41

Aina

“My lord,” I gasp, swatting at his hand as he works it under my dress. “Someone will see us.”

“Let them see,” he growls, pressing his lips to mine. “I want them all to see the way I hunger for you. And call me by my name. Say it.”

“ Ah —Tuoni,” I cry.

He presses me against the tree with his hips. Behind him in the darkness, the horses snort, pawing the ground. We’re meant to be riding again. It was my request. But Tuoni clearly has other ideas. After showing me the fallow fields and the hot springs, he pulled me from my horse and walked me into the shadows of the trees.

I cry out as he claims me.

“This is all I want,” he pants, his face dropping to the curve of my neck. “I want to feel you like this, bury myself inside you, taste the sweetness of your mortality pulsing here at your throat.”

I arch my neck for him, and he groans, dragging his teeth over my pulse, as though trying to pull my essence through my skin. It was like this all night. He woke me twice to have me again. By morning, we were slicked with sweat and sated.

“More,” I pant against his mouth. “Give me more.”

“Everything,” he groans. “Anything. It’s yours.”

We finish, and I fight the heat in my cheeks as I search for my discarded clothes—my mittens, my hat. I like this new intimacy we share. He’s attentive, like my raven, but unrelenting, which I can only assume is the god.

I glance around as Tuoni leads me back over to our horses. In this darkness, endless threats loom—spirits that want to eat me, witches who would see me dead, creatures that don’t trust me. With the other girls gone, I’m alone.

He cups my cheek. “What’s wrong, wife?”

I find him a smile, knowing it doesn’t meet my eyes. “Tell me about tonight,” I say, looking for any distraction.

He laughs, helping me back into my saddle. “About your coronation? When all shall bow and call you Queen of the Dead?”

“I’m not sure now is the right moment to announce my new status—”

“It is exactly the right moment,” he counters, swinging up into his saddle. “There can be no delay. If the other gods sense continued discord in Tuonela, we will all be vulnerable.”

“But there is discord,” I press, urging my little grey mare into a trot. “Surely, inviting a host of immortals into the palace to witness it for themselves will do nothing to shore up our vulnerabilities.”

“Ahh, but that is where you underestimate my daughters,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“Underestimate them how?”

“There is nothing more abominable to them than appearing weak before the other gods. They will do everything in their power to present a united front.”

I smile, feeling his hope fluttering down the bond. “And you think that if tonight goes well, we can keep the charade going even when the others leave?”

“All will be well,” is his only reply. “Now come, wife. We must return and prepare.”

A few hours later, I sit at my dressing table, fine-toothed comb in hand, working it through my unbound hair from roots to ends. Tuoni is gone, overseeing preparations in the hall below. Kukka is my only companion. The dead maid lays out my coronation dress on the bed. It’s a beautiful gown of rich green velvet, trimmed in red fox fur at the collar and cuffs. The bodice is embroidered in a scrolling vine pattern. It must have taken Loviatar ages to complete.

A knock at the door has the maid turning from her work. She moves silently across the room and opens the door, admitting the witch. Loviatar is flanked by a pair of maids, each carrying a wooden box. She herself wears robes of white trimmed in fur over a raven-black gown. Silver adorns her ears, while more silver encircles her wrists and neck. “You are recovered from the events of last night?” she asks.

Setting the comb aside, I turn on my stool to face her. “I am. Your father healed me. And you?”

“As you see,” she replies.

I narrow my eyes at her. “You are angry with me.”

She folds her arms across her middle. “I told you to run. You were a fool not to listen.”

“I was trying to save you—”

“You’re a fool! You know nothing. Only Kalma can control her v?ki.”

“Yes, I know that now. Tuoni told me.”

“When a witch tells you what to do, you do it.”

I turn away from her. “That implies trust first, does it not?”

“You still do not trust me?”

“You know I don’t. Even as you care for me, you have still manipulated me at every turn.”

She gestures to the maids behind her. “Then let these be a gesture of my goodwill.”

The first maid steps forward and opens the lid of her box. Inside are two stacks of gold bangles and a necklace set with green gems.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmur, my fingers brushing over the necklace.

“They’re mine,” Loviatar replies. “Now they are yours. Perhaps, one day, you will pass them down to a daughter of your own.”

