35

Aina

“Tell me about Jaako,” I say, helping myself to a second jam tart.

Across the table, the god of death sits, sharing a meal with me. He glances over the flickering candles, the light playing off his white and black eyes. When he tilts his head in that way, dark brows lowered, shadows dancing on his face, I can almost see the raven inside him.

“What do you wish to know?” he asks.

“Where is he?”

“He is here.” Tuoni taps a finger to his chest.

“He’s inside you?”

“He is me, wife.”

I set my tart aside, sucking the jam off my thumb. “I don’t understand. How did the curse work? Tuonetar shackled you with goblin-forged chains that limited your magic. How could you then visit me as the raven?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I’d need a shaman to confirm my theory, but I think soul magic cannot be contained. She could have my body, she could have my ability to make fire, manipulate shadow, control the dead. But she couldn’t have my soul. That part of me will always be free. I am no shaman, so it took some time for me to work out how, but I found a way to release my luonto.”

“Your luonto?”

He gives me a patient smile. “The piece of my soul that takes the form of a raven.”

“Can I ask another question?”

“Ask me any question, wife. I will answer.”

I reach for the tart again. “You know, you may call me ‘Aina.’”

“I prefer ‘wife.’”

I sigh, taking another bite of the berry tart. Across the table, Tuoni seems oddly at ease sitting in this silence, while I feel like I have a hive of bees buzzing inside me. As the raven, he listened to me prattle on for hours every night. It should be easier to speak to him, now that he can respond. But what could I say that a god would possibly want to hear? He sits there, black-bearded and fearsome, a complete mystery to me.

“What do you like, my lord?”

He’s still looking at me. He hasn’t stopped since I pulled him from the tree. He never stopped as the raven either. “What?”

“You can’t possibly do the duties of a king at all hours of the day and night,” I stammer on like a nervous fool. “So... what do you do with all your time?”

He narrows his eyes, the motion crinkling the jagged scar on his cheek. “Why do you ask such a question?”

“Because I seek to know you, my lord. Do you like cloudberries, for instance?” I gesture to the little plate of them sitting on the table. “Not everyone likes berries. It’s the seeds, I think.”

He glances at the small dish of berries by his hand. “I like cloudberries.”

“And?” I smile in encouragement. “What else, my lord?”

“Are we still talking of my food preferences?”

“Why not?” I say with a nervous laugh. “Do you prefer to hunt, forage, or fish?”

“Hunt.”

“I like to forage,” I offer. “Alone in the woods, the feel of the sun on my skin, the search for rare herbs and flowers, the thrill when I find that which evades me. It’s how I prefer to hunt.”

“You should never be alone in the woods,” he warns. “And foraging isn’t hunting.”

“It is to me,” I reply. “It’s far superior to a hunt. Nothing bleeds when you forage. Nothing dies.”

He holds my gaze, missing nothing of my meaning. “I like to read.”

I lean forward, genuinely curious. “You can read, my lord?”

His head tilts in confusion. “Of course I can read.”

“Who taught you?”

He considers with a frown. “You know, I have no idea. Perhaps I’ve always known.”

“And do your daughters read?”

“Of course. Everyone can read,” he says dismissively.

“By ‘everyone,’ I assume you mean gods. Certainly you can’t mean mere mortals.”

Understanding dawns on him and he sighs, setting his cup aside. “You can’t read.”

“I’m hardly alone, my lord. Only the priests for the foreign god can read.”

“Well, if you’d like, I can teach you,” he offers.

My breath catches. “You would teach me to read?”

“If you wish. In which language?”

I laugh. “I only speak the one, my lord.”

“Well, we can work on that too.”

I’ve always longed to read. It feels so isolating to know there might be a world of knowledge hidden away inside those inked pages. “Thank you, my lord.”

He pops a few of the cloudberries into his mouth. “And I like to ride.”

I smile, taking a sip of my wine. “A fitting kingly pursuit, I think.”

He narrows his eyes at me again. “You can’t ride either.”

“Your new queen is just a poor woodworker’s daughter, my lord. Your fire-sided stallion was the first horse I ever rode.”

The chair scrapes back as he stands, holding out a hand. “Come.”

I rise. “Where are we going?”

He smiles. Unlike the wretched Witch Queen, it meets his eyes. “I can’t teach you to read in a day, but I can certainly teach you to ride.”

The dead servants scurry with excitement as Tuoni and I stride into the stable courtyard. He’s dressed all in black, the heavy wolf pelt back on his shoulders. I walk at his side, dressed in thick, reindeer-fur boots, a cream woolen dress, and a blue hooded mantle trimmed with white rabbit fur.

