“You made a choice,” Oskar says softly, putting his arm around me and guiding us out of the chamber. “And so did I.” He lets me go and plucks a torch from a sconce, then holds it in front of him as he leads us up the tunnel.
I made a choice. And because of that choice, Sig is probably dead. It feels wrong. Not because I didn’t make the right decision, but because I shouldn’t have had to choose in the first place. If my will had been strong enough, couldn’t I have stopped his magic, tugged it right out of his grasp? I swear, if the stars give me more days than this, I will learn how to control this gift better.
But right now I have something else to attend to. I press my face into Lahja’s hair, which smells of warm honey and cold rock. She whimpers and hugs me tighter. “You’re safe,” I whisper to her. “And I’m going to take care of you.”
We reach the steps leading up to the domed chamber. Oskar walks in front of us. I sense his icy power pulsing from him. We don’t know what’s waiting for us at the top.
I touch his back. “Thank you,” I whisper. In case I don’t have another chance to say it.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “I’m yours to wield.”
We reach the top of the stairs. Oskar stands in front of me. “Raimo,” he says.
“Do you have her?” comes the creaky reply.
Oskar steps aside and guides me into the chamber with the Saadella still clutched against my body.
We’re surrounded. The chamber is packed with people. Raimo, leaning on his walking stick, his pale eyes glittering. Usko, half his coppery beard singed away. Veikko, his fingers gray with frostbite. Tuuli, her brown hair loose around her face, still shivering but otherwise unhurt. Aira, her neck and hands burned and blistered. No stout, black-bearded Ismael. No beaky-nosed Mikko. But there are at least twenty constables, clubs at their belts. Countless citizens, still bearing scythes and hammers and tongs, their faces smudged with ash. A few dozen acolytes, their robes torn, some of them bleeding, some of them burned, some of them shuddering with chills. And the councilmen, all staring at me—my nakedness covered only by Sig’s cloak and the child huddled against my chest.
Topias, the head councilman, removes his embroidered cap and steps forward, his head bowed. “My Valtia,” he says quietly. He kneels in front of me. “We acknowledge you as our queen.”
My heart thumps hard in my hollow chest as every person in the domed chamber falls to their knees and bows, their foreheads touching marble.
CHAPTER 26
I walk into her chamber with my offering behind my back. I’m running late because I’ve spent half the day in meetings with Topias and the other councilmen. Lahja’s already dressed in the new scarlet-and-copper gown made just for her, those bouncing ringlets tamed into coiled braids at the back of her head. She’s lying on her belly on a soft rug in front of the fire, her stockinged feet kicking in the air as she stares down at a picture book. Her handmaiden, who also happens to be her older sister, Janeka, a girl of about twelve with a quiet demeanor and long black hair, sits nearby, knitting her a new cap. I chose her myself. I wanted Lahja to have a familiar face within these walls. I want her to know she is safe.
Janeka’s eyes go round when she sees me standing at the edge of the rug, and she makes a startled squeak. Lahja’s head jerks up, and she spins around, looking frightened.
“It’s just me,” I say quietly, dropping to my knees. “I brought you something.” I bring out my gift, a doll given to me by Sofia, one I found tucked away in my belongings, the ones Mim packed before I escaped and she was taken into the catacombs. I hold it out to Lahja. She’s such an exquisite creature, wide, smooth brow, big blue eyes, rosebud lips. But her serious, wary expression tells me of everything she’s been through. There was no Valtia to enfold her when she was brought to the temple. A few of the maids told me she hasn’t said a word since she arrived, but Janeka has told me she used to be a chatterbox.
“Do you like it, darling?” I ask as the little girl inches forward, her eyes on the doll, which is painted like I will be soon. My coronation is today, and all my fears sit heavy inside me, enough to bring me to the ground. I stroke my fingers over Lahja’s little hand as she touches the doll’s face, but I keep my right hand tucked beneath the porcelain figure, afraid my missing fingers will scare her. She rubs her thumb over the soft, silky fabric of the doll’s dress, and a tiny, fragile smile pulls at her lips. She nods, and my chest squeezes tight.
“Good,” I whisper. “Later, we’ll play with her. It’s almost time for me to get ready. I just wanted to see you before I got dressed.”
Before I look like Mim did, in the last minutes of her life.