The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(48)

“Your own widowed andeners will need to choose new mates,” says the dark-haired warrior known as Sten, who is sitting on Nisse’s left. He elbows the warrior on his other side. “Many of them are still young. Not bad to look at, either.”

Bertel clears his throat and lays his gnarled hands on the table. “This is how you speak of grieving widows?” he mutters.

Thyra looks out over the tables in the hall. “Are so many of your warriors unpaired?”

“No,” says Nisse. “They all have mates. But given our predicament, I’m sure you’ll agree that each warrior should have more than one andener capable of breeding.”

“What?” The word slices from Thyra like a blade, cutting through any pretense at courtesy. “That bond is a sacred one. The andeners are not cattle.”

Nisse gives her a patient smile. “I never said they were. They are valuable members of our tribe, and they will be provided for so long as they contribute young.”

Thyra swallows a bite, though it looks like it’s choking her. “And the males?”

Nisse waves his hand. “They’ll be able to find themselves shelter within the city, as will the older females. But our focus will be on the women of breeding age.”

I think of the male andeners, some of whom were paired with male warriors, some with female. Those pairings typically don’t produce young, but they often take in orphans or children who were raid prizes. That was what happened to me—Jes was paired with Einar, Lars’s war counselor, and the two men treated me like their own. I grieved Jes’s loss from fever two winters ago, especially because it left Einar grim and gray, but suddenly I’m glad he’s not here to suffer this indignity.

Thyra shoots to her feet. “This is unacceptable. My tribe is a body, each part as important as the next. Thanks to your son, the widows weren’t even allowed a chance to grieve their lost mates, and now you expect them to choose new ones?”

Sten jumps to his feet as well. “Show proper respect when you speak to our chieftain,” he shouts, even as Nisse places a hand on his arm. He slowly sinks back down, glowering at Thyra. “Jaspar tolerated this kind of talk on the road, but in the presence of our chieftain, it won’t stand. You’re in Vasterut now.”

“How well I know that,” says Thyra. Her gaze flicks to Jaspar. “Though I was given to believe we were all free to speak our minds.”

Jaspar inclines his head. “You had been through a terrible ordeal. Who was I to constrain your words and veiled accusations, however unfounded?”

“My veiled accusations? How dare—” Thyra begins.

“Peace,” shouts Nisse, so that all the warriors at the lower tables hear, for all have stopped eating and are staring at Thyra. “We’ll discuss this later, in private. Let’s talk of the things that unite us instead of those that divide us, hmm?”

He sounds so amused and condescending that Thyra’s cheeks are pink as she lowers herself down. “I propose we talk of Kupari,” he says when she’s back in her seat.

Jaspar leans forward, and he and Sander share a look. For some reason, it makes me want to drive my dagger right through the back of Sander’s hand. I lean forward between the two of them and glare at him as Thyra says, “If you wish.”

“The word of Lars’s defeat came to us only hours after it happened, from a merchant we waylaid along the coastal road. We convinced him it would be in his best interest to return to the city and supply us with information about what takes place there.”

Thyra arches an eyebrow. “You have a spy in Kupari?”

“He has no trouble getting through the Kupari city gates if he brings wares to sell or trade. And he brought us the most interesting news a few days after the catastrophe. It seems the witch queen did not survive the assault either.”

I gape at him, as do Sander and Thyra. “But she looked strong,” I say, before I can stop myself. My mouth has gone dry and my heart is pounding.

If her death didn’t break the curse, what will?

Nisse’s mouth lifts into a warm smile, making me regret speaking aloud. “Little Ansa. I remember you when you barely rose to my elbow, and now look at you. A warrior.” He glances at Jaspar. “My son has already told me you and young Sander there were in the first wave. You saw the witch yourself, eh?”

“All three of us did,” I reply. “We were in the lead ship.” The memory of the witch’s face and Lars’s charred corpse makes my insides swirl with ice and fire and hate.

“Then you can celebrate her downfall. Whatever she brought down on you, it killed her too.”

I should be happy, but all I feel is defeated. Her death did not free me. I didn’t even know it had happened.

Thyra blinks. “Are they without a ruler?”

“Now there’s where it gets interesting,” he says. “We aren’t sure.” He inclines his head toward our Vasterutian servants. “The citizens here know a good deal about Kupari and its special brand of witchcraft. They were full of stories of the queen. They call her the Valtia.”

“We know this already,” Thyra says.

“But do you know of the Saadella and the line of inheritance?”

I bow my head over my food, saliva filling my mouth. I know that word. Saadella. Hulda mentioned it just before I—