49

Aina

Loviatar lies in a crumpled heap at my feet. “What did you do?” I shriek, turning on Siiri.

She tucks her axe in at her belt. “She’ll be fine.”

Blood is on the shaft, but the blade is clean. Dropping to my knees, I breathe a sigh of relief as I feel the goddess’s slow pulse at her neck.

Siiri ducks out from under the willow and comes back in moments, dragging the limp form of Kukka through the snow. “You heard her. She refused to help us. We can’t trust her, Aina. We can’t just walk away from her and risk her sounding the alarm.” With a grunt, she drops Kukka’s limp form next to Loviatar.

Frustration surges through my veins. “You didn’t have to hurt Kukka.”

“Kukka?”

“My maid,” I say, pointing at the dead girl’s body.

Siiri jerks the arrow free from Kukka’s skull, and I wince, looking away. She wipes the tip on her breeches before returning it to her quiver. “She can’t feel anything, Aina. She’s dead.”

“You don’t know what they feel. You didn’t know her, Siiri. She was my friend.”

Siiri stands over me, hands on hips. “We’ll have to argue about it later. I don’t know how much time I just bought us, but that witch probably has a thick skull. We must go.”

I get to my feet and unclasp my hood from my shoulders, tossing it to Siiri. “Put that on and pull up the hood.” I step out from under the willow.

Siiri catches up quickly. “We need to go to the river—”

“I know.” I keep walking.

“We’ll go the way I came in. V?in?moinen says the river is narrowest at the Kipum?ki—”

“I know,” I say, louder this time.

“Well—but you’re going the wrong way—”

I stop and turn, glaring at her. “Siiri, for once in your life, shut up. Stop mothering me, stop protecting me, and stop trying to control everything. Trust me. I’ve lived here for months. You want out, and so do I. Just this once, trust that I know more than you.”

Siiri opens her mouth to speak but shuts it again quickly. Her mouth sets in a firm line, her eyes blazing with the words she’s leaving unsaid.

I gesture to my cloak around her shoulders. “Hood up, head down, and walk in my shadow. Try to shuffle a bit. Act like you’re dead. And do not speak . Understood?”

With a scowl, Siiri flips up the cowl. The rest of the cloak hangs in folds around her shoulders, hiding her bulky weapons.

Giving her a nod, I turn. “Let’s go then, handmaid.”

We sweep across the garden and through the entry courtyard. The wooden doors, wide enough to admit Tuoni’s great iron horse, stand firmly bolted shut. We pass through to the busy kitchen courtyard.

I stop in the doorway. Smoke rises from the ovens, filling the air with the scent of savory bread. Somewhere within the stables, horses whinny and cattle low. The dead shuffle back and forth, carrying bundles and trays, readying the hall for supper.

Behind me, Siiri grabs my arm. “They’ll see us,” she hisses.

“They’ll see me,” I correct.

Aina would never have been brave enough to do what we are about to do, but I am Ainatar now. I have power and presence. Holding my head high, I set my shoulders, and stride into the hall. I do my best to mirror Vammatar, who enters every room as if she owns it. This thought makes me smile. She doesn’t own this palace. I do. I am Queen of Tuonela... for a little while longer at least.

All around us, the dead move out of my way, bowing their heads in deference. Siiri stays right on my heels. I have to hope she’s keeping her head down. We walk right across the middle of the courtyard to the weaving room door. As I approach, a thin woman with wispy brown braids shuffles forward to open it.

“Thank you, dear one,” I say, patting the servant’s shoulder.

As soon as Siiri passes the threshold, she shuts the door. Then she’s rounding on me. “You’ve moved us deeper into the palace! We need to go the other direction. We need to—Aina, you’re not listening.”

I know I’m not listening. I’ve already crossed the room, down the row of looms, my gaze locked on the floor as I find the right spot.

“Aina, what are you doing?”

“Stop bleating like a sheep and come help me.”

Siiri watches me shove at the loom with my shoulder. “Aina, what—”

“Help me move this. There’s a trap door.”

She untangles her bow from the folds of my cloak and sets it aside. “You pull, I’ll push.”

We shove the heavy frame. It scrapes across the floor. The weights swing and clack.

Siiri gives it another shove, and the door is revealed. “And what’s waiting underneath?”

I pant, hands on hips, as I look down at the faint seams in the floor. “This is the tunnel Loviatar used to secret V?in-?moinen to the Kipum?ki to rescue her daughter. It’s the same tunnel I used to free Tuoni. The river waits just beyond.”

Siiri gives me a sharp look.

I smile at her. “Trust me yet?”

