t mean to push you.”
“I’ll still siphon your magic,” I say quickly, because he’s backing away from me, not meeting my eyes. “You can still—we can still touch at night. You don’t have to worry about that. Nothing has to change.”
He looks up at the sky and lets out a strangled, hoarse laugh. “Right. What a relief. Nothing has changed.” He pivots around. “I’d better hunt. The others are probably already in the forest.” He stalks up the trail, back around the crest of the hill.
I follow, swiping my hands across my eyes, reeling in his wake. I feel hollower than ever. If my doubt hadn’t grown like a poisonous mushroom inside me, maybe Oskar and I would still be on those rocks, his lips on mine, his hands on my body. Now he looks like he’ll never touch me again. And maybe I should be glad, because I’ve shielded my heart and his from the danger of my secrets, but instead I want to curl up on the stiff grass and cry myself dry.
A high, quavering scream pierces the morning, followed by several others. Oskar’s shoulders go stiff, and then he shoves off, sprinting full speed over the hill toward the noise. I follow after him, running as fast as I can, but by the time I reach the crest of the hill, he’s headed straight for the edge of the drop-off.
“Oskar!” I shriek, but a burst of fire spirals up from the opening to the cavern, and he speeds up, his long legs destroying the distance.
He doesn’t slow down as he reaches the drop-off—he leaps into open space and disappears from sight. It takes me another few seconds, filled with screams and shouts and smoke, to reach the edge.
What I see makes me choke with dread. Two women lie burned at the cavern entrance, their faces black, their hair and clothes singed away. Oskar, who somehow managed to make the twenty-foot drop without hurting himself, is standing with his arms spread in front of them, hatred flashing in his eyes.
Facing him are a dozen constables from the city, in matching brown caps and red cloaks, clubs at their belts. But they’re hanging back. They’re not in charge. Because standing in front of them are five priests—including Elder Leevi. He points a skeletal finger up at Oskar, who stands head and shoulders taller. “We have every right to search these caves,” Leevi says, his thin, reedy voice at odds with his threatening posture.