I shoot to my feet, every shred of my body thrumming with fear.
My boot slips in the melting snow and my arms reel. All around me, I have the sense of fire, of freezing air, of violent wind. But it’s the slippery grass that does it.
I fall to the sound of Oskar shouting my name.
CHAPTER 17
I grab at the air, begging it to grasp my flapping hands and hold me high.
If I were the Valtia, I could use my magic to slow my fall. I could summon a hot wind to carry me. I could ask the ice to rise up and catch me.
But I’m the Astia. And that makes me helpless.
I land with a huff—but not on the ground. Oskar’s arms close around me, and he falls to his knees still holding me tight. I gasp, knocked breathless by the impact as Oskar’s forehead leans against my cheek. His body is between me and the priests, who are firing blasts of ice and fire at us with all the power they possess.
And Oskar is taking all of it. His face is a mask of agony as a blast of fire slams into his back. His chest shudders and he groans from between clenched teeth.
I don’t feel the fire, but the sight of Oskar’s pain causes molten rage to well up inside me and overflow. I look over his shoulder, right at Leevi, and see the tight, bitter determination on the elder’s face as he and his priests close in, their palms outstretched, trying to destroy Oskar so they can get to me. I will kill you for this, I think as the elder sends a blast of ice at him.
My hands tangle in Oskar’s hair as the ice collides with his broad back. “Give it to me,” I whisper as he lets out a choked, shuddering whimper. I press my face to his neck. He shivers.
And then he gets to his feet. His eyes are still closed. It’s like he’s retreated inside himself just to survive—but his grip on my body is desperate and unrelenting as he pours excess ice magic through the places where our skin touches.
One of the priests reaches toward the large central fire in the cave, and the flames leap toward him like a trained animal. His eyes glow as he flings them at us.
My fingers curl tight against Oskar’s scalp as I watch the inferno coming. My eyes narrow and my lips pull back from my gritted teeth. No, you won’t touch him.
A wave of cold rolls across Oskar’s skin. He pivots sharply, his eyes opening, his body pulsing with power. “Enough!” he roars, and, still holding me against him, flings his other arm outward. His fingers spread wide and then close into a fist.
My whole world spins as a strange pulling sensation fills my chest. Ice and snow swirl in the air, drawn from everywhere—the ground around us, the hill, the drop-off, the melting crystals on the grass. There is a deafening boom, and Oskar collapses. He lands on top of me as my back smashes into stones.
We’re surrounded by silence. The priests have stopped their attack.
Oskar slowly raises his head from my chest. He’s shaking, his breath fogging in front of his face. His lashes and hair are covered with rapidly melting ice crystals—but his forehead and cheeks are beaded with sweat. With a stab of horror, I remember Sofia dying in front of me, parts of her freezing while others burned.
“Elli?” he says, his voice laced with pain. “What—wh-what—”
I lay my palms on his frigid cheeks, trying to drain away the magic that’s hurting him. “Are you all right?”
He blinks. “I d-don’t know.” His big body is on mine, his muscles are twitching.
“Oy!” shouts a voice I recognize as Jouni’s. Boots slide in rocky terrain nearby. “What in the stars above?” His exclamation is followed by several others, full of puzzlement and fear.
Oskar rears back on his knees as if he’s just remembered the threat, his arms rising to defend us. But then he goes stiff. Several of the cavern men have run down the trail, probably alarmed by the noise, and are pressed against the steep incline of the drop-off, staring in awe.
Before us is a scene of devastation, a moment literally frozen in time. Starting a few yards from where we sit and ending at the mouth of the cavern is an enormous, crystalline block of ice. It’s the size of a large building, and within it are encased the constables, the priests, Harri the traitor, and Leevi. Many of them are suspended several feet above the ground, as if they were being thrown through the air when the ice hit. Their arms are spread wide as if to stop the onslaught. Their eyes are round with the horror of it but cloudy with their sudden deaths. Their mouths are gaping, held open by the unforgiving ice that has flowed down their throats, up their noses, into their ears. The sun shines down on all of it, adding a merry twinkle to the ghastly, transparent coffin.
Jouni whistles and yanks off his cap, running his hand through his messy reddish-blond hair. “Oskar. Did you . . . ?” He tears his gaze from the scene and turns to us. Then his jaw goes slack, like he’s been hit over the head.