The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(74)

I cross my arms over my chest and rub my hands up and down my sleeves. Sig starts to scoot closer, but I put my hands out to stop him. His eyebrow arches. “Just offering a bit of warmth.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“I’m trying to be nice. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I’m actually relieved to hear the disinterest in his voice. “And no matter your complaint against the priests, the Valtia is the one person who could change anything. She’s the one—”

“Since when has any Valtia lifted a finger to help the acolytes—or any magic wielders?” Sig barks.

“Maybe she doesn’t know what’s happening!” I surely didn’t.

“Or maybe she’s a puppet.” He stands up, dusting sand from his trousers. “If she’s truly in charge, why aren’t there female priests? Why would a woman with such power allow other women to be shaved and shut away?” He offers his hand.

I knock it aside and get up on my own. My head’s still aching, but I’m so angry I barely notice it. “The Valtia is not a puppet,” I snarl.

“So she’s evil, then? That’s the only other explanation I can think of. Either she’s under the control of the elders, or she’s as bad as they are.”

My hands become fists. “How dare you.” I’m trying to find my words within a forest of new doubts that have sprouted in my mind. “The Valtia is a queen willing to sacrifice everything for the good of her people. And if they’ve found her, you’d be wise to drop your plans to attack the temple.”

Sig grins down at me, his short, pale-blond hair ruffled by the wind, the fire in his eyes once more. “Fair enough,” he says, his voice shaking with a strange, manic energy. “If they’ve found her, I’ll do exactly that.” He offers his arm. “Elli, would you care to attend the royal coronation with me?”

If I go, I could see the Valtia for myself. Maybe I could find a way to talk to her. Raimo said she’d be powerful, but that the stars created me to keep the balance. She might have risen up to lead the Kupari, but perhaps she needs me. What if I could save her from Sofia’s fate? Will she listen to what I have to say?

Even if she won’t, even if the elders drag me away and cut my throat, it will be worth it—they won’t have any reason to send more priests to the caverns in search of the lost Valtia. Oskar will be safer, as will all the cavern dwellers. He’ll have the peace he craves, and I want that as much as I want to help the true Valtia.

Either way, my journey ends where it began.

I take Sig’s arm. “When do we leave?”





CHAPTER 19


By the time Sig and I return to the camp, several more wielders have arrived on stolen horses. A tall, gaunt boy named Mikko, who has a beak of a nose and a long, dark plait down his back, has brought hunting gear and garb. He holds up a game bag and a bear trap, much like the one that took my fingers. “You said you needed another disguise,” he says to Sig as I shudder.

And so we set forth, hunters returning to the city from a long day in the woods. Sig makes me ride with him, and I wrap my arms around his lean waist as he spurs his horse onward. He’s wearing his cloak again, sparing me the uncomfortable intimacy of being pressed to his bare, scarred back.

We follow a trail through the skeletal woods. There’s no snow on the ground; it all melted off this morning as the priests came through, and so it’s easy to believe spring is here, even though it’s not due to arrive for weeks. I watch the ground for the little pool that marks the spot where Oskar found me, where he made the decision to save me. This close to Sig, it’s hard not to wish for the cool blessing of Oskar’s skin, the solid, reassuring feel of his body. For a moment this morning, I had that, and then I tossed it away.

Because I wanted his heart.

The forest floor becomes a brown blur as I will away my tears. I shouldn’t mourn what I never had, and I must turn my thoughts to what lies ahead.

“When we get to the city, you’ll keep your hood low,” Sig says as we exit the woods and enter the marshlands that lead to the northern road. “If you call attention to yourself, I’ll—”

“If I call attention to myself, the priests will take me into the catacombs and kill me. The threats aren’t necessary.”

“Sorry. Habit.”

“Sig, I feel sorry for you.”

“I bet you’ll feel differently when I’m looking out over the Motherlake from the Valtia’s balcony.”

“What of the Kupari people? Do you think of them when you dream of destroying the order of things?”

His stomach muscles tighten. “I think of how many have been enslaved because of that order,” he says in a sharp voice. “And I think of how the rest have exchanged freedom for comfort, how they delight in their year-round warmth and don’t think of what it costs. So yes, I suppose I do.”

The rage inside him heats his skin. It doesn’t burn me, but his cloak is damp against my chest as our horse trots down the muddy road. The white winter sun is slowly descending in the west, but Sig is still squinting in its light. “You must hate the summer.”

“You have no idea,” he says quietly. “I can barely stand to be outside in the summer months. Did Oskar tell you how we’re alike?” He reaches back and pats the lump in the pocket of my dress, the small, carved treasure in my pocket. “You must mean a lot to him if he gave you that. How much did he tell you about what he is?”