The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(69)

I obey him, and as soon as my hands fall away, so does the dizziness. “What would you have me do, Oskar?”

He lets out a choked, humorless laugh. “Again, I don’t know.” He turns his head, and I lie on my side so we’re face-to-face, like we’ve lain every night for the last two weeks. “But I understand now,” he says quietly. “I didn’t, this morning on the rocks.”

Strands of his dark hair slide across his face, and I’m dying to smooth them back. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“Because I understand.” His eyes close, and mine burn. He leans his forehead against the back of his hands again, hiding his face. “Get s-some rest. You must be aching.”

My fists clench. “You can’t expect me to sit here and watch you hurting.”

“You don’t have to take c-care of me. You’ve done enough of that.”

Pressing my lips together to keep from screaming, I look up at the ceiling of the cave, stretching its rocky claws down toward us, hiding so many secrets in its dark shadows. I can’t find a path back to the way we were a few days ago, before I woke up in his arms. My doubt about how he felt about me made me push him far away, and now he seems determined to stay there.

I stare at his long, shivering, sweating body. I’ve siphoned off so much cold in recent weeks, but the magic just grows to fill the space. My touch offers temporary relief, but not the permanent solution that Oskar craved. And now he’s denying himself even that, out of . . . I have no idea. Honor. Pride. Sheer stubbornness.

Or maybe he does blame me. And maybe he should.

“When the priests and constables don’t return to the city tonight,” I tell him, “the others will know something has gone wrong.”

Oskar doesn’t speak, but his shoulders and arms look like chiseled granite.

“What will you do when the rest of them come here? Because believe me—their magic is powerful. I know you care about every person in these caves.” I saw the look on his face as he stood between them and the priests.

“We’ll leave,” he says wearily. “Tomorrow morning. There’s an abandoned mine about two miles to the northeast.”

But the priests will chase. And they’ll find. And they’ll kill. The certainty swells inside me. “Then you’d better let me do what I can to help you rest and heal. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to protect them.”

“If you think I’m going to let you touch me after everything that’s happened—”

Maarika’s footsteps scrape across the loose stones outside the shelter, and I scoot away from Oskar with ice encasing my heart. Part of me wants to force him to look at me, and part of me is glad that I can’t see his eyes. It makes what I must do that much easier.

“How is he?” Maarika asks, setting her basket of herbs down. She’s panting and windblown—something tells me she ran the whole way.

“Stubborn,” I say, and she laughs. I smooth my palms against my cheeks as I rise to my feet. It’s not easy, letting go, but the alternative would be much worse. “Did you get what you needed for his back?”

Maarika nods. “Now we just need Freya to show up with our kindling.”

And that’s my chance. “I can go find her.”

“If you wish. She’s probably picked up more than she can carry.”

She takes off her cloak and offers it to me, but I push it away. “It’s all right. I won’t be gone long.” I step back, my heart hammering. I want to thank her for her quiet kindness and patience. I want to beg Oskar to forgive me for bringing death and killing into his life again, but it’s too late for all that. I allow myself one more look at him, remembering how only yesterday I was tucked against his body, happier than I’ve ever been. “Good-bye,” I whisper.

My face crumples as I turn away and stride toward the entrance to the cavern. Every step is an act of will. I ignore the fearful whispers as I walk by the row of shelters. None of that matters now, because this isn’t my home anymore. These people will be safer because I’m not here.

I wrap my arms around myself and walk into the open air. My boots slosh in the water melted from the enormous block of ice. The fire wielders are still working on it, and they haven’t yet freed a single body. Harri’s foot is sticking out of the top, though, and one of the constables’ hands is poking from the side, gray and still. The wielders give me uneasy looks as I shuffle past. Clearly everyone has heard, but they all look too scared to ask me—am I the mad Valtia?

They have no reason to fear me; they’ll never see me again. I hike the narrow trail that winds upward toward the marshlands. Several cave dwellers pass me, leading saddled horses—the constables and priests must have left behind nearly two dozen well-fed mounts. I cross my arms over my chest and keep my eyes downcast, praying that Freya hasn’t chosen these minutes to return. I don’t think I could hide the pain of another good-bye. As I emerge from the cavern trail, a frigid wind tears the kerchief from my coppery locks, which twist in the gusts. I shiver—the winter is descending once more, and I have miles to go before I reach the city. But after weeks of getting accustomed to this kind of walking, I think I can probably reach the gates by nightfall.

Perhaps a quarter mile ahead of me is the long strip of woods where Oskar found me, though the actual spot must be miles to the north. I smile as I think of the first time I saw him, how scared I was of this bearlike boy, how quickly that fear turned to admiration and then slowly to affection. The wind gusts again, pushing me forward, and I turn away from the woods to take the path that connects to the road leading to the city. Freed from the snow by this morning’s unnatural thaw, the dry marsh grass rustles and hisses. The tree branches of the forest scrape together. It almost sounds like they’re screaming.