Freya returns and we have a quick meal, after which Oskar disappears to play cards. Freya takes me to a small side cavern and shows me where the relief chamber is, a deep hole one must carefully squat over as she does her business. When it’s my turn, I spend several moments eyeing the pit, once again torn between a fit of giggles and a bout of tears. I wish I could ask Freya to hold my skirt, but she relieved herself without that kind of assistance a moment ago. It takes a few awkward minutes, but when I manage to do my business without falling in or ruining my dress and stockings, I count this as a true success.
The massive cavern is awash in noise and music and laughter throughout the evening, but I’m so tired I could sleep through anything. I lie on the pallet of fur that Freya sets out next to her own in the other small, curtained-off area at the rear of the shelter. “Why did Oskar tell you I was a thief?” Freya murmurs as she snuggles up under her blanket.
“Oh, he was making fun of me. I was told these caves were full of bandits.”
She leans forward. “They are,” she whispers. “But not all of us are criminals.”
My heart kicks against my ribs. “Doesn’t that scare you?”
Freya giggles. “Oh, no. I can defend myself, and even if I couldn’t, no one would bother me. They won’t bother you, either.”
“Why?”
“Have you taken a good look at Oskar? Would you want to mess with anyone he cared about?”
“I see your point.” And though he doesn’t care much about me, Raimo said he was honorable, and knowing what little I do about Oskar, I believe it. With that reassurance, I sink into black, empty sleep without regard for anyone or anything around me.
I jerk awake to the noise of a groan. Tense and wary, I sit up as I hear it again—the sound of suffering. It beads my skin with cold sweat, awakening memories of the days I spent clinging to life and wishing for death. The cavern is mostly dark, and Freya is breathing deep and slow next to me, clearly asleep. But in a crack of open space between the pelt and the wooden frame, I see that the fire’s still burning in the front chamber. A flicker of movement draws me to the space to peek out.
Oskar lies wrapped in fur next to the fire, so close to it that I’d think he’d be sweating. But instead, he’s shivering violently. I push the pelt aside and crawl closer, wondering if he’s hurt or sick. But then he rolls onto his back.
His breath puffs from his parted lips in a frigid white cloud. His eyeballs move rapidly beneath his closed eyelids, and he moans like he’s having a nightmare. I scoot forward a few more inches and then freeze in place.
As Oskar lets out a pained sigh, ice crystals grow along his dark eyelashes, turning them white.
CHAPTER 11
Freya stirs and mutters in her sleep, so I slip back to my pallet, my mind reeling with what I’ve just witnessed. While Oskar’s dreams held him prisoner, a thin crust of frost covered his skin, spreading along his cheeks, turning his short, scraggly beard white like an old man’s. His jaw flexed and his face twisted into a grimace, temporarily melting the ice, but a few minutes later, it had formed again.
It seemed painful. Exhausting.
Magical. There’s nothing else it could be. And I remember what Kauko said about the terrible dreams: It is a burden the most powerful wielders must bear.
When I finally hear Oskar rise from his place by the fire, I close my eyes not a second too soon. He pulls back the pelt-curtain between us. “Elli?” he whispers.
I yawn and stretch like I’m just waking up. “Yes?”
“Can I talk to you?”
I get up off the pallet and follow him into the front chamber. Outside the fur walls, people are moving about, starting their day. “Is everything all right?” Fear makes my stomach churn. If he asks me to leave, I’ll have nowhere to go.
“Everything’s fine.” He rubs at his face. The ice is gone, but he looks tired. “I just want to make sure you know enough about what’s going on here to stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble,” I echo, remembering all Raimo’s warnings, especially what he said about me being a weapon or an asset in the hands of any wielder. “Trouble is the last thing I want.”
He nods. “I know you have contempt for magic. Many people in the city feel the same.”
“It doesn’t seem that way on the ceremony days.”
“Maybe not for the magic itself, then . . .” Oskar shrugs. “But some are mistrustful of people who can do magic. I’m just saying I understand it if you feel the same. If you mention that around here, though, some will take offense.”
“Are they so loyal to the Valtia and her priests?” The idea is terrifying—what happens if they find out about me? Will they give me up?
Oskar scuffs his boot along the rocky floor. “No,” he mutters. “It’s not that.”
I meet his inscrutable gray eyes. “It’s because some of the people here are magic wielders too.” Like you.
He gives me a small smile, like he’s happy I understand. “Exactly. It’s best not to talk about it, though. Not to call attention to it if you see it.”
“I think I get what you mean.” I clench my jaw to keep the questions from bursting forth.