I go still as ice floods my veins. A daughter of my own? Gods forbid. I would never seek to bring a child into this darkness. I close my eyes, thinking of the husband who cannot keep his hands off me. I’ve already put myself at too great a risk. I may be a novice in the ways of love, but my mother is a wisewoman. I know well what lovemaking can lead to. Tonight, after the feast, I will go to the kitchens and gather what I need to make a tonic to stop a child from coming. Wild carrot and rue mixed with honey, ground lily root. I must start taking it daily—

“Aina?” The witch waits for me to speak.

Not looking her way, I pluck the bangles from the box. “Thank you.”

She gestures to the other box. “This is a gift from my father.”

I watch as the maid steps forward and opens the larger box. “Oh...”

It’s a crown. My crown. It rests on a velvet cushion, a delicate thing of pale white wood. The points where the wood meet are soldered with melted gold. At the front of the crown, a large amber stone sits nestled in more gold.

“It’s driftwood,” the witch explains. “From the river. It is steeped in the magic of this realm. Only a queen may wear it. The crown knows the difference.”

I’m suddenly nervous, gazing down at the twisted wood. “What will it do to the one who dares to wear it without being queen?”

“A sticky-fingered goblin once thought to take it,” the witch replies. “The crown grew large enough to drop over the goblin’s head to her shoulders. Then the crown grew smaller... and smaller... and smaller, until—”

“Yes, I can imagine the rest,” I say, snapping the lid shut.

Loviatar smiles down at me, or at least her version of a smile. It’s little more than a pursing of her thin lips.

“You’re lying to me. You just made that up.”

“Of course I did,” she teases, waving the maids away. “You’re too gullible, Aina. Perhaps that is why we all find it so easy to manipulate you.”

“That you all seek to manipulate me is why I can never trust you,” I retort. “And without trust, there can be no love.”

She’s quiet for a moment, considering my words. “And how am I to win your trust, my queen?” She takes the comb from my dressing table. I hold still as she drags the teeth through my long, unbound hair. Her touch is gentle... motherly.

“You know how,” I whisper. “Tell me her name.”

The witch’s hand stills.

“Tell me her name, Loviatar. I’ll trust you only when you prove you trust me.”

“Trust no one tonight,” she says, determined to keep her secrets. “They will ask you questions. It is a mistake to think they seek to know you. They seek to know only your weaknesses. Give them none.”

With that, the witch leaves me alone with the maids. It takes a moment for me to realize she left with my crown.

An hour later, I stand in the receiving hall in my new gown. It fits me perfectly. The skirt falls in folds to the floor, while the white cape at my shoulders trails behind me. Kukka arranged my hair in artful braids that frame my face. I lift a hand, the bangles on my wrist jangling softly as I brush my fingers over the necklace at my throat. I’ve never worn so much ornamentation before. It feels strange... and heavy.

Perhaps I merely feel the weight of this moment.

Kukka is joined by three more dead maids who wear the sigil of the Sun Raven on their chests. They flank me, ready to help me take my next steps. At least I won’t be alone. I glance around this room that now holds so many memories for me. I think of the night I met the other girls. We were huddled here in this spot, with tears in our eyes we were too afraid to let fall. Now it glows with the warmth of two dozen candles.

Beyond the doors, a feast—laughter and cheers, the rattle of plates, the stomp of feet. And music, joyous, riotous music—drumming and flutes. Two dead guards step past me, taking up their place at the double doors. Turning as one, they raise their fists and knock. The music changes as the doors swing open from the inside.

I’m greeted with a swirl of color and sound. The hall is full of long tables set with a great feast. All those within stop and turn, eager to watch as I enter the room. It feels eerily similar to the first time. That story ended with bruised shins and my dinner hopping out of my hand, overturning a tray of maggots.

“This is a new story,” I whisper to myself.

To either side of the door, the guards nod.

“Be upstanding,” a voice calls from inside the room. “Come forth, Ainatar, Bride of Tuoni!”

Hearing my new regnal name gives me strength. Holding my head up high, I sweep into the hall. All eyes watch me as I make my way down the open central aisle. I focus my gaze ahead, looking only to the dais where Tuoni waits for me. He sits on his golden throne, a simple iron circlet on his head. Next to him is an empty chair of silver.

My chair.

My throne.

