The Impostor Queen - Sarah Fine Page 0,12

cracking around her mouth, and the hair at her temples is damp with sweat. “Aleksi, take her.”

For a moment I allow myself to be pulled backward by the elder, but then a wave of pure urgency crashes over me. “What are you going to do?”

She gives me a small smile, but her pale-blue eyes glint with ice. “I’m going to bury their ships at the bottom of the Motherlake.”

The fishermen look up at her in awe. “Valtia,” says the old one, his voice hushed, “there are so many. It will take more than a cold wind to throw them off their chosen course.”

She gazes down at him. “I know.” Her eyes meet mine again. “Go. You belong in the temple.”

Something about the way she says it makes my entire body clench. “Take me with you,” I blurt out. For some insane reason, I feel like I should go. Like I must go.

Her brow furrows, further cracking her formerly perfect shell. “Darling, there’s nothing you can do. Someday this will be your duty. Today, it’s mine.”

Because today I’m a powerless, ordinary girl. An empty vessel, waiting for the magic to fill it. Aleksi’s fingers close around my upper arm and guide me to my chair. “My Saadella, you’ll be safe in the temple.”

“Safe?” I blink at him. There is worry in his eyes, and it makes me want to slap his smooth, round face.

His cheeks turn red as if I already have, and he bows to me. “The Valtia will keep us all safe, but her mind will be more focused if she knows you’re well protected,” he says in a tight voice.

My Valtia regards the elder coolly, then steps forward and takes my hand. “Tonight we’ll dine together, just like we planned.” She squeezes my clammy fingers and sends warmth flowing along my skin. “Elli,” she says quietly. “I’ll see you very soon.”

Even though I don’t want her to go, fierce pride beats within my breast as I look at her. “I can’t wait for that moment, my Valtia.” I will my voice into steadiness, just like hers. “And I’ll keep watch from my balcony so I can see you return in victory.”

Her smile brightens. “Until then.” She lifts my palm to her lips, laying a tender kiss there. It leaves a smear of red on my skin. Then she lets me go and takes her seat. “Quickly now,” she says to the bearers.

They carry her away from me. A moment later, my own bearers lift my paarit from the platform and whisk me down the steps. The acolytes and apprentices press the citizens back to give us a path. The jubilant mood has been siphoned away, replaced with brittle fear. Their faith is weak. Their doubt so easily overwhelms them. It’s pathetic. The Valtia can raise infernos with her fingertips. She can wield icebergs with her thoughts. She creates a dome of warmth over our city that lasts from the end of fall to the beginning of spring. What other people in this cold climate can grow fruits and vegetables in the frigid winter months? What city can build any time of year because the ground never freezes? Only us! All because of her power, which she uses only to serve them.

And yet, they seem cowed and uneasy as they look up at me. Suddenly this paint on my face feels like a prison. I want to scrape it from my skin and burst forth, vengeful and shouting. Instead I sit placidly as my bearers jog up the road to the temple, which sits at the northernmost tip of the peninsula that juts like a giant, curving thumb deep into the waters of the Motherlake.

I hold my head high as we move. I want everyone to see that I, for one, am not scared. I’m not. I’m not. Yes, my heart is beating like a dragonfly’s wings. Yes, my palms are sweating over the armrests of my grand chair. But that’s only because I’m hot and frustrated. Not because I’m scared for my Valtia. She’ll crush those Soturi. I saw the promise in her eyes.

She doesn’t break her promises.

The bearers mount the steps leading up to the temple. The blond young man at the right front side, the one who tried to steal an extra peek at my face, stumbles halfway up. My paarit lurches forward, and I grit my teeth to hold in the scream. But before I topple off the chair, the corner jerks upward. Kauko—who always

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