The fur tickles my chin as I peer around, noting the way the dead fawn over us. No longer do they slink away like dogs waiting to be kicked. A child bounds forward. A young woman approaches with a tray, offering me a steaming cup of mint tea. This is Tuonela under Tuoni, relaxed and free.

It makes me ache... it makes me hope.

Tuoni steps away, giving orders to the guards in the stable. In moments, the servants lead two horses to us. The first is a menacing dapple-grey charger. The other horse is smaller in frame, more docile, its coat a sleek, snowy white.

Tuoni takes the reins of the smaller horse. “He’s a calm fellow.”

Handing my cup of tea back to the maid, I approach the horse. I let him sniff me, his whiskers tickling my palm. “Hello,” I coo, giving his face a pat. “You’re a pretty thing.”

Tuoni stands by the animal’s shoulder. “Come. Give me your foot.”

Humming with excitement, I step around behind him and grip the supple leather frame of the saddle. Tuoni gives me a boost, helping me settle. He slips my foot into the stirrup. “Keep your heels down, and gather your reins like this.” He shows me the proper hold. “Horses are sensitive. You don’t need a heavy hand or leg to get your way.”

I nod, and he steps away, leaving me on my mount. The snow-white horse stands calm and patient.

Tuoni swings up into his saddle. “Let the horse do the work,” he says over his shoulder, leading the way through the pair of double doors.

“Wait,” I call. “You can’t mean for us to go out there?”

Tuoni just laughs, continuing through the entry courtyard and out through the wide-open palace doors. Sitting atop his horse, the god of death rides boldly into the endless night. Feeling a surge of excitement, I give my mount a little nudge to follow.

We ride for what feels like hours, weaving along the edge of the forest and across meadows. Before long, my mount is cantering over a snowy hill, Tuoni’s charger snorting at my side. The snow crunches under my horse’s hooves as the cold wind blows my hood back. I feel the chill of it on my cheeks. I thought Tuonela was a realm of darkness, but Tuoni is right, there is light if you know where to look. The moon must be full, so the snow glows a little brighter. The light from the palace shines like another kind of sun.

As we ride, we pass many sleeping and wandering dead. There are creatures here too. Eager to greet Tuoni, they approach. A swarm of keijulainen follow us through the trees. They look like little birds made of flame. They flutter around us, teasing and swift. We pass a wolf mother and her cubs. Like Hiiden hevonen, their sides are made of iron, and they have fire in their eyes.

Tuoni slows his horse to a trot as we move into the shadow of a looming hill, and the keijulainen flit away. “Are you well?” he asks, searching my face. “You look cold. Do you wish to return?”

I smile. For the first time since I arrived in Tuonela, I feel free. I feel like the Aina before Kalma, before lonely nights and cursed bread, before Witch Queens and blood oaths. “I am well, my lord. Only thirsty.”

Without hesitation, he swings out of his saddle, tying his horse to a low-hanging branch. I slide off too, gasping in pain as my cold feet hit the ground. Tuoni is under his horse’s neck and at my side, hands on my shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

I smile, wiggling my toes in my boots, feeling them come back to life. “I’m fine.”

He lifts my hood, covering my hair against the cold, his fingers brushing along my jaw.

Reaching out, I press a hand to his chest. “Truly, my lord. I suffer from nothing but thirst.”

With a reassured nod, he ties my horse to the tree. Then he offers his hand. “Come.”

We weave a short distance through the snow-covered trees.

“Where are we?” I whisper, feeling an odd sort of chill that has nothing to do with the cold.

“We’re near the alder tree,” he says. “That hill is the Kipum?ki. The river lies just beyond.”

I pause, letting him pull at my hand. Kipum?ki, the hill of pain, where Kivutar stirs the suffering of the world in a great pot and Kiputytto mines rock to polish into stones of pain. So much evil and cruelty. So much anguish. No wonder the very air seems to tremble with fear.

“What is it?” Tuoni asks, squeezing my hand.

My breath feels tight in my chest as I trace the shadows of the hill. “I can’t—I don’t want to see it. Please, don’t take me up the hill.”

“We’re not going up the hill,” he replies. “We’re going under it.”

I let myself be led forward until we reach an odd sight. There’s a round wooden door set directly into the side of the hill. “What is this place?”