Ignoring me, she pulls something from inside her coat. It’s a piece of tanned skin that she unfolds. “Look here. V?in?moinen knew there was a tunnel, but the sneaky witch blindfolded him. He didn’t know where it started, only where it led.” She points to a rounded mark on what I’m sure must be a map of the land of the dead. “This is the Kipum?ki. The river is narrowest just beyond it. There’s an island in the middle. We swim to it, then swim again. Then there’s nothing left but to pass through the veil.” Siiri tucks the map away. Then she drops to her knees and wrenches open the trap door, exposing the narrow set of steps.

“Get a candle,” I say. “I’ll find myself another cloak.”

Siiri scrambles to her feet to take a candle from the wall.

Before I can take three steps towards the storage room, the door to the weaving room bursts open. “Don’t turn around,” I manage to hiss.

Siiri tenses, raising a hand to give the hood of her cape a tug forward. Her other hand disappears inside the folds of the cloak, no doubt drawing a weapon.

I step between the row of looms, trying to pull attention from her standing in the shadows... and more importantly from the open trap door. “Vammatar,” I call out, my heart sinking, as the witch sweeps in. A pair of dead guards flank her. She flicks her long, silky hair off her shoulder, gazing imperiously around. “What are you doing in here?”

Her eyes narrow on me. “I should ask you the same thing. Where is my sister?”

I try to control the racing of my heart. “Loviatar?”

The witch scoffs. “What other sister would I look for in this wretched room?” She takes a step closer, her voice dripping with venom. “Besides, we both know where my other sisters are, seeing as you successfully dispatched them into the bog.”

“That was Tuoni’s justice, not mine.”

“It’s no matter,” she replies. “He frees them as we speak.”

I blink, heart pounding in my chest. “They have paid for their treachery so cheaply?”

“We have need of them,” the witch replies.

“What need?”

She smirks. “A true queen of Tuonela would know the threats to her realm. I tire of wasting time with you. Tell me where my sister is. You’re always hidden away together.”

“She just left,” I reply, shifting another step further from the trap door. “If you leave now, you can catch up with her.”

Vammatar’s eyes narrow as she glances around again. “Why are you in here?”

“To weave,” I reply coolly. “You gave me this assignment, remember?”

“Now is no time to weave, you silly fool. My father may delight at keeping you in the dark, but danger is danger. I’ll not let it be my skin he shreds if he finds out I let you sneak around unattended.”

I go still, not daring to look at Siiri. “In danger from what?”

Vammatar raises a finger to her lips. From far beyond the walls, I hear it. Horns. They blast from east and west. “Do you hear that?” the witch teases. “Someone has entered our realm uninvited. Some treacherous snake is slithering through our garden. Father has us all on alert. Frankly, I don’t care if a snake swallows you whole. You’ve been nothing but a nuisance. And I don’t give an apple for prophecies. My sister witch can keep them. I only care about the here and now.”

“Surely, I’m safe in this room,” I say. “I’ll bar the door when you leave. I’ll hide in the storage room.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffs, striding forward. “You’re coming with me. I’ll take you directly to my father.”

I duck to the right, hoping to keep her from looking towards Siiri and the trap door. “If there are dangers beyond this room, you should just— ahh —”

Two things happen at once. Vammatar grabs my arm and jerks me forward, and Tuoni throws open the door of our bond. I cry out as I feel every fiber of him demanding to know where I am. Vammatar lets me go. “What’s wrong with you now , bonebag? Are you afflicted?”

I groan, pressing a hand over my chest as I soothe down the bond at Tuoni. I’m well. I’m unharmed. I’m with Vammatar, and she brings me to your side. I don’t dare let myself think or feel anything else.

Down the bond, one feeling overwhelms me. It’s strong enough I practically hear him shouting it in my ear. Stay put.

“Have you gone deaf?” the witch hisses, reaching for me again.

“It’s him,” I pant, rubbing at my chest. “He knows I’m here. He wants me to stay.”

She glares down at me, looking for the lie. Could this be enough? Could she believe me and walk away? She closes her hand around my forearm. “Come on, bonebag. Let’s lock you up tight in your tower.” She pulls me along at such an angle that she cannot possibly miss seeing the open trap door.

“No,” I pant, trying to steer us away. “Unhand me, Vam-matar. I can walk myself—”

The witch stops, her body going still as stone, and I know she knows. I know she sees . The loom stands off-center. Slowly, she turns, her claws pressing into my flesh. She glares down at me.

“You’re hurting me,” I say, wrapping my hand around her wrist.

“I will ask you only once more, little bonebag... what are you doing in here?”

I don’t dare let my eyes dart to Siiri. “You hate me, Vam-matar,” I begin, my voice soft. “Rightfully so, for I’ve upended all your lives. You hate the turmoil I’ve brought to your family—sister turning against sister. You want things back the way they were. Before prophecies, before all these lies and intrigues.”