He smiles at me as I approach, holding out his hand. As he stands, the rest of the hall drops to their knees. I fight my trembling as I finish my walk, pausing at the steps of the dais.

Along the top table, his daughters sit. Loviatar waits to my immediate right, with Kalma seated on the end beside her. Vammatar sits to her father’s left and—

Oh gods .

Tuonetar is here. She’s dressed in her finest robes, her magnificent silver hair piled high on her head. But she looks as haggard in face as ever... and she wears no crown. Her robes are artfully draped to conceal the manacles on her wrists. She clutches her goblet, giving me a look like she hopes I sink into the floor.

Tuoni steps forward, coming to the edge of the dais, his hand still outstretched. Lifting the bottom of my heavy dress with one hand, I ascend the steps, reaching for him with my other hand. His fingers clasp possessively around mine and he reels me in, placing a chaste kiss on my forehead.

“You look beautiful, wife,” he says under his breath.

I’m too nervous to reply as he steps back, gesturing for me to kneel. Everyone watches as I sink to my knees before Tuoni. Loviatar appears at his shoulder, my crown in her hands. Tuoni opens the box. Reaching in, he lifts out the driftwood crown, holding it aloft before the assembly.

I can feel every eye in the room. I feel Tuonetar most of all. I don’t dare glance to my left to see her glare as Tuoni slowly lowers his hands, placing the driftwood crown upon my head. For a moment, I wait for the crown to declare me unworthy and slip down around my neck, but it doesn’t. I gaze up, trying not to move my head.

Tuoni smiles down at me, his mismatched eyes radiant with pride. Then he looks to the crowd, hands splayed wide, and intones in his deep voice, “From the Manala underground, from underneath the blackest soil, rises one of peace and beauty, fairest of the death-land maidens. Behold, Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela!”

“We behold,” chants the room.

Chills run down my spine as a kind of claiming magic simmers in the air, settling around my shoulders.

“Rise,” says Tuoni, holding out his hand.

I place my hand in his and let him lift me from the floor.

“That is the last time you ever bow to me,” he says for only my ears. “A queen does not bow, even to her king.”

He leads me back the three steps to our chairs. Slowly, we turn. Following his lead, I sit when he sits. From around the room, all our guests call out, “All hail King Tuoni! All hail Queen Ainatar!”

Goblets rattle and fists pound the tables as everyone cheers. But as I gaze out upon the glittering assemblage, I see more than one unsmiling face. I may not be fully accepted, even now.

In moments, the music crescendos and all our guests resume their feasting. I let go of Tuoni’s hand as dead servants come bustling up the dais, balancing a wooden table. They place it before us. I hardly have time to blink before more servants have piled the table with candles and golden plates, jeweled goblets for wine, polished wooden bowls for stew. Then the food arrives—roasted duck, a haunch of pork, blood sausages, root vegetables mashed with butter, wild mushroom stuffing seasoned with pepper and thyme, lingonberry tarts.

But I can’t eat a thing. I’m too anxious. I still feel half the eyes of the room on me. Loviatar’s warning sits fresh in my mind. They’re all looking for weaknesses, waiting for me to make a mistake. I lift my goblet and an attendant rushes forward to fill it. I take a sip of the sweet wine, but even that makes my stomach churn.

“You should eat something,” Loviatar mutters. “It will help.”

“It won’t help when I lose my meal all over this table.” Regardless, I transfer a few of the delicacies to my plate. “This is no magic trick? They’re all really here?”

“Yes.”

“Where did they come from?”

“From the realm of the living,” she replies. “A few are from our realm. Father likes to entertain. Now that he has regained his throne, you can expect many more feasts.”

I set my wine aside. Not for the first time, I’ve had to work to reconcile these different versions of Tuonela in my mind. There was the Witch Queen’s version, where every waking moment threatened pain and death. Then there is Tuoni’s Tuonela. It’s clear he’s trying to make me fall in love with his realm as much as with him. He wants me to be happy here. He banishes the darkness with firelight. He fills his hall with laughter and music and glittering gods. Why would a woodworker’s daughter go back to her simple life on the lakeshore when she could be a queen?

I offer him a nervous smile. He takes my hand and brushes his lips against my knuckles, gaze drifting up my face to my crown. The look he gives me is enough to melt me inside. Damn him, but he’s playing this game to win.