“There’s fresh water inside,” is his only reply. He sets a palm flat on the door. He mutters a few words in a language I don’t understand, something deep and guttural. Once the words are spoken, the door glows along the edges and rattles in its frame. He swings the door open and turns. “Best not tell Loviatar I’ve brought you here. I don’t think she would like it.”

“Why—”

“Just trust me,” he presses.

He’s so tall that he has to duck to get inside. With a wave of his hand, he sets a fire crackling to life in the hearth. I look around the room, taking in the comforts of this small underhill home. There’s a table and chairs, a sitting area, and a bed in the corner. The room has a distinctly feminine feel—dried flowers in a vase on the table, a knitting basket by the fire, a standing loom in the corner with unfinished cloth upon it.

“Who lives here?”

“No one,” he replies. “Not for a very long time.” He rattles around, finding two cups. Then he disappears through a doorway, returning with the cups full of water. “A freshwater spring runs beneath the hill,” he explains, handing me one.

“Thank you,” I murmur, watching him.

He takes a turn about the room, lost in memories, his hand brushing over the back of a chair. Whoever lived here, they obviously meant a great deal to him. Strange that my first reaction is jealousy. I swallow it back with the water, clearing my throat.

“It’s peaceful here,” I say. This little house has all the comfort of my own home. Thinking of it makes me miss my family, and I can’t bear to think of them now.

“You’re sad.”

I go still, looking at the fire. “I’m fine.”

He steps around the table to my side. “I know your face, wife. And your thoughts. I feel you here,” he adds, pressing his hand to his chest. “You’re thinking of your family.”

I nod.

He places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s good that you miss them. The love of family is a rare gift. To be loved in return is...” He falls into silence, but I feel him. He holds such deep longing. Gods, he’s so lonely.

Reaching out, I cup his bearded cheek. “This place holds painful memories for you. We can go—”

“No.”

I drop my hand away. We stand there, not speaking. I can tell he needs comfort, but I’m not sure how to approach him. As the raven, touch felt safe. As the man...

“I lost someone very precious to me once,” he admits. “I’ve never come back to this place. I don’t know why I’m here now.” He glances around.

I set my cup down and step in closer. “What can I do, my lord?”

To my surprise, he laughs. The sound is full of bitterness. “You seek to help with my grief? You who’ve endured so much. This realm, my curse... it took everything from you. You are blameless, wife. How can you offer help to one so broken as me? How can you even bear to be near me?”

I search his face. I see the pain there, the vulnerability. I know in his eyes, I’m perfect. Siiri has always been just the same, measuring all her own faults against what she perceives as my perfection. It’s a heavy crown for anyone to wear.

“I stole something once,” I whisper.

He raises a dark brow. “What?”

“Siiri’s mummi makes the most delicious blackberry pies. Once, when she was busy in the garden, I stole one right off her table. I didn’t even share it with Siiri. Her brother Onni caught me. I had to kiss his cheek so he wouldn’t tell Siiri or their mummi what I’d done.”

He blinks.

“So... I’m a thief,” I say with a shrug. “I’m a thief and a liar, and I permitted a boy to kiss me so he would keep my secrets. Nobody’s perfect, my lord.”

Slowly, his mouth tips into a grin. Then he barks out a laugh so loud it makes me jump.

“It wasn’t meant to be funny,” I mutter, embarrassment rising.

His laughter dies and he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

Hesitant, I step forward, taking his hand. He pulls me in, wrapping his arms around me. With his chin resting against my temple, I can still feel the laughter he holds in his chest. “So, this young man took advantage of you? Do you want me to kill him?”

“No,” I cry, pulling away. I’m mortified until he smirks. “It’s not funny,” I say, slapping his chest. “Kaisa was furious, and Siiri took the blame. She was splitting firewood for a week. I’ve never told anyone. Only Onni knows.”

He laughs again, smoothing my hair back from my face. “Listen to me, you wild and dangerous creature. You will never have to resort to stealing pies again. And as your husband,” he adds, the growl in the word making my stomach flip, “if I ever hear of you being forced to trade romantic favors with a man so he’ll keep your secrets, I’ll find the brigand and string him up by the ears on my palace walls.”

I purse my lips. “That won’t be necessary, my lord.”

His smile falls as he lets himself look at me with the same unabashed curiosity as the raven. I hold still as he lifts a hand, brushing his thumb over my lips. “Call me by my name.”

The thought of saying his name excites me as much as it makes me nervous. Since I pulled him from the tree, I’ve been playing a careful game of pretending he’s someone else. But he can’t be a handsome man from a neighboring village with a name that strikes fear into the hearts of all Finns.

He leans closer, our foreheads almost touching. “Say it.”

