Free The Impostor Queen by Sarah Fine Page B

of the Motherlake. “Make that rise into the air and float.”
    All things they expect from apprentices and acolytes. Simple.
    I hitch what I hope is a serene smile onto my face. “As you wish.” I move to the basin of water first, because I remember trying to awaken the fire inside me last night, and I don’t feel ready to burn the parchment just yet. My heart drumming in my hollow chest, I close my eyes and reach for the magic that I know must be there.
    Help me, Sofia, my Valtia. I know you would never abandon me.
    I hold out my hand, palm down, a few inches above the surface of the water. There is complete silence in this arena, but I can feel the priests’ rapt attention like fingers clutching at the hem of my dress. I blow a slow breath from between my tingling lips and summon the cold. I picture the thick ice that forms in rough plates over the Motherlake in winter, the chunks of it that bob and collide in the spring. When I feel the shiver, my soul cheers. Here it comes.
    But when I open my eyes, the water is . . . as watery as ever. What I felt was the chill of the chamber, nothing more. For the first time, a blade of fear slices straight down my backbone. I try again, gritting my teeth and drawing the cool air around me like a cloak, willing it to coalesce in a frigid blast of air.
    Behind me, I hear a soft grumble, one priest whispering his doubt to another. I whirl around—it’s Eljas, his flattish nose and wide-set blue eyes giving him the appearance of a toad. He was one of my tutors, assigned to teach me the geography of the known world, and I remember his musty, dank smell better than any of my lessons. “How am I supposed to concentrate if you’re gossiping, Priest Eljas?”
    Eljas crosses his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t have to concentrate,” he says in an even voice. “Freezing the water in that bowl should be as easy as breathing.”
    I scowl up at him. “It’s not as if I’ve ever been taught a thing about how to wield the magic.”
    â€œYou need to be taught how to do something this paltry?” He waves his hand, and the water in the bowl turns to cloudy ice. The priest next to him mirrors the movement, and the ice instantly melts—and then the water begins to boil.
    It turns to steam that bathes my face, leaving it slick and warm. It’s a mercy, because perhaps it conceals the tear that slips from my eye. My Valtia said she’d never leave me, and now I can’t find her. She promised. She promised .
    But her promises weren’t unbreakable, as it turns out.
    Kauko stands up. “Try the stone, my Valtia,” he says softly. “Use the heat and cold to raise it from the pedestal.” He gives me an encouraging smile, but it’s the only one in the room. All the others wear frowns of doubt, and Aleksi’s is particularly vile, his black brows so low that I can barely see his eyes.
    I compose myself and stride over to the stone pedestal that stands between me and the elders. I recall all my lessons with Aleksi about the weather and wind, about what happens when hot and cold air collide. Straining every fiber of my muscles and heart and brain, I focus on changing the temperature of the pedestal, on heating it up while I cool the air above it. But instead of feeling the swell of power inside me, all I have is the echo of my pulse thrumming inside my head.
    Aleksi shoots to his feet and points at me. “You denied the magic,” he growls, his thin lips pulled back from his bright-white teeth. “You were so wrapped up in your affection for Sofia that you chased away the power!” He looks around the room. “I can’t sense magic in her at all. She doesn’t want to be the Valtia!”
    Kauko grasps Aleksi’s arm. His square jaw is tense as he says, “I was there. She submitted to the magic. I heard her words with my own ears. And you know very well