The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(67)
Jouni stares at me for a moment longer before scratching a spot on his stubbly cheek and turning to the ice tomb in front of us. “Right.” He walks toward the cavern entrance, his shoulders tense.
My hands are on Oskar’s neck in the next moment, because I can’t hold back anymore. He sighs and leans into my touch, but then abruptly wrenches himself away, ending up on his hands and knees. “I don’t need your help,” he growls, getting up clumsily, his muscular arms swinging at his sides.
“Oskar.” His name is a plea on my lips. Does he blame me for this?
He stops with his back to me. “Now that he’s gone, tell me the truth.”
“I’m not the Valtia. I swear.” I rise, pulling his cloak around my naked body. The rocks dig into the soles of my feet.
“I can’t believe I’ve been so blind. Explain your eyes. Your hair. Your mark. Your ability to withstand magic. And then explain that.” He points to the ice tomb.
“You did that,” I murmur.
Oskar looks over his shoulder at me. “I might have ice magic inside me. A lot of it. I might even be a Suurin.” His jaw clenches as he jabs his finger at the ice. “But I have never done anything like that.”
“You know I don’t have magic.” But now I’m remembering what Raimo said, about how I could not only mute and absorb magic—I could also magnify and project it, as the Valtia does when she wears the cuff of Astia. I blink at the frozen dead men within the ice, and the weight of their vacant stares nearly bows my back. Oskar didn’t do this—not alone, at least. He worked the magic, but maybe I was the weapon, projecting it, turning it into a devastating force that destroyed anything in its way. If it’s true, then together we’ve just killed twenty men. My stomach turns. This is exactly the reason Oskar didn’t want the magic inside him. He never wanted to take another life.
Oskar’s granite gaze is crushing me. “I only know what you’ve told me, Elli, and you’ve told me very little.”
“Raimo told me not to,” I say, my throat getting tight. “He said my life depended on it.”
Oskar closes the distance between us and takes me by the shoulders. “You bear all the marks of the Valtia,” he whispers. “And she has magic so balanced that it wouldn’t be that difficult to hide it, not if she wanted to. She might even look immune to it, as you do, because she could counteract even the strongest magic with her own.”
“Maybe, but Raimo still would have been able to heal me if I were the Valtia. Do you truly think I wouldn’t have accepted that gift if I could have?”
“If you were desperate enough to hide, perhaps.”
I nearly kick him in my frustration. “Explain how I siphon your power, then! Not even the Valtia can do that!”
“Then tell me what you are!”
I flinch as his grip tightens, knowing I can’t escape this truth anymore. “Raimo said I was the Astia.”
His eyes narrow. “What? Like the cuff of—”
“Yes. It’s why I can absorb your magic without being hurt by it—and why, together, we can . . .” My eyes stray to the ice tomb.
Oskar’s looking at it too. “Did you know that would happen?”
“I had no idea. Oskar, please believe me,” I squeak. “I was the Saadella, but when the Valtia died, the magic didn’t come.” I briefly tell him of my escape, and the whole time he watches me, dumbstruck.
“Why were they trying to kill you? Wait—are they the ones who whipped you?” Before I can stop him, he lifts his cloak from my shoulder and peers at my bare back, then curses. “Why?” he asks, that one word infused with cold rage.
“I let them whip me when I thought it would draw out the magic. And they thought that by killing me, they could awaken the magic in a new Valtia. They most likely still think that.”
“Do they know you’re this . . . Astia person?”
Who isn’t even supposed to exist. I shake my head. “But Raimo did. I think he must have been a priest at some point. He told me I could do these things the night you brought me to him, but he never said how. Siphoning your magic—it just happens. And I don’t know how I helped you project your magic just now, only that we were touching when it happened. But I do know that Raimo warned me to keep it secret. He said any magic wielder would see me as an enemy—or a weapon, something to use to enhance their power.”
Oskar’s gaze drops to where his fingers are curled around my bare arms, which are tingling with the aftershocks of his magic, and he quickly lets me go. Maarika comes sprinting out of the cavern before either of us have a chance to speak again, her usually neat brown hair flying around her face. “Oskar!” she shrieks.
He whirls around to catch her in his arms, but staggers back as she collides with him. “You’re hurt,” she cries, clutching at his singed, holey tunic. “Oh, stars.” Her voice is thick with tears.
“I’ll be all right,” he says softly.
Freya is standing several feet away, staring at the ice. “Oskar . . . ?”
Oskar pries his mother’s hands from his arms. “I did it. Elli saw the whole thing.” He turns back to look at me, his face smooth and expressionless. “Come into the cavern. We need to get you some clothes before you catch a chill.”