The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(11)
Mim’s eyes are round as dinner plates. “S-s-aadella,” she stammers, “I’m so sorry.”
The shock on her face brings me so much shame that it burns. Tears start in my eyes and overflow in a mere second. “Apologies,” I whisper. “Please continue.”
She approaches me as if I’m a wounded bear, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. But I hold everything inside as she finishes cleaning my chest and neck and face. She gingerly removes my copper circlet, then draws my arms through my nightgown and pulls it down over my head. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I’ll be eating with the Valtia when she returns.” I take a step backward. “Until then, I’ll be on my balcony.” I whirl around, and she races ahead of me to pull the heavy wooden doors open. I stride through them. “Please don’t disturb me.”
Her only reply is the sound of the doors closing behind me. Reeling with the loss of the cheers, the thrill of the day, and my precious, rare time at the queen’s side, I move to the railing. In the distance, the tiny silhouettes of three sailing vessels float away from our peninsula and into the open water of the Motherlake. The sun draws its yellow tongue along the surface of the waves, rendering them golden and sparkling. It’s slowly sinking into the west, casting the boats’ shadows long as they cut through the lake, moving north. The oars move steadily and in perfect synchrony. The sailors know they carry the queen, and they know what’s at stake.
I stare at the northern horizon. Somewhere beyond it lies the seat of the Soturi empire. They’re coming for us, planning to take us over right at the harvest, just before the winter descends. No other people has dared to test us before, but these barbarians are different, descending from the far north and spreading southward like a plague. Until now, they have been satisfied with small-scale raids, killing and looting, burning what they can’t steal. It happens at least a dozen times each year at various spots along the coast, and each year there are a few more than the last. But this summer they took the entire city-state of Vasterut, and now they’ve set their sights on Kupari. What has changed?
At the point where lake meets sky, the water has turned dark and spiny. My breath catches in my throat—it’s the masts of the Soturi longships. There are so many of them that they seem to take up half the Motherlake.
I grip the stone railing and lean forward. “Your boots will never touch our shores,” I say, my voice dripping with menace.
Because I can see it now, the swirl of clouds over the Motherlake. And I know what my Valtia is going to do.
“Would you like me to make you a storm?” she asked as we ate roasted sweet potatoes and parsnips in her chambers, lounging and relaxed after a long harvest ceremony.
“Inside?” I asked. “How is that possible?”
Her eyes flashed with mischief. She rose from her pillows, her cream-colored gown flowing around her body as she moved to the carved stone bathing pool in the corner of her chamber. I followed, fascinated by the flex of her fingers, by the power I could already feel in the air. She gazed down upon the smooth surface of the water. “It’s not that hard. Watch.”
She flattened her left palm high over the water and moved it in a slow circle. “Cold air up here,” she told me. Then she scooped her right hand into the water and raised it slowly, turning it to steam before it could drip from her fingers. “And lots of warm, wet air down here.”
I stared in awe as she kept moving both her hands in those unhurried rotations, as the air began to swirl and crackle. And then, clouds of vapor burst from nothing. She grinned when my mouth dropped open.
As the first droplets of rain hit the surface of the bathing pool, I started to giggle. “Amazing!”
She winked at me as she contained the tiny storm, as she made it hail and rain. And then she made all of it vanish in an instant. I laughed with delight. “Did one of the elders teach you that? I wish they’d teach me about magic. I’m so tired of reading about agriculture and constellations and the life cycle of a cow and—”
“They want you to understand our world before you wield magic that can change it.” She looked down at the water dripping from her fingers. “And as for your first question, no. They didn’t teach me that trick. My Valtia did,” she said quietly, drying her hands on a cloth. “And someday, maybe you’ll show it to your Saadella.”
“Assuming I’m ever that good,” I said, unable to contain my awe of her—and my own uncertainty.
She nudged my chin up. “When you are the Valtia, you’ll be better than good, Elli. You may doubt anything in this world, but never doubt yourself.”
My eyes fix on the churning clouds as they roll chaotically in the sky, spreading outward. A distant crack of thunder splits the quiet. “Never doubt,” I whisper.
As the storm takes shape, the three boats disappear into the darkness like they’re passing through a veil. The sky roils, turning purplish green as lightning flashes down in jagged, bright blades. I picture the bolts stabbing the Soturi longships, breaking them in half, sending barbarians tumbling into the waiting mouth of the Motherlake.
May she grind their bones in her watery jaws.
I cheer when I feel drops of rain on my face. The storm is so massive that its edges lick at our city, spitting pellets of ice. I can only imagine what it’s doing to the barbarians. I wish I could see what’s happening, especially when the first waterspout erupts, rising so high that it kisses the raging, swirling thunderclouds. It goes on and on, the wind becoming an animal roar in my ears.