The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(8)
Mim gently rolls new bloodred stockings onto my feet, pulling them all the way up to my thighs. I suppress another shiver as her fingertips slide over my skin, and I cannot help my twinge of disappointment when her touch disappears. She wraps the flowing, gauzy underdress around my waist and lets it fall in waves to my ankles. Her deft fingers lace and tie the corset so tightly that I can barely breathe, but I would never tell her of my discomfort. She’ll be judged by the priests if I’m not flawless.
While the Valtia is led to her awaiting ceremonial paarit, much larger than the sedan chair in which she travels around the temple, Mim ushers my other maidservants inside. The Saadella’s gown is made from loom-woven wool dyed a deep red with madder root and calf’s blood. Copper threads make it sparkle. Mim holds my waist as I step into it, and the attendants pull the sleeves up to my arms and fasten the gown to the corset. This dress weighs a stone at least and is so stiff that if I fainted dead away, it would probably still hold me up.
A little maid who can’t be older than twelve comes forward with my slippers on a special cushion. Her hands tremble as she lays them at my feet. I glance at my reflection in a metal plate on the wall, to see what she sees. I am snow white, bloodred, and copper glory. When I stand by the Valtia, everyone will know I belong there.
Mim presses the copper circlet onto my head. Studded with polished agates pulled from the shores of the Motherlake, it’s a solid weight on my skull. With that done, I’m led to the corridor, where my own paarit awaits. Impassive and expressionless, I walk slowly to it and take my seat on the chair that’s bolted to the platform. It’s adorned with intricate carvings of wolves descending from the stars to lay waste to the enemies of the Kupari, meant to symbolize the Valtia’s magic.
As soon as I’m settled, the bearers are called. They stride from the side hallways, looking fine in their scarlet tunics and hats. Each year, the priests choose eight of the strongest young men in the city to have the honor of carrying the Valtia and the Saadella on harvest day. The four chosen for my paarit bow to me one by one, then take up their positions at each corner. Their muscles strain beneath their uniforms as they lift me from the ground and set the ends of the horizontal poles on their shoulders. One of them, a boy with warm brown eyes and golden hair, gives me a curious sidelong glance. His cheeks turn red when he realizes I’ve caught him looking.
For a moment, I recall Mim’s pity and think perhaps I understand it perfectly. I’ll never know what it feels like to be loved by one, because I must be loved by all. I’ll never feel the touch of a lover, because my body is a vessel for magic. It only bothers me sometimes, like when I glance at Mim sitting by the fire on winter evenings. Her secret smile, meant just for me, leaves a pit in my stomach every time. And as I watch the handsome bearer’s strong hands wrap around the pole, I feel the same stab of longing.
I tear my gaze from him and look down the corridor. Already the priests are milling about under the dome that marks the main chamber of the temple. Their shapeless, hooded garments are belted with rope to signify their life as servants of the Valtia, their round heads shaved bald, their skin pale from lack of sunlight, their shoulders stooped from hours spent hunched over their sacred star charts or peering through their telescopes. They remind me a bit of the waddling turkeys in the temple menagerie.
Mim scoots ahead of the bearers and looks up at me. “You are blessed, Saadella,” she says in a loud, clear voice.
In unison, the bearers and maidservants repeat the phrase, and then we’re moving. I focus on being still and regal as I float down the corridor. The priests stride to the outer edges of the domed chamber and stand in a circle, their backs against stone walls inlaid with veins of copper, the treasure hidden within the flesh of our beautiful land.
Next to Elder Aleksi, on the east side of the chamber, is Elder Leevi, his thick red eyebrows slashing across his prominent, smooth brow, his deep-set blue eyes darting. And beside him is Elder Kauko, potbellied and square-jawed.
The elders are so different and yet similar. It’s difficult to tell how old they are—though they have a few gray hairs, their skin is smooth and youthful. In fact, all the priests share those qualities, as if they age more slowly once they ascend from apprenticeship.
The acolytes—both female and male—and the apprentices, all male, kneel at the back of the round chamber, their hoods over their heads, their faces concealed, their pale hands clasped in front of them. Some of them are small, no older than ten—and I wonder if one of them is Niklas, the little fire wielder Aleksi brought to us a few days ago. I hope he is well enough to join us today.
My paarit bearers stride to the center of the chamber and take up their position over the symbol of the Saadella, three circles entwined, one for fire, one for ice, and one for the balance between the two. It is pure potential, as I’m supposed to be. My heart kicks within my chest as Kauko raises his arm, signaling that we’re ready for the Valtia’s entrance.
Her bearers’ steps are synchronized as they carry her from an alcove on the west side of the domed chamber, and all the acolytes and apprentices bow until their foreheads touch stone. She’s now wearing her magnificent crown, which is polished and shining with the single agate that adorns its apex, a perfect eye of carnelian and amethyst. Her gown is a grand confection of woven copper thread, with a high, round collar that fans around her head. The bearers lower her to the ground, positioning her over her own seal, the symbol of infinity, two loops of pristine, snowy marble within a solid circle of copper, symmetrical and simple.