The Impostor Queen (4 page)

I lower my eyes, my cheeks hot despite the cold room. “Of course, my Valtia.”

A warm breeze tickles the back of my neck, the Valtia's tender caress, and it draws a relieved smile back to my face. “Look at me, darling,” she says quietly. When I do, she adds, “We rely on the elders. But always remember—you're still the queen.” Then she winks, and my spirits rise like the sun.

I close my eyes and listen to Mim cracking eggs and mixing the yolks with the vinegar and white lead paste, her brush scraping the bottom of the stone bowl in rhythmic swishes. When the people look at me today, I want them to see their future queen, the one who will keep their crops growing and their bellies full, the one who will keep the enemy from our shores. The most powerful Valtia who ever existed. I want to look like I could become that person. I stay perfectly still as Mim brushes the snow-white liquid onto my face. Its astringent fumes burn my nose, but I don't even flinch. From this moment until Mim bathes me late tonight so I can dine privately with the Valtia, I cannot move my face, cannot smile or frown.

Helka finishes with the Valtia and takes her behind the screen to be dressed. The Valtia is silent now, like me, unwilling to damage her perfect exterior. When Mim's covered my face, neck, and chest with the pure white paint, she uses her tiny brush to slick the bloodred stain over my lips. Next she dusts copper powder over my eyelids and temples, holding the thick paper pattern against my skin to get the dots and swirls just right. While she does, I think of copper, and how it defines us, and how I always assumed it was as infinite as the Valtia's magic . . . until today.

“You are a living treasure,” Mim says, interrupting my thoughts. “Are you ready to be dressed?”

I blink twice so I don't crack my shell. Mim pats my arm, and for a moment I see sadness in her eyes, or maybe pity.

Wishing I could ask her what's wrong, I rise carefully and step behind a screen on the other side of the room. Mim strips off my underskirt and stockings, then rubs my body with rose oil. Like always, she carefully avoids touching my red flame mark, as if she's afraid it will burn her. But though it might look like a flame, in all the years I've borne it on my skin, it's been nothing but a swirling patch of nothingness. I wonder if that will change when the magic is awakened inside me. Perhaps then my mark will burn with the thundering power of the ice and fire magic in my body. I'll have to ask the Valtia about it tonight.

Mim gently rolls new bloodred stockings onto my feet, pulling them all the way up to my thighs. I suppress another shiver as her fingertips slide over my skin, and I cannot help my twinge of disappointment when her touch disappears. She wraps the flowing, gauzy underdress around my waist and lets it fall in waves to my ankles. Her deft fingers lace and tie the corset so tightly that I can barely breathe, but I would never tell her of my discomfort. She'll be judged by the priests if I'm not flawless.

While the Valtia is led to her awaiting ceremonial paarit, much larger than the sedan chair in which she travels around the temple, Mim ushers my other maidservants inside. The Saadella's gown is made from loom-woven wool dyed a deep red with madder root and calf's blood. Copper threads make it sparkle. Mim holds my waist as I step into it, and the attendants pull the sleeves up to my arms and fasten the gown to the corset. This dress weighs a stone at least and is so stiff that if I fainted dead away, it would probably still hold me up.

A little maid who can't be older than twelve comes forward with my slippers on a special cushion. Her hands tremble as she lays them at my feet. I glance at my reflection in a metal plate on the wall, to see what she sees. I am snow white, bloodred, and copper glory. When I stand by the Valtia, everyone will know I belong there.

Mim presses the copper circlet onto my head. Studded with polished agates pulled from the shores of the Motherlake, it's a solid weight on my skull. With that done, I'm led to the corridor, where my own paarit awaits. Impassive and expressionless, I walk slowly to it and take my seat on the chair that's bolted to the platform. It's adorned with intricate carvings of wolves descending from the stars to lay waste to the enemies of the Kupari, meant to symbolize the Valtia's magic.

As soon as I'm settled, the bearers are called. They stride from the side hallways, looking fine in their scarlet tunics and hats. Each year, the priests choose eight of the strongest young men in the city to have the honor of carrying the Valtia and the Saadella on harvest day. The four chosen for my paarit bow to me one by one, then take up their positions at each corner. Their muscles strain beneath their uniforms as they lift me from the ground and set the ends of the horizontal poles on their shoulders. One of them, a boy with warm brown eyes and golden hair, gives me a curious sidelong glance. His cheeks turn red when he realizes I've caught him looking.

For a moment, I recall Mim's pity and think perhaps I understand it perfectly. I'll never know what it feels like to be loved by one, because I must be loved by all. I'll never feel the touch of a lover, because my body is a vessel for magic. It only bothers me sometimes, like when I glance at Mim sitting by the fire on winter evenings. Her secret smile, meant just for me, leaves a pit in my stomach every time. And as I watch the handsome bearer's strong hands wrap around the pole, I feel the same stab of longing.

I tear my gaze from him and look down the corridor. Already the priests are milling about under the dome that marks the main chamber of the temple. Their shapeless, hooded garments are belted with rope to signify their life as servants of the Valtia, their round heads shaved bald, their skin pale from lack of sunlight, their shoulders stooped from hours spent hunched over their sacred star charts or peering through their telescopes. They remind me a bit of the waddling turkeys in the temple menagerie.

Mim scoots ahead of the bearers and looks up at me. “You are blessed, Saadella,” she says in a loud, clear voice.

In unison, the bearers and maidservants repeat the phrase, and then we're moving. I focus on being still and regal as I float down the corridor. The priests stride to the outer edges of the domed chamber and stand in a circle, their backs against stone walls inlaid with veins of copper, the treasure hidden within the flesh of our beautiful land.

