“Then he should learn how to control it! He probably doesn’t even know the difference between manifesting and wielding. Only those with a lot of magic can manifest. None of the cave dwellers could do it—except for me and Raimo.” Sig sticks out his palm, and the fire bursts forth, swirling orange and bright without fuel of any kind. Jouni, riding next to us, stares at it, then clenches his jaw and spurs his horse ahead of us. Sig chuckles. “Jouni can only wield—he needs an existing flame if he wants to throw actual fire. I think it makes him feel like less of a man.”
Jouni looks back at the two of us, his face red. The temperature rises, and Sig blows out a shaky breath. “Sorry, Jouni. No offense,” calls Sig, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. I could siphon that heat if he allowed it, but I know he never would. Jouni faces forward again and the heat lifts.
“You think Oskar can manifest ice? I’ve never seen him do that.” I’ve only seen him freeze things. And when we killed the priests, he pulled the ice and snow and water from everywhere around us and used it to crush them.
Sig snorts. “Have you ever seen him when he’s asleep? He manifests without even trying.”
“You’re right.” I remember all the nights I’ve watched the ice forming from nothing, creeping along his skin and enclosing him. “I didn’t know that’s what was happening.”
“Oskar and I are blessed and cursed. Each of us bears half the magic of the Valtia. We can do so much—but without any of the other element, we can’t do some things other powerful wielders can do. We can’t move objects easily, because you need both hot and cold magic for that.” His muscles tense. “And we don’t have the power to heal. If the Valtia is balance, we’re the opposite.”
“How does that much unbalanced magic not destroy you?” I ask. And then I think of Oskar, ice coating his skin, turning his lips gray. It was destroying him.
Sig is quiet for a few moments before saying, “Neither of us will live to be old men. Raimo told me that a long time ago, when I went to him for help. He said the Suurin are weapons. He trained me, and I’ve made the most of what I’ve learned. He said war is coming, and that’s why we exist.”
He told me a war was coming too. “Did you ask him how he knows?”
“When I did, he waved a torn parchment in front of my face and cackled about how everything was coming together. I think it was some kind of prophecy.”
Realization jolts through me. “A prophecy . . . Raimo’s had it this whole time.” And he told me he’d been waiting. “Did he tell you more about what it predicted?”
Sig’s fingers twine in the reins. “He didn’t have to. I’ve always known who my enemy was. And if I’m a weapon, I’m also the wielder. No one else will ever control me.”
He spurs the horse forward, and we pass Jouni, Usko, and Tuuli, each with hoods low and knives at their belts. Five others ride behind them, refugees who escaped the temple or the city so many years ago, all willing to follow Sig wherever he goes. The Kupari city lies up ahead. I can now see the high wooden arch of the eastern gate. Inside, our fate awaits us.
When we get to the gate, the same black-toothed, black-haired constable is on duty. There’s a fear in his eyes that wasn’t there the last time I saw him. I don’t breathe until his gaze slides over me with only the barest interest. I wonder if I look different after weeks of winter cave dwelling.
Sig tells him we’re hunters bearing gifts for the new Valtia, eager to celebrate her coronation. As proof, Usko and Tuuli ride up, their horses laden with pelts. I try not to think of who they must have stolen from. Those hunters are probably lying burned or frozen deep in the north woods. It makes bile rise in my throat.
It’s shockingly easy to gain entry to the city. The constable accepts a bribe—a glossy rabbit pelt—and waves us forward without questioning us. The muddy streets are teeming with people heading for the square. They huddle in cloaks and long coats, their boots sloshing through soft divots of earth, hoods and hats crammed over ears. Hands are red and chapped, unaccustomed to the brutal winter—this is the first time they’ve experienced the full weight of it. When they look up as we pass, I see a strange array of emotions—wariness and hunger, hope and fear. So different from before Sofia died, when their eyes held pride and confidence.
I see other signs of the hardship they’ve experienced since I was banished. Windows used to be open, but now all are shuttered or boarded up. The only exceptions are a few shops—but that’s because they’ve been looted. Their doors hang open, gaping mouths leading to empty shells. People are turning on one another. Scared of one another. My heart aches for them. This is what happens when there is no Valtia. With everything inside me, I pray she’s there now.
Sig, Usko, Tuuli, and the others tether their horses a few blocks from the square, and Sig takes my wrist, his fingers firm over my sleeve. Ever since I told him that I siphon magic with a touch, he’s avoided prolonged contact with my bare skin. I don’t think he has anything to fear, sadly. After what happened with Oskar in our final moments together, I believe Sig would have to be willing to give his magic up for me to be able to take it. But I’m not going to tell him that.
His dark eyes find mine. “Ready, Elli? Can I trust you?”