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)
I clench my fists, wanting to argue. I want to remind him that being passive is what got us into trouble before—all those decades of my mother slowly forging her plan, piece by piece, while we sat back and let it happen.
But I see the logic in his eyes, the grim resolve. He’s right—we’re outnumbered, something Louhi would be counting on. My pride and fury struggle against his reason, but in the end, I inhale, hold my breath, and slowly exhale.
“Fine,” I say, forcing calm into my voice. “We’ll do it your way.”
A relieved murmur passes among the generals. Torben gives me a sympathetic nod, as if thankful I didn’t press the fight. Tapio and Tellervo look disappointed but resigned while Vellamo closes her eyes, perhaps remembering a time when we held more certainty, more power.
We finalize the plan. We’ll stay in Castle Syntri, use the swamp as our trap. Torben will hold his magic in reserve until the army is fully committed and then break the ice beneath them. Vellamo and Tapio will assist by luring them closer then striking with their own magic. If the sampo is ready before then, the shamans might be able to open the ley lines to lure and swallow the Old Gods.
If Rangaista happens to be amongst them, all the better.
Night falls down on us like a final curtain. Earlier, I felt impatient that we were doing nothing, sitting still, waiting for allies who might never show. But then, there was still daylight, even one covered in snow, and that brightness was enough for me to ignore my fear and focus on the things that needed to be done.
But now that darkness has fallen, everything has changed. The fear creeps in with the cold, and I’m not the only one who feels it.
I stand off to the side in the main hall, trying to steady my breathing as the others scatter to make final preparations. The torchlight quivers over worn stone, throwing shadows that dance like uneasy ghosts. The firelight glints off battered armor and sharpened steel, off anxious eyes and trembling hands. Outside, the snowfall thickens as the storm intensifies with my father’s brooding mood, and a knot of worry tugs at my stomach.
“Lovia,” my father calls softly, and I turn to face him. He’s at the table, still pouring over the map with Torben and the generals. He knows Tuonela like the back of his hand, but I feel he’s busying himself to keep his mind off the same things I am. At least it won’t hurt for the mortals to know the land by heart.
He nods at me, a wordless instruction to head to my assigned position. The tension thrums between us—he knows I disagree with waiting, but I must obey his orders. After all, I’m the head general for a reason, and it’s not just because I’m strong. It’s because he’s my father, and I’ll support him no matter what. I give a curt nod and step away, allowing them space to finalize the plan.
I move slowly through the corridors, passing soldiers hunched in quiet prayer or steeling their nerves by whispering amongst themselves. The air smells of metal and lamp oil, and my breath fogs in the chilly drafts. I slip into a storage alcove where I can be alone for a moment. For a few heartbeats, I let the tension roll through me, trying to release it as I exhale into the dim light.
I think of Hanna, my friend, my mother-in-law—a fact I still have a hard time wrestling with—somewhere beyond these wars, transformed by the sun’s power. Will she return? And if she does, what form will she take? I picture her smiling face as I remember it—bold, warm, reassuring. A little cocky, too. If she arrives too late, or not at all, we must face the enemy alone. I push that fear down. There’s no room for helplessness now. If my father can manage to stay strong without her, so can I. It’s a slippery slope to put all your hope into one person.
I straighten and head outside. The courtyard is filled with hushed activity: soldiers carrying bundles of arrows brought from the armory, a makeshift hospital corner where Tellervo arranges bandages and herbal salves, already anticipating casualties. I catch her eye, and she gives me a determined nod. She has been quiet ever since the loss of her mother and brother—using her healing powers is probably a good distraction for her.
It's not just her who looks determined. I see it grimly painted on every face. No one jokes or jests; the night smothers all levity. Snow swirls over broken flagstones and grotesque statues made in my mother’s image, all bat wings and curled ram’s horns. I watch the flakes dance in the torchlight then turn toward the ramparts.