A flash in the corner catches my attention. I turn to see a woman flick a long sheet of white-blonde hair over her shoulder. It almost seems to glow in the candlelight. The woman turns fully, and I stifle my gasp. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen: fair brows and wide, dark eyes, soft lips stretched into a smile.

“Who is that?” I whisper.

Loviatar sniffs, setting aside her wine. “I’m sure you don’t mean to always be so insensitive...”

I blush, realizing my mistake. “She’s beautiful,” I explain, and try to find the right words to conjure her appearance. “Her hair glows with the light of a star—”

“Say no more.” The witch frowns in annoyance. “She is Kuutar.”

Kuutar, goddess of the moon. I sigh, taking in the glistening gold of her dress. In all my mother’s stories, Kuutar sits at her wheel, spinning golden thread from the light of the moon. The goddess notices my attention. She inclines her head, offering me a smile.

“Oh gods,” I gasp, looking down at my plate. “She noticed me looking.”

“You’re an oddity,” Loviatar mutters. “You can be sure they’re all looking.”

“Loviatar,” I hiss. “She’s still looking.”

“She cannot approach you,” she replies, amused by my discomfort. “You’re a queen. She is not.”

“She is Kuutar .”

“And you are Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela. You outrank her. In this room, in this realm, you outrank everyone. If you want the little fool’s attention, beckon her forward.”

There’s clearly no love lost between the goddesses, but I am not a goddess. “I can’t beckon her to me,” I say, aghast. “I’d die of embarrassment to say I called the moon goddess to me like a dog.”

“Then acknowledge her and turn away.”

I do as the witch says. Kuutar looks a little crestfallen, her smile faltering, but with a flick of her long hair, she turns her attention to the handsome man sitting to her left.

Over the rest of the meal, I let my gaze wander the room, trying to guess my guests’ identities. It makes me miss Siiri all over again. What a game she would make of it. She’d have no problem calling Kuutar forward with a wave of her hand or challenging Ahti to an arm wrestling match.

“Something amuses you,” Loviatar says at my side.

I turn, curious to see if the witch will play my game. Before I can ask, a man charges forward, cap in hand, bowing before Tuoni with a flourish. He’s frightfully handsome, tall and lean, with sharp blue eyes and tousled blond hair. “My lord,” he calls out in a deep voice. “Now that the feasting is done, is it not time for a dance?”

I can feel Tuoni tense through our bond, but he inclines his head and the room cheers. A great scraping sound fills the air as chairs and benches are pushed back. Across the room, several people stand, eager to join in.

The handsome man turns to face me. “Should not our new queen have the first dance?”

“You’re as transparent as ever, nephew,” Tuoni replies, his annoyance barely veiled. “If you wish to dance with my wife, ask her yourself.”

I fight my look of surprise as the handsome man flashes me his most charming smile. “Will you dance, my queen?”

I glance to Tuoni. He’s frowning, but he nods. I can all but hear his voice spoken through our bond. Be careful with that one. I try to match the young man’s smile. “I would be delighted.”

“Excellent,” the man calls. “We must have music!” He spins away with a clap of his hands, eager to clear a space at the front of the room.

“I thought you said no one could approach me,” I rasp in Loviatar’s ear the moment he turns away.

“Nyyrikki has never been one for following the rules,” the witch replies.

I go still as I take in the man’s tall form, his lean body and beautiful face.

“You’ll need to stand now, my queen,” Loviatar teases. “They wait for you to lead the set.”

I rise unsteadily to my feet as I commit Nyyrikki to memory. The god of the hunt has just asked me to dance, and Siiri isn’t here to witness it. My heart breaks a little, even as I try to find another smile for my husband. “You don’t mind, my lord?”

“Go,” he replies. “I’ll cut in when his hands start to rove.”

Kukka helps me with the clasp of my cloak. Then I float as gracefully as I can manage around the top table. Several other couples are already in the middle of the floor.

Nyyrikki prances forward and offers me his hand. “You honor me, majesty,” he says with another smile. He’s almost too confident. Siiri would drop his hat in the jam bowl before the night ends. With that image in my head, I laugh and smile, giving the god of the hunt my hand.

