The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(80)

“Kauko says the only other way to achieve balance is for him to bleed you,” Halina says.

“Bleed me?”

She nods. “He would make a cut in the vein and drain a quantity of your blood, to siphon off the extra magic.”

“How would that help me achieve balance? Wouldn’t that just leave me weak?”

Kauko has produced a small blade from the pocket of his robes, and he demonstrates making a quick cut in the crook of his elbow while Halina watches with her mouth tight and downturned, as if she’s trying not to be sick. “He says it always works, especially when done regularly. Every Valtia has been bled to stay balanced at some point.”

I think back to the impatient flick of Nisse’s stride, the edge in his voice as he talked of the timeline for invasion, the possibility that those rebel Kupari wielders and their impostor queen are preparing for our attack. “I’ll do it.”

The torches in the room flare as Halina gives Kauko my answer. He grins and ushers me over to a chair, then grabs a basin and tosses the water out the window. He gestures for me to raise my arm and slides the basin beneath it. Sig approaches the table with wide eyes. He’s shaking, staring at the knife as if it were a sword. Kauko doesn’t seem to notice—he’s very focused on my arm.

I grit my teeth as the blade cuts deep, the pain lancing along my bones. My blood flows bright and sure, forming a small puddle in the basin after several long moments. “How much am I supposed to shed?” I ask.

Halina translates my question, but Kauko doesn’t seem to hear. He’s utterly absorbed by what he sees in the basin. His hands shake as he finally presses a cloth to my arm. “I guess that’s enough?” I ask.

Kauko licks his lips as he lifts the basin from the table, but then he shouts in surprise and drops it as its contents start to steam, and the basin falls to the floor and cracks. My blood doesn’t spill, though. It’s dried to flakes in a matter of seconds. Kauko stomps his foot and turns to Sig, who starts to giggle again. He grabs Sig’s arm and shoves him toward the door, barking at him nonstop in Kupari. Both of them head into the corridor, and Halina and I stare after them.

Finally, she turns to me. “That boy . . .”

“What just happened?” I look down at the cracked basin, my dried blood.

“Sig did that.”

“Cooked my blood to dust? Why?”

Her brows are drawn together. “Is that the right question, though, little red?”

“What do you mean?”

She picks up a cracked half of the basin, and my blood becomes a brown haze that clouds the air. “Maybe the better question is—why was old Kauko so upset about it?”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Kauko did not return after he bundled Sig out of our training room, so my arm throbs with its new, unhealed wound as I walk with Sander toward Thyra’s chamber. It’s on the other side of the tower, just below the main level. “What have you heard about our warriors?” I ask. “How are they faring? Nisse is concerned that disease will find them.”

Sander gives me a nervous glance. “He’ll know I told you.”

“He didn’t seem upset. He wanted me to talk to Thyra about it.”

“And what will you say, Ansa?” He tilts his head. “Have you jumped?”

I suck in a breath. “Don’t ask me that right now.” For some reason, it makes my cheeks burn, though I have no reason to be ashamed.

He looks down at me for a long moment. “Have you given it much thought? All of us who are raid prizes, we grow up knowing we come from someplace else. We all have to make peace with it.”

I lower my gaze to the floor. I’m not sure I ever did.

“None of us have ever discovered we were meant to rule in that other place, though,” he adds.

“It doesn’t matter. I am Krigere.”

“I won’t argue with that. All I’m saying is—that’s not all you are. And I would think it would complicate things, especially as you consider helping your chieftain . . . whichever one you end up choosing . . . to destroy the people over whom you could have been queen, had you not been stolen as a child.”

“Not now, Sander,” I growl. The thoughts swirling inside my head are already too much, and they threaten my control.

“All right,” he says softly. “I suppose your choice will become obvious soon enough.”

I chew my lip. “Did you know she’s starving herself?”

“I’ve seen the guards handing off her dishes, piled with untouched food, to the kitchen staff.” He rubs the back of his head, quick and frustrated. “This can’t go on forever. Something—or someone—will break. I suppose I have a choice to make too.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Though I think yours might matter a good deal more than mine.”

That truth sits sour in my stomach. I grab his arm as we enter the corridor where her chamber lies. “I just want to belong to a tribe, Sander. I need to be part of something strong. You of all people understand that.”

He looks down at my hand, curled into his sleeve. “I do, Ansa, though my opinion isn’t one that holds weight.”

“It does with me,” I say. “We’ve had our differences, but we are alike in many ways.”