The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(94)
“Let us through,” Sig shouts.
The red-cheeked man looks at him like he’s crazy. “You think I can magically move thousands of people out of your way?”
Sig’s eyes glow and he lifts his hand, tongues of flame dripping from his fingertips. “No, but I can.” A ball of flame bursts forth from his palm, and he hurls it over the heads of the mob.
Oskar lets out a frustrated sound and swipes his arm through the air, his movements in synchrony with Raimo’s. Extinguished by their magic, the fireball disappears just before it lands in the middle of the crowd. “You arse,” Oskar hisses. “You could have killed dozens.”
Sig’s grin is pure war. “That’s what I came here to do, brother.” His pale arms are tense as he spurs his horse forward. But the crowd merely shouts and heaves, too packed in and confused to move aside. My stomach clenches—if they panic, we’ll have a stampede, and innocent people will die.
Raimo pulls his walking stick from the back of the horse and pokes the stout man, who is gaping up at Sig in silent terror. “You’re going to help us. Because I have the true Valtia right here. She’ll get the priests to open up.”
The man tears his eyes from Sig. “What?”
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“You won’t recognize her without her ceremonial makeup, but look closely,” says Raimo, amusement in his voice. “Coppery hair, pale-blue eyes.” He elbows me in the belly. “Show them the mark.”
A few other people have turned toward us, and the noise of the crowd has quieted a bit. My lips barely move as I speak right into Raimo’s whiskery ear. “You know as well as I do that I’m not—”
“Ah, she’s a modest thing. Didn’t want be seen without her makeup and fancy dress,” Raimo shouts to the crowd.
More people are peering at us. I have to look away from Oskar when I see the raw worry in his eyes.
“Do you want to get through this mob without hurting them, or do you want Sig to burn the whole city down?” Raimo whispers. “Show them the mark, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
My hands shake as I pull my skirt up and clamp my three fingers over it as I slide my stocking down my left leg. It’s an odd, intimate thing to do in front of a crowd of gawkers, and my heart slams against my breast as my blood-flame mark is revealed. The gasp rolls through the entire square, followed by a flurry of anxious muttering.
“Was that other Valtia an impostor?”
“We thought her magic turned on her—but was it all fake?”
“Who is this girl? Could she really be the lost—”
“Let us through!” Sig shouts again. “I got your Valtia right here! Let us through!”
Oskar edges his mount close, like he’s prepared to kill anyone who makes a grab for me. But already the crowd is stepping aside, offering us a path. Waves of bitter cold flow from my ice wielder as we move forward.
“Keep it up and you’ll kill your horse,” Raimo says to Oskar as we weave our way among the scythe-wielding citizens, all the way to the north end of the square. Atop the Valtia’s platform, the burned remains of her ceremonial paarit remain, copper solidified in oozy dribbles along its sides, riveting it to the stones beneath it. I stare at it to avoid the eyes of the citizens, who are looking at me as if I’m their salvation. It kills me to offer them a second false Valtia in as many days, especially when I hear the jubilant whispers. “It really is her! She’s come back! Stars save us, she’s returned.”
They chatter about how they recognize me, even though some of them probably kicked mud in my face when I was banished from the city. They wonder aloud where I’ve been, whether I really did go mad as the rumors said. They talk about me as if I can’t hear them, and I’m happy to pretend that’s true.
Sig is on my right, Oskar on my left. Both of them have set jaws and fierce looks, and the oddest thing is happening around me—the air swirls with wisps of cold and hot, sliding across my face and gusting my hair. “On my signal,” Raimo says quietly.
“On your signal, what?” I whisper.
“I’m not talking to you,” he mutters.
As I look between the two buildings that bound the northern road, I can see our path to the ceremonial gates. The constables and the councilmen mill about several yards away, their brown cloaks pulled tight around them as they argue in urgent tones. They’ve always depended on the elders to tell them how the Valtia wants the city to be run, and in exchange for their cooperation, they’ve grown rich and fat—and indecisive.
The head of the council, a man named Topias who I’ve watched on several harvest days, passing his requests for favors from the Valtia to the elders while they all dined on venison and grilled trout, notices our arrival and stalks forward. “What’s this I hear about the Valtia?” he says in a rumbling voice, his thick brown beard brushing his heavy copper councilman’s medallion as he speaks. “We know citizens want action, but we’re trying to negotiate with the elders—”
“You don’t have to, since I have the true Valtia right here,” Raimo replies, slapping at my calf until I hold it out and show the councilman my mark.
“If you’re really the queen,” says Topias, removing his embroidered velvet cap and smoothing his hand over the few wiry strands of hair on the top of his head, “you’ll have to prove it.” He gives me a cautious look.