The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(86)
He takes me by the shoulders, unaware or unheeding of the danger. “I could never think you were weak. But I do think she shames you. She makes you question who and what you are.”
“Should I never question who and what I am—or the things I do?” I ask.
“My heaven, you sound just like her! No wonder you can’t control your magic—your strength is sapped by all this doubt.”
I wrench myself out of his grasp. “I wish people would stop telling me how to fix myself,” I shout, my words accompanied by a thunderous burst of icy wind that knocks Jaspar back against the low wall. His arms reel as he tries to keep his balance. Horror lances through me, and I grab his hand as he nearly falls. We collapse to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he says, panting, his hands fisted in the sides of my tunic. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to help. And I want to help.” His hand wraps around the back of my neck, his fingers sliding into my hair. “My father reconsidered your attendant’s suggestion about sending out Vasterutian scouts to search for the Kupari priests and apprentices that fled into the Loputon.”
I go very still, tightening every muscle to keep my fear from forcing frost through every pore. “What?” I whisper. “He changed his mind?”
When I pull away, Jaspar looks worried, like he’s sorry he mentioned it. “No, I’m sure he hasn’t, not about you, anyway. He thinks you’re very important. It’s just . . . we’re running out of time. We got word late last night that the impostor queen of Kupari is definitely raising an army—including rebel wielders from their outer territories. We don’t know how powerful they are, but Father wants every advantage. And if we were to march into Kupari with hundreds of warriors and dozens of trained wielders in our force? The battle will be over before it even begins, especially if we act quickly. The elder thought it was a good plan.”
The elder. Thyra’s words about him slink into my head unbidden—what if he’s leading us into a trap? “Do you . . . do you ever wonder why he’s helping us?”
“He wants to oust the rebels from his temple, I imagine,” Jaspar says, pulling back to look down at me. “He seems eager to reclaim his seat of power. And we can help him with that.”
“But once we do, then what happens? Is the elder likely to want to share that power with us?”
Jaspar grins. “Wait—you think my father actually trusts that old man?”
“He certainly makes a good show of it.”
“Oh, Ansa.” He laughs. “Kauko is a means to an end. We need him right now, but that won’t always be true. And as soon as it’s not . . .”
I stare at him, my fragile hope shifting and cracking like ice over the marsh. “As soon as he’s not useful, Nisse will find a way to end him,” I say.
Jaspar pulls me to my feet. “Don’t tell me you feel pity for that elder.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t feel pity for him.” I smile, though it’s flickering, a candle flame in a cruel wind. “But I’m late for my lesson with him, so I’d better go.”
I practically dive for the hatch that opens to the stairs. “Thanks for sparring with me.”
I don’t hear if he replies—the door slams above me and I jump halfway down the stairs, turning my ankle as I land. I want to beat my head against the wall to rid myself of the look on Jaspar’s face just now, how much he resembled his father, and his complete lack of awareness of the truth he’d just revealed.
Kauko is a tool for Nisse, to be used and discarded.
What makes me think I’m any different?
*
After the evening meal, I tell Halina I’m tired and need to sleep. I don’t tell her I know Nisse has followed her advice and sent scouts into the Loputon Forest to find more magical allies for our invasion, because I’m afraid it would stir up my anger and desperation. Especially after the look Kauko gave me after I failed yet again to control the magic inside me this afternoon—like a child mourning a broken toy. The ice and fire simmer beneath my surface tonight, begging release. I feel like I did last night, when Thyra collapsed under the heat of my jagged, rage-driven fire and needed Kauko to revive her, and I spent a night roiling with nightmares that brought it back over and over, sharper and hotter and more devastating each time.
Her eyes, staring. Refusing to let me hide. Her words. Refusing to let me blame my crimes on a curse that never was. You can only blame yourself. . . .
The guilt makes me sick, and I don’t need the weight of Halina to make it worse.
I also don’t trust her, though. It was childish to ever have trusted her at all.
“Maybe you could go check with the tailor and find out when my new cloak and tunic will be ready,” I suggest.
I expect her to argue, but perhaps she senses my mood, if not my plan, because she immediately heads for the door. “Of course,” she says. “I know you’ll probably be glad to have some clothes that fit.”
I grin. “You have no idea.” I don’t either, really. I don’t actually care. I wave her out the door with a yawn, telling her I plan to sleep like a bear in the winter. But as soon as the noise of her footsteps fades, I’m peeking into the corridor and praying Sig hasn’t given up on me like Nisse and Kauko have.
My heart beats unsteadily as I jog up the corridor, through the maze of dim, dank stone, until I reach the hallway where Sig sleeps—both of us are kept here, away from sunlight and wood. Before I make it two steps toward his door, he loops his arm around my waist and hauls me into an empty chamber. I buck against him instinctively, and he clenches his teeth over a groan of pain. As I turn to him, he’s lifting the fabric of his shirt off his back—where only a day ago I saw oozing wounds from a whip. “Did Kauko do that to you?” I ask, gesturing at his back.