“Because the Vasterutians will be the mud beneath their feet,” I mutter, thinking of Halina’s sharp wariness, of the way Efren and Ligaya watched me that night out in the city. “Do you really think these people will stand for that?”
“They’ll have no choice. We’ll have many of their young men and women with us in Kupari, so hopefully they will realize that any rebellion would be met with the slaughter of their best and strongest.”
“So they’re not just to be attendants for the warriors. They are to be hostages.”
“It will save many lives.”
I can’t get Halina’s curly-haired little boy out of my head, or her words—Think I won’t fight? Think I won’t die? “Krigere ones, at least.”
He turns to me, his brow furrowed. “Thyra did twist you up. What did she tell you? Did she make you ashamed to be Krigere?”
“No.” But she and Sander made it impossible to convince myself that is all I am.
“I told my father it was a mistake to ask you to speak to her. If he’d talked to me first, I would have—”
“Why, Jaspar, do you think I’m weak?” A trickle of ice makes its way up my back, a warning.
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?