Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Then, it flies off into the darkness.
“Good luck, you tiny terror,” I say.
As I walk back into the hall, this time in darkness lit by torches, I feel the faint thrum of panic beneath my breastbone, but I also feel purpose. The final struggle looms, and though I’m scared—though I grieve and fear for those I love—I know I will not yield.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LOVIA
I stand in a corner of the main hall, arms crossed, staring at a map pinned to the wall with a dagger. The hall is lit only by torches, their flames sputtering as the wind sneaks in through cracks in the stone. Snow drifts against the tiny, high windows of the castle, and the walls seem to hum with tension. The others—my father, Torben, Vellamo, Tapio, Tellervo, the Magician, a handful of generals—are gathered around a long table. They talk in hushed, urgent tones, planning what’s to come. Soldiers move quietly down the corridors, checking armor straps, sharpening swords, and muttering prayers.
I tap my foot, exhaling hot breath into the cold air. Outside, it’s snowing more heavily, the weather shifting, pulled by my father’s emotions. The snow muffles all sound, dampening every noise except the crackle of torches and the scrape of metal.
The tension in my chest builds. I know what I want to say, what I think we should do—I’m just afraid to put it into words, afraid to be wrong.
I take in a deep breath and stride forward, inserting myself into the huddle. The generals make space for me, cautious respect in their eyes. I nod at Tapio and Tellervo; they look weary, grief etched into the lines of their faces, but determined all the same. Vellamo stands beside them, her eyes distant and sad. Torben clutches his staff, frowning at the map. Rasmus is down in the armory, helping Ilmarinen forge the sampo, the device that will apparently help uncorrupt the ley lines. He’s been given a bit more freedom now, though he’s still guarded by the Magician. At least I trust him.
My father stands at the head of the table, arms folded, face set. He looks calm, but I know him well enough to see the strain in his posture, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He glances at me as I approach, his gaze expectant.
I clear my throat. “We know they’re coming,” I say, voice steady. I’m trying not to let my frustration seep out. “We know the Hiisi Forest is infested with Old Gods, probably Bone Stragglers. We know they’re marching, that boats are coming down the river. Why are we still sitting here, practically waiting to be attacked? We should advance toward the forest and strike first.”
My father’s jaw tightens, as if he expected me to just blindly agree with his strategy. The generals look at each other, brows raised.
I press on, my voice rising. “Tapio and Tellervo’s powers are greatest in the forest. They can wield trees, roots, and vines against the skeleton armies. Vellamo can control the river and the beasts within—turn their approach against them. If we push into the Hiisi Forest before they set their ambush, we can catch them off guard, make them regret coming at us.”
No one says anything, so I keep talking. “We need to hurry. Don’t you feel the urgency? The snowbird told us they’ve halted, but for how long? We need to move, and we need to move now.”
“We are still waiting to hear from our allies,” Torben says.
“Well, how long are we supposed to wait? Forever? What if they never come? What if they’re…”
I don’t want to say gone, but from the hollow look in Vellamo’s eyes, I know she’s thinking it. She might be the last of our kind from the sea.
For a moment, I think my father might agree. His eyes flick to the Magician, who stands off to the side, galaxies swirling beneath his hood, silent and unreadable.
Then, my father’s voice comes, quiet but firm. “No.”
The single word makes my heart sink. He doesn’t snap or shout, but his tone leaves no room for argument.
“Why not?” I demand, hands on my hips, feeling less like a general and more like a petulant child who isn’t getting her way.
“Because of what Torben just said. We are waiting for allies; without them, we don’t have the numbers,” he says, meeting my gaze. “We’re too few, too fragmented. Fighting in the forest leaves us vulnerable to being surrounded. Tapio told us how his wards no longer work there, which means the forest itself has been compromised. We know Louhi’s forces are brutal and numerous, if not cunning. If we leave the safety of Castle Syntri, we gamble on controlling terrain that might already be corrupted beyond recognition.”
My frustration sparks. “But the forest Gods—”
He shakes his head. “Tapio and Tellervo are weakened by what’s happened. They can still use their powers, but not like before, and Vellamo’s hold on the river is tenuous without Ahto. We risk too much by going out there. Here, we have walls, high ground, and time. Torben can unfreeze the Star Swamp at the right moment, turn the terrain into a deathtrap beneath their feet. We control this place, Lovia. If we leave, we control nothing.”