My mouth drops open.
“Senja’s husband said it would be bad if a councilman came here, thinking we’d kidnapped his wayward daughter,” Freya continues. “He doesn’t want to give the constables one more excuse to attack us.” She leans forward. “So was Aira right? Are you . . .”
She and Maarika glance down at my middle.
I put my hand over my flat belly. “Not even close.”
“Ah. Well, Luukas will be pleased then. He thought that was an idiotic rumor,” Maarika says. But before I can smile, she adds, “He thinks you’re spying on us, trying to figure out which of us are wielders so you can take that information to the councilmen and priests, so that when they return to reclaim the caves and the copper hidden in these tunnel walls, they’ll be able to kill us all. We’ve had spies try to infiltrate the camp before.” The lines around her mouth grow deep. “And we’ve dealt with them before they had a chance to tell our secrets.”
I draw my knees to my chest, imagining how the cave dwellers might “deal” with a spy.
Maarika leans on the wood frame. “Yesterday I heard Luukas in his shelter, telling Veikko—that’s his oldest son, who happens to be a wielder—that they should tell Oskar to get rid of you or they’ll make our whole family leave. Is Luukas right? You did show up only two days after Sig chased off the miners. Are you a spy?”
A hard chill rolls through me. “Definitely not,” I say in a hollow voice.
Freya tugs my arm, trying to pull me to my feet. “But no one will know that if you don’t get out there and act like a normal person.”
I turn to Maarika, and my voice trembles as I say, “I never meant to put your family in any danger.”
Maarika nods. “I know, Elli. But now you need to go out there and show them that you mean no harm—and that you have nothing to hide.” She disappears into her chamber.
I meekly follow Freya through the main cavern as she barters bundles of Oskar’s elk sticks and fur pelts for other basic necessities, like thread and cloth, a few loaves of bread, and a fat cube of lard. She introduces me to everyone as “the girl Oskar saved from a bear trap” or “the girl Oskar found mostly dead in the woods.” None of the cave dwellers are openly hostile, but they’re not a talkative, friendly bunch. I feel their wariness like a firm hand pushing me away. And I realize—all of them have something to hide. That’s why they’re so nervous.
I find myself wondering which are wielders—and which are criminals.
As we trade, I begin to notice signs of magic all around me. Small. Subtle. Unmistakable. We exchange a pelt for a stack of firewood with a black-bearded man named Ismael, who is coaxing a fire to full flame—even though he’s using soggy leaves as kindling. Next Freya heads over to trade with a woman cooling a cup of boiling tea for her daughter with a swirl of her finger. It turns out to be Senja, the one whose husband, Ruuben, was worried I’d draw constables here in search of the councilman’s pregnant runaway daughter. Senja licks tea from her finger as her gaze drops to my belly, and I smooth the loose fabric down so she can see there’s no baby hiding in there.
“Lovely to meet you,” she says brusquely, pushing her long blond hair over her shoulder and setting the cup in front of her daughter, who looks to be about six or seven years old. “Kukka, it’s warm. Drink up.”
Kukka, whose golden hair is curly and tangled, stares at the tea with a mischievous smile on her face. The tea in the cup freezes instantly.
My eyes go round and Senja groans. “Stop doing that, you little scamp!” She gives me a nervous look and blocks Kukka from my view. “I’m sure you have work to do elsewhere.”
“I would never tell,” I say, though I’m still staring at the frozen lump of tea in Kukka’s cup.
Senja’s eyes narrow. “Well, I would hope not,” she snaps. “Because anyone who tries to take my daughter from me will—”
“Thank you for the stockings, Senja. Enjoy the pelt!” Freya grabs my left hand and pulls me away from their shelter, telling Senja that Maarika will drop by later with some of the corn cakes Kukka loves so much. I trail Oskar’s little sister through the cavern, my thoughts whirling. Senja’s a wielder—and so is her daughter. Is magic passed from parent to child? I’d never considered that. Wielders don’t have children; it has always been forbidden for priests, apprentices, or acolytes to marry, let alone breed. But then again, I’d always thought all magic wielders resided in the Temple on the Rock, devoted to the Valtia and a life in service to the Kupari, and apparently I was very wrong.
“Freya, is Maarika a wielder?”