“And?”

I hold her dark gaze. “What if I said I could give it to you?”

The witch doesn’t move. Her face is suddenly impossible to read.

“Let me go, and everything will be as it was before,” I whisper. “I am the thorn in your side, so let me remove myself.”

A quiet moment stretches between us as the witch calculates. Slowly, her blank expression turns to a sneer. “Where is she?”

“Where is who?”

“My wretched sister. Only she would put these thoughts in your head. Does she go to prepare the way for you? Is this tunnel how she did it before? Will she help you swim to the veil?”

“Loviatar had nothing to do with this,” I say quickly. “I found this door on my own. I asked for her help, it’s true. But she denied me. I attacked her. If you go now, you’ll find her knocked insensible under the willow tree in the garden. Kukka is only helping because she’s bound to me,” I add, gesturing dismissively to Siiri. “She doesn’t know any better. She had no choice.”

Vammatar’s expression changes. “You really are that treacherous, aren’t you?”

“Don’t help me,” I plead, casting around for my last hope with this witch. “Help yourself. Let me go, and you’ll have everything you want. Let me go, and you’ll all be free again. You’ll be a family again.”

For one blessed moment, I think the goddess is actually considering my words, but then she smiles. My blood runs cold. “Did you really think that little act would work? Preying on my vanity? Appealing to my wretched selfishness?” She laughs. “You’re a blundering fool. Nothing will ever be the same. You made sure of that. You are married to my father, and now you carry his child. I can wish you a fiery death, but the truth is that I’m curious enough to want to see what happens next.”

“Oh gods.” I search her wretched face. “You want everything to fall apart. You want to watch Tuonela burn and dance in the ashes.”

She shrugs. “I’m the goddess of evil.”

“If you want to watch it all burn, then stand aside,” I reply. “You’re blocking my way.”

Her smile falls. “Take one step towards that hole, and I’ll cut off both your feet.”

As soon as the words leave the witch’s mouth, Siiri steps between the looms and throws her axe. It slices into the witch’s shoulder and clatters to the floor. Vammatar lets out a scream. She presses a hand to the long cut, already staining her robe with deep red blood.

“You,” she hisses, her hand dropping to her side as Siiri strides forward, lowering her hood. “You’re the shaman?”

“And you’re a dead witch,” Siiri taunts. “That’s the last time you threaten Aina and live.”

Vammatar’s eyes light with excitement. Sharp knives slip from her sleeves. She twirls them with confident hands, squaring off against Siiri. “Oh, I shall dearly love skinning you alive. There is nothing more delicious than the taste of roasted shaman flesh.”

Siiri is unfazed, tugging her knife from her belt. “Kill me if you can, witch. All-Mother knows I’ll be aiming for your cold, bloodless heart.”

The witch looks delighted, almost eager for this fight. The women lunge for each other and I shriek, my shoulder hitting the frame of a loom. Siiri’s hood flutters back, exposing her messy blonde hair. She grips her axe with a tattooed hand, swinging wide. The goddess ducks, swiping with her sharp blade.

Siiri is too slow. The blade cuts into her upper arm, making her wince.

“Restrain this meddling shaman,” Vammatar orders. “Tuoni will have questions for it.”

The guards march forward. Siiri can’t possibly fight them in this confined space. I look around, desperate for a way to help. I pick up the only thing I can find: a long, thin pair of knitting needles.

Slipping behind the closest loom, I let a guard pass. Behind me, Siiri and the witch trade blows, slamming into the looms. I duck into the aisle and leap onto the guard’s back. He roars, reaching for me with a large hand. With one arm around his neck, I bring my other hand around, jabbing my knitting needle into his cloudy eye. He screams and drops to his knees.

I clamber off him before he sinks to the floor, sending a stool rattling away. Siiri is too focused to see it as she parries the witch’s vicious attack. The stool hits her ankle, and she trips.

“Siiri, no!” Her knife clatters out of her hand. She grunts, rolling to her side as the witch lunges. Before Siiri can dart away, Vammatar grabs the hem of Siiri’s cloak. Siiri gasps, jerking away with her neck to break the silver clasp—but it holds fast. With a victorious grin, Vammatar wraps her hand tighter into the cloak, reeling Siiri closer. The other guard advances to her front, his sword drawn.

“Siiri,” I cry again.

They have her boxed in. I’m certain they’ll kill her. Rage erupts from me as I grab another stool. Throwing it with all my might, it hits the guard in the side of the head. It’s all the distraction Siiri needs to bend backward and free her neck from the cloak. She rolls, snatching up one of the witch’s discarded knives. Armed once again with knife and axe, she strikes at the advancing witch.

