I flinch as his grip tightens, knowing I can’t escape this truth anymore. “Raimo said I was the Astia.”
His eyes narrow. “What? Like the cuff of—”
“Yes. It’s why I can absorb your magic without being hurt by it—and why, together, we can . . .” My eyes stray to the ice tomb.
Oskar’s looking at it too. “Did you know that would happen?”
“I had no idea. Oskar, please believe me,” I squeak. “I was the Saadella, but when the Valtia died, the magic didn’t come.” I briefly tell him of my escape, and the whole time he watches me, dumbstruck.
“Why were they trying to kill you? Wait—are they the ones who whipped you?” Before I can stop him, he lifts his cloak from my shoulder and peers at my bare back, then curses. “Why?” he asks, that one word infused with cold rage.
“I let them whip me when I thought it would draw out the magic. And they thought that by killing me, they could awaken the magic in a new Valtia. They most likely still think that.”
“Do they know you’re this . . . Astia person?”
Who isn’t even supposed to exist. I shake my head. “But Raimo did. I think he must have been a priest at some point. He told me I could do these things the night you brought me to him, but he never said how. Siphoning your magic—it just happens. And I don’t know how I helped you project your magic just now, only that we were touching when it happened. But I do know that Raimo warned me to keep it secret. He said any magic wielder would see me as an enemy—or a weapon, something to use to enhance their power.”
Oskar’s gaze drops to where his fingers are curled around my bare arms, which are tingling with the aftershocks of his magic, and he quickly lets me go. Maarika comes sprinting out of the cavern before either of us have a chance to speak again, her usually neat brown hair flying around her face. “Oskar!” she shrieks.
He whirls around to catch her in his arms, but staggers back as she collides with him. “You’re hurt,” she cries, clutching at his singed, holey tunic. “Oh, stars.” Her voice is thick with tears.
“I’ll be all right,” he says softly.
Freya is standing several feet away, staring at the ice. “Oskar . . . ?”
Oskar pries his mother’s hands from his arms. “I did it. Elli saw the whole thing.” He turns back to look at me, his face smooth and expressionless. “Come into the cavern. We need to get you some clothes before you catch a chill.”
Maarika looks me over, her brows rising. “What happened to her dress and boots?”
Oskar inclines his head toward the frozen priests. “They were burned off as the priests attacked. I used my magic to do what I could to protect her.”
Maarika looks at me, and then up at her son. “Then I’m glad you froze them,” she says, her jaw set. “They deserved that and more.”
She holds her arm out, and my eyes sting as I step forward and it settles around my shoulders, pulling me close. Her other arm is around Oskar’s waist. Then Freya appears on my other side, her skinny fingers burrowing into the holes in the cloak. I don’t feel worthy of this, but there’s no way I’ll refuse it. Maarika was right—they are my family now, mine to love and protect. Their acceptance warms my body in a way fire magic never could.
We limp into the cavern, where we are confronted by heartbreak. Ruuben is holding one of the burned bodies in his arms, and I don’t need to see it to know it must be Senja. He bends over her, his body convulsing with sobs, while Aira tries to comfort Kukka, who is screaming for her mother.
“Senja and Josefina tried to protect us,” Maarika says, brusquely wiping tears from her cheeks. “Those priests showed no mercy.”
Icy waves of air roll off Oskar as we walk by the scene. I suspect Harri’s death is one that Oskar doesn’t regret, and I feel the same. The pickpocket brought this fight to our threshold.
But so did I.