“The Astia is no different.”
My eyebrows shoot up. It sounds like what Oskar said, about letting me wield his magic as my own, about being my sword instead of me being his. And it makes no sense. “I couldn’t be more different! The Valtia wields her magic with absolute control, and me—” My frustration is choking me. “Other people wield me.”
“Only because you allow it, stupid girl. You and Oskar make the same mistake, thinking you can’t control things when you actually can.”
I grit my teeth. “When Oskar or Sig want to withhold their magic, they can. Both of them have done it to me. And when they decide to offer it, they do. But I can’t withhold anything. When Sig touched me in that square, he took the power from me, even though I never would have hurt Mim.”
“You forced that warmth into Oskar.”
“Yes, when he was mostly dead and unable to resist.”
Raimo’s scrawny frame jounces in the saddle as we gallop along. His words come between ragged breaths. “As long as you think like that, you’ll be as brainless and helpless as the actual cuff of Astia. Use your will, Elli, for surely you have one. How else did you survive the torture that nearly killed you? How else did you make it to the woods? How else are you right here, after weeks of winter spent living in a cave, for stars’ sake, looking stronger and healthier than I ever expected? No will, my arse,” he scoffs. “Remember who you are. Realize what you are. Do both those things, or you’ll either be completely useless—or too dangerous to help anyone.”
My thoughts churn. We’re only an hour from the city, and I have no time to learn how to do the things Raimo says are within my power. But that doesn’t change anything. The Kupari—all the Kupari, not just the citizens of the town, but all the wielders who’ve escaped to the outlands, the acolytes doomed to die in the catacombs, the little Saadella at the mercy of the elders—need to feel safe.
But is that what we’re doing? Or are we destroying the last shred of safety they have? “Raimo, I think we should try to talk to the elders. If they were desperate enough to try to pass off Mim as the Valtia, they must fear the Soturi. They were trying to put on a show of strength. Maybe—”
“And, what, are you thinking they’ll agree to stop living off the blood of young wielders, grow weak and old, and die? You think they’ll step down and allow a Valtia to truly rule the land, and that they’ll change the laws and let all wielders walk free—wielders who’ll have children who will grow in strength and magic, enough to challenge the priesthood—just because we ask them nicely? Oh, yes, let’s give that a try.”
My cheeks burn as we ride along the wide road that leads to the northeast. Up ahead, dark smoke still hangs over the distant city. Within that haze, the massive, pale-green dome of the Temple on the Rock looms high and ominous. “The Soturi will come,” I say. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“Then perhaps the Kupari need wiser rulers than a group of blood-drinking sorcerers who are more interested in maintaining their positions than protecting their own people—and letting the people protect themselves.”
Sig and Oskar bring their horses alongside ours. The fire wielder has a wide grin on his face. “Can you see it? Can you feel it?” He lets out a shaky chuckle. “Chaos,” he mouths.
I glance at Oskar, who nods toward the city gate. “It’s open,” he says. “No one’s guarding it.”
I squint into the distance and realize he’s right. Every minute brings us closer, and now I can see straight up the eastern road that leads to the square. “What’s happened?” It can’t be the Soturi—we’d surely have seen them on the march.
“We killed the Valtia, Elli,” calls Sig, every word dripping with triumph. “We’ve turned the world upside down.”
My heart seizes up like a fist as we reach the threshold of our great Kupari city. Yesterday it looked bad, but today it looks ravaged. The streets are empty, save for debris that litters the streets, the guts of ransacked, looted homes. A few scared faces peer at us from alleys or open doorways, but no one questions why twenty horses just cantered through the city gates. No one tries to stop us. We pass block after block, and signs of mayhem are everywhere. Carts left at the side of the road, their wooden wheels broken. A smear of blood on the stones of the council building. And then—
“I hear them,” Sig says, kicking his horse into a gallop.