“I can’t wait to see how my father will torture you,” Vammatar taunts me. “There is nothing he likes more than breaking traitors’ bones.”

The guard lurches back to his feet, sword raised in Siiri’s direction. She’s too busy blocking the witch’s relentless attacks to notice. She ducks and weaves, using the looms as shields. This guard is clever. He passes left, ready to meet her around the other side as she dances with the witch.

I cry out, launching myself into the melee. With no other thought but to spare her the blow, I throw myself between Siiri and the guard.

“Do not touch the queen,” Vammatar commands.

“Aina, no!” Siiri shrieks.

Too late. The guard’s arm is already swinging before Vammatar can give her command. His fist collides with the side of my head, and the blow sends me tumbling to the floor. I didn’t even realize how close I was to the trap door. With a shriek, I drop right through. I tumble down the stairs and land in a heap on the tunnel floor.

“Aina,” Siiri screams from above.

I whimper, sucking in sharp breaths, my shaking hand going to my belly as I roll to my side. “You’re safe,” I whisper to myself and the baby. “We’re all right.”

“Aina!” Siiri calls again.

I peer dizzily up the stairs and press lightly on the spot just above my temple, wincing at the sharp pain. I look at my hand.

Blood.

“Don’t pass out,” I whisper to myself, stumbling to my feet.

I’ve barely taken a second step when Siiri’s legs appear through the trap door. She drops through the hole and catches herself, sliding down a few steps on her bottom until her head clears the door. I cry out at the mighty swing of the guard’s sword passing right over the opening where her head had been.

“Aina,” Siiri says again, hurrying down the stairs to my side.

“M’fine,” I murmur, one hand still pressing the wound on my head.

“Stay back,” Siiri commands. “Stick to the shadows.”

Vammatar charges down the stairs, a ball of fire floating at her shoulder. The light is disorienting. We both wince, blinking in pain. The witch is monstrous in her rage, knives ready.

Chest heaving, arms and shoulders marked with nicks from the witch’s blades, Siiri faces off against Vammatar again, ready to do battle in my name. Vammatar meets her in the middle of the earthen tunnel with a slash of sharp metal.

The guard stumbles down the stairs last, his sword clattering on each step, dangling uselessly from his half-severed arm.

Siiri is tiring. She can’t fight them both. She needs me.

I drop my hand from my bleeding head and step forward, facing the guard. “As Queen of Tuonela, I order you to stop.”

Without hesitation, the guard halts on the bottom step, swaying as he stands.

I sigh with relief, shoulders sagging. Gods, I was a fool not to think of it before.

“No,” Vammatar shrieks. “Kill the shaman. Kill her—”

“Protect the shaman,” I call over her. “Kill Vammatar.”

Siiri slams her knife hilt-deep in the goddess’s chest.

Vammatar growls with the ferocity of a wolf. White light pulses from her chest, knocking Siiri clear off her feet. But the guard doesn’t stop advancing, so Vammatar is forced to deal with him. “No, you fool. Kill—the—shaman,” she shrieks, hacking at the dead guard.

Siiri recovers, rising shakily to her feet. I gasp at all the places from which Siiri is bleeding. Vammatar sees it too. She flashes Siiri a victorious smile. “Surrender to me now, shaman, or your precious Aina will watch how well you scream as you die.”

Siiri raises her weapons. “I can’t die. But you can, you miserable witch.”

Vammatar snarls with rage and both women lunge. As they collide, the light at Vammatar’s shoulder goes out. I blink, panicking as white spots fill my vision. The witch cackles.

Siiri needs my help. I fumble in the dark, the clang of their weapons a warning in my ears as I push the dead guard off the blade trapped under his body. The stairs creak, and I turn. Siiri and Vammatar are too distracted to notice the shadow now creeping down.

“Siiri, look out,” I call, wrenching the sword free.

The shrouded figure sweeps forward and grabs Vammatar by the shoulders, wrenching her bodily away from Siiri. The witch shrieks in surprise.

My eyes adjust enough for me to make out white robes and long black hair. Loviatar lets her sister go, and the witches face each other.

“All this time, you were Father’s pet,” Vammatar hisses. “Now you defy him?”

“We all must choose our own path,” Loviatar replies. Blood stains her temple and the collar of her robes, but she looks confident, steady. She frames her mouth with her tattooed hands and blows a gust of air from her lips. Her breath shines glittering green in the darkness. Like a noxious cloud, it swirls around Vammatar’s face, imbuing her pale skin with an eerie green glow.

Vammatar’s eyes are wide with panic as she chokes on the green smoke. All color fades away from her cheeks. “You— witch ,” she chokes out. “I’ll—” Before she can finish her threat, her body sways, and she collapses.