A troupe of musicians begins plucking the strings of their kanteles and blowing into wooden flutes. The dancers take up their positions in a set of two squares, with the women on the inside, facing out. Nyyrikki stands across from me in the set, holding my hand.

Just as we make our first bow, an ominous knock at the massive doors echoes through the hall. Tuoni waves the musicians to silence, and the doors swing inward. The crowd is too thick for me to see over all their heads, but the ripple that cascades across the room tells me someone important has entered.

Nyyrikki peers over the crowd towards the door. “Oh, excellent. She came.”

“Who came?” I say, still holding his hand.

“My mother.”

I have the faintest idea that I’m still standing. As I turn, heart pounding, the crowds part. Tuoni sweeps across the room in his robes of black, the image of a raven in a field of spring flowers. In moments, he’s leading a woman of enchanting beauty towards me.

This is Mielikki, goddess of the forests. The goddess I have prayed to every night since I was old enough to speak. She wears robes of earthen brown, dusted with lichen and moss. The robes are belted at her waist with a jeweled sash. The songs say her golden hair is so thick and long that it trails the ground behind her, and that four maidens travel with her through the forest, holding it aloft so it doesn’t snag on roots and brambles. Now she wears it braided in two thick plaits over either shoulder. Each hangs well past her knees. On her head is a crown of winter greens.

Tuoni leads the goddess forward on his arm, walking straight to where I stand, clutching the hand of her son.

Nyyrikki is all smiles. “Mother dearest, you came.”

“I said I would,” the goddess replies. Her voice is low and musical, like a dove’s soft cooing.

“Sister, may I present my wife, Ainatar,” says Tuoni. “My love, this is Mielikki, Queen of the Forests.”

His smile is gentle. He knows exactly what this moment means to me. How many times did I mention her to the raven? Now, he gives me an encouraging nod. Holding my breath, I bow my head. He said I’m not supposed to bow to anyone, but this is Mielikki. “I am deeply honored to meet you, my lady.”

The goddess surveys me with her stone-grey eyes. Her face has the same ageless quality as Tuoni’s, old and young at once. In truth, she is ageless. They all are. It strikes me all over again that I am the only creature in this room who will age and die.

“She’s a rare beauty,” Mielikki announces. “But I think this winter chill does not suit her. She is forlorn, a tree without its blossoms.” With a flick of her wrist, I feel something flutter around my head like the whisper of a butterfly’s wings.

Those closest to us sigh in appreciation. I can’t see the changes, but I smell them—strong notes of starflower, sprigs of cowslip, wood sorrel. Mielikki has adorned my driftwood crown with a spray of flowers. “Life and death,” the goddess intones. “We must have balance in all things, my young queen.”

I nod to her, still trying to control my hammering heart.

“I have a gift for the new bride,” she goes on, reaching inside her robes.

I hold out my hand, and she places the heavy item on my palm. As our fingers brush, the goddess goes still. Her eyes roll back in her head. Around the room, the candles flicker. A few people cry out. Still others press closer.

The goddess’s hand shifts in mine and the gift between us drops to the floor, shattering at our feet. Mielikki grips my hand, her eyes opening once more. They now glow white. Her mouth opens in a soundless scream, her body rigid, as the white light glows inside her mouth.

I pull away, but the goddess holds me fast.

“Don’t fight her,” Tuoni says, from somewhere to my right.

“Forest Mother speaks,” someone shouts.

A dark sense of foreboding seeps through my veins as the goddess takes a deep, rattling breath. Her voice comes out like a rasping chant, her glowing white eyes locked on me:

The son of Death comes on Raven’s swiftest wings.

Born of life, born of death, he shall master both.

He shall be the Light of Louhi, Manala’s Son.

Look for him with the Raven and the Bear.

Look for him in fire and water.

Look for him in iron and blood.

He comes...

He comes...

All Death shall be powerless in his hands.

Mielikki’s hand slackens in mine. Her eyelids flutter, the white light fading, before she drops like a stone to the floor. A few maidens shriek, stumbling back. All eyes in the room shift from the goddess to me.

“Well, this is just perfect,” comes Vammatar’s droll voice. “Don’t tell us the little maggot is already pregnant.”

I barely have time to turn to Tuoni before all the lights go out. I panic, heart racing, as I blink in the dark. From the corner of the room, a shrill cackle rends the air. “And now the games can really begin.”