Heart in my throat, I whisper his name. “Tuoni.”

His control snaps, and I’m in his arms. Our lips meet in a pressing kiss. Gods, I want to sink into this feeling. I want to feel safe. I want to feel cherished, protected. His hand slips beneath the edge of my fur-lined cloak, his fingertips grazing the bare skin exposed in the V of my woolen dress.

I hiss and pull back, pushing on his shoulders with both hands. “Stop.”

Cool air rushes between us, and I take a halting step backwards. My heart is beating so loudly in my chest, I’m sure he can hear it. He’s looking at me. He’s always looking at me. I close my eyes, shaking my head. “I need... this is...”

He takes a step closer, his hands brushing down my arms as if to comfort me. “This is madness,” I murmur. “I still don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you, and I’ve never—” I blush, letting my truth fall unspoken.

He doesn’t advance, but neither does he step away.

My eyes flutter open to see him still looking at me.

“You said you weren’t afraid of me,” he challenges.

“I’m not.”

“Do you now believe I mean to harm you, wife?”

“No.”

“And do you believe I would ever allow another to do you harm?”

“You did,” I cry, pulling away. “These witches have done nothing but scare me and torture me, starve me—”

“I was bound,” he replies. “I did everything I could to protect you, to protect all the girls, even in my cursed state. I risked everything to curtail Tuonetar’s power. For the longest time, I lost everything. There are things that cannot be recovered, Aina. Wounds that cannot heal, lives that can never be made whole again.”

I close my eyes against the pain in his voice.

He steps closer, and I let him. “From the moment I met you, I knew you could be my redemption, my light in the dark. You stood before me and declared yourself mine. You freed me, Aina. I am myself again, and I will protect you.”

“I’m yours?” I repeat. “Your property, my lord?”

“No.”

“Your servant?”

He takes me by the shoulders. “You are my wife and my queen. Gods hear me, you’ll be my lover too. Mother of my children, mate of my soul.” His grip softens, even as he holds fast to me. “But I vowed kindness. I will never force you, Aina. You will come to me willingly, or not at all.”

“You would force me without meaning to,” I reply, fighting the urge to tremble. “You’re doing it now. This bond in my chest pulls at me. And then you look at me. Please —will you just stop looking at me? You did it as the raven and now as the man—I feel like I can’t breathe with you always looking at me!”

He smirks, not looking away. “Shall I close my eyes and feel my way out of the room? You may have to help me mount my horse.”

I bristle. “And now you’re laughing at me.”

His smile falls. “I told you, wife. You have all the power here. I don’t think I’ve ever been so completely unveiled before another soul.” He rubs absently at his chest. “This bond is a curious surprise.” He glances back at me, dropping his hand to his side. “I will wait for you.”

My heart squeezes tight. “I don’t want you to wait for me. Don’t you understand? I know what I promised at the alder tree, but I can’t give in to this, my lord. I can’t give you children. Not in this place. I can’t—I can’t pretend Tuonetar doesn’t live in my house. I can’t forget that your daughters who betrayed you and sold you out to the Witch Queen still eat at my table.”

“They are being dealt with,” he replies. “They are not a threat to you. Aina, please—”

I shake my head, tears welling. Behind his calm demeanor, buried deep within the bond, I feel his anguish, his fear and loneliness. My threats are breaking him. Ilmatar help me, I think the god of death is in love with me. My voice is hesitant as I say, “How long will you wait for me?”

He takes my question as an invitation and steps forward. Cupping my face, he presses his lips to my forehead. “Until day is night and night is day,” he vows. “Until snow falls from the earth and birds fly north for winter. Is that what you want to hear?” His thumb slides against the coolness of my cheek. “I know you, Aina. I see you. Tuoni, god of death, doesn’t frighten you. I don’t even think you’re afraid of Tuonela. Not anymore. Not in my arms. You’re afraid to give yourself to me... afraid to lose yourself to me.”

I swallow my frustration, hating how easy it is for him to read me.

“I will come to you as a poet if that is what you wish,” he goes on. “I’ll whisper honeyed words and make you feel like the queen of the forest. I will play the eager bridegroom. I will court you with flowers and songs. If that’s what you need, I will do it. But know this, wife: all words are hollow in the end. No words I speak will lead you to love me. You will love me for my actions.”

“Tuoni—”

He steps away, placing a chaste kiss on my hand. “Take all the time you want. Deny me for a hundred years if you wish. Mortal men may lack the strength to stand before your radiance, but I am not mortal... and I’m not going anywhere.”