Next to Elder Aleksi, on the east side of the chamber, is Elder Leevi, his thick red eyebrows slashing across his prominent, smooth brow, his deep-set blue eyes darting. And beside him is Elder Kauko, potbellied and square-jawed.

The elders are so different and yet similar. It's difficult to tell how old they are—though they have a few gray hairs, their skin is smooth and youthful. In fact, all the priests share those qualities, as if they age more slowly once they ascend from apprenticeship.

The acolytes—both female and male—and the apprentices, all male, kneel at the back of the round chamber, their hoods over their heads, their faces concealed, their pale hands clasped in front of them. Some of them are small, no older than ten—and I wonder if one of them is Niklas, the little fire wielder Aleksi brought to us a few days ago. I hope he is well enough to join us today.

My paarit bearers stride to the center of the chamber and take up their position over the symbol of the Saadella, three circles entwined, one for fire, one for ice, and one for the balance between the two. It is pure potential, as I'm supposed to be. My heart kicks within my chest as Kauko raises his arm, signaling that we're ready for the Valtia's entrance.

Her bearers' steps are synchronized as they carry her from an alcove on the west side of the domed chamber, and all the acolytes and apprentices bow until their foreheads touch stone. She's now wearing her magnificent crown, which is polished and shining with the single agate that adorns its apex, a perfect eye of carnelian and amethyst. Her gown is a grand confection of woven copper thread, with a high, round collar that fans around her head. The bearers lower her to the ground, positioning her over her own seal, the symbol of infinity, two loops of pristine, snowy marble within a solid circle of copper, symmetrical and simple.

Kauko steps forward with a carved wooden box in his hands. He bows to the Valtia and opens it, revealing the cuff of Astia, copper emblazoned with red runes, the sacred object she uses to project her power. She holds out her arm, and he reverently fastens it to her wrist.

As soon as it clicks into place, she raises her finger, and the candles in the room burst to life at once, vibrant pricks of light in the dim chamber. The acolytes and apprentices rise to their feet and throw back their hoods, revealing their shaved heads and somber expressions. The trumpeters just outside the temple see the signal and blow their horns. A massive cheer floats in from the city. The Valtia and I are carried out of the Temple on the Rock and into the sunlight, our bearers slowly walking down the long set of marble steps until we reach the white plaza. Our procession, the priests, apprentices, and acolytes trailing behind, strides between the two stone fountains from which jut majestic statues of the first Valtia, one gazing out on the city, the other facing the Motherlake.

At the southern end of the white plaza, the ceremonial gates are wide open, and our citizens line the road outside the temple grounds. They toss coneflowers and dahlias and amaranth blossoms into the mud at the bearers' booted feet as we pass. A regal tune from the pipes and drums fills the air, as does the scent of roasting venison and bear meat. My stomach growls, and I'm happy no one can hear it. My skin pricks with sweat under the midafternoon sun, but then a cool wind blows across my face, a gift from the queen by my side.

We enter the town square to a roar of adoration. The people keep up the steady stream of blessings and prayers and shouted words of love as we are carried up the steps of the high platform at the northern end of the square. The apprentices and acolytes stand in rows around the platform, keeping the citizens at a distance. As soon as the bearers set us down and descend the steps, the Valtia rises and the crowd falls silent. She offers me her hand.

I rise to a soft, collective intake of breath. They see how I'm like her. My lips tighten to rein in my smile, and I lay my palm on hers. Together, we face our subjects, and my chest nearly bursts with pride. There are thousands of people in this square, filling every inch of space. At the southern side, which leads to our farmlands along the coast, the men and women who till the earth raise their pitchforks and scythes in salute. If they're angry about the bandits and Soturi raiders, you wouldn't know it today. At the eastern side of the square, which leads to the main gates of the city, the mines and the outlands, the trappers and hunters have hung gorgeous pelts from the wooden arch that overhangs the road, and the miners lift their hammers high. I can't tell from this distance if there is desperation in their movements, if they truly fear that there is only one source of copper left on our sprawling peninsula.

At the western side of the square, which leads to the docks where our fleet of fishing boats is moored, the men and women who sail our Motherlake wave their caps in the air. Their wind-chapped, rosy-cheeked faces are a sight to see, and—

Several of them stumble forward as they're hit from behind. Four men, their faces sweaty and red with exertion, push their way through the crowd as whispers roll through the square. “Valtia!” one of them shouts, his voice cracking. “Valtia, you must come!”

The Valtia raises her arm, and the crowd parts to allow the men through. They stumble up the steps and throw themselves at her feet, their chests heaving. “Please, Valtia,” the oldest one says between ragged breaths, sweat dripping from his iron-gray hair. “We were bringing in our catch about ten miles off the tip of the peninsula, and we saw . . . we saw . . .”

He succumbs to a fit of coughing, and a younger fisherman pushes himself up to kneel in front of us. His blond, curly hair sticks out in crazy hunks around his head, and his eyes are glazed with horror. “The Soturi. We rowed back to shore as quickly as we could,” he says between panting breaths.

A violent twist of heat and cold shoots up my arm, and I cannot suppress my gasp. The Valtia holds my hand tightly as Elder Aleksi steps forward, his jowls trembling. “How dare you interrupt the harvest ceremony to tell us of a petty raid,” he hisses at the man.

The older fisherman groans and shakes his head. “Not a raid! Two hundred longships at least. We were only a few miles ahead of them. They'll be here before the sun sets.”

Two hundred longships.
Raw fear blooms inside me. The barbarians from the north aren't raiding this time—they're
invading
. I stare at my Valtia. We all do. Waiting for our queen to save us from destruction and death.

Her skin is ice cold as she releases my hand. And when she speaks, her voice is quiet but startling in its steadiness. “Take me to the docks. I'm going to need a ship.”