The Impostor Queen Read Online Free PDF Page B

and blow their horns. A massive cheer floats in from the city. The Valtia and I are carried out of the Temple on the Rock and into the sunlight, our bearers slowly walking down the long set of marble steps until we reach the white plaza. Our procession, the priests, apprentices, and acolytes trailing behind, strides between the two stone fountains from which jut majestic statues of the first Valtia, one gazing out on the city, the other facing the Motherlake.
    At the southern end of the white plaza, the ceremonial gates are wide open, and our citizens line the road outside the temple grounds. They toss coneflowers and dahlias and amaranth blossoms into the mud at the bearers’ booted feet as we pass. A regal tune from the pipes and drums fills the air, as does the scent of roasting venison and bear meat. My stomach growls, and I’m happy no one can hear it. My skin pricks with sweat under the midafternoon sun, but then a cool wind blows across my face, a gift from the queen by my side.
    We enter the town square to a roar of adoration. The people keep up the steady stream of blessings and prayers and shouted words of love as we are carried up the steps of the high platform at the northern end of the square. The apprentices and acolytes stand in rows around the platform, keeping the citizens at a distance. As soon as the bearers set us down and descend the steps, the Valtia rises and the crowd falls silent. She offers me her hand.
    I rise to a soft, collective intake of breath. They see how I’m like her. My lips tighten to rein in my smile, and I lay my palm on hers. Together, we face our subjects, and my chest nearly bursts with pride. There are thousands of people in this square, filling every inch of space. At the southern side, which leads to our farmlands along the coast, the men and women who till the earth raise their pitchforks and scythes in salute. If they’re angry about the bandits and Soturi raiders, you wouldn’t know it today. At the eastern side of the square, which leads to the main gates of the city, the mines and the outlands, the trappers and hunters have hung gorgeous pelts from the wooden arch that overhangs the road, and the miners lift their hammers high. I can’t tell from this distance if there is desperation in their movements, if they truly fear that there is only one source of copper left on our sprawling peninsula.
    At the western side of the square, which leads to the docks where our fleet of fishing boats is moored, the men and women who sail our Motherlake wave their caps in the air. Their wind-chapped, rosy-cheeked faces are a sight to see, and—
    Several of them stumble forward as they’re hit from behind. Four men, their faces sweaty and red with exertion, push their way through the crowd as whispers roll through the square. “Valtia!” one of them shouts, his voice cracking. “Valtia, you must come!”
    The Valtia raises her arm, and the crowd parts to allow the men through. They stumble up the steps and throw themselves at her feet, their chests heaving. “Please, Valtia,” the oldest one says between ragged breaths, sweat dripping from his iron-gray hair. “We were bringing in our catch about ten miles off the tip of the peninsula, and we saw . . . we saw . . .”
    He succumbs to a fit of coughing, and a younger fisherman pushes himself up to kneel in front of us. His blond, curly hair sticks out in crazy hunks around his head, and his eyes are glazed with horror. “The Soturi. We rowed back to shore as quickly as we could,” he says between panting breaths.
    A violent twist of heat and cold shoots up my arm, and I cannot suppress my gasp. The Valtia holds my hand tightly as Elder Aleksi steps forward, his jowls trembling. “How dare you interrupt the harvest ceremony to tell us of a petty raid,” he hisses at the man.
    The older fisherman groans and shakes his head. “Not a raid! Two