Page 72 of North Is the Night
“I’m still alive,” she replies.
I lean forward, searching her face. “And... what about your child? The one you lost...”
She goes still, only the corner of her mouth twitching. “Careful, little mouse.”
“Did he promise to protect them too? Did you watch them die like I watched Lilja and Salla—ah—” I’m not prepared for the slap that sends me reeling backwards off my stool. I cry out, hitting my shoulder on a loom, as Loviatar grabs me by my braid and jerks me up to my knees. I wrap my hands around her bony wrist. “Let me go—”
“Listen to me, little mouse,” she hisses. “You truly know nothing of us. He is only imprisoned because he helped my child escape.Thatwas his great treachery against the Witch Queen. My child is free of this place thanks to his grace.”
I gasp, ceasing my struggling. With a final jerk of my scalp, she lets me go. I sink back to the floor.
She angles her face down. “You know nothing of what I have suffered for him, for my children. I would suffer still more. But it is not in my power to protect them now. No, that power is in the hands of a weak little mortal with the soul of a mouse.”
I let out a heavy breath, shoulders sagging.
“What will you do, mouse? Will you lie there on the floor and let the foxes and the owls make your life small? Or will you stand up and fight? You could claim a power beyond anything in your wildest mortal imaginings. You could be more to him than a wife, Aina. You could be a queen. You could be a goddess.”
I swallow the nerves in my throat, shaking my head. “I don’t want to be a queen or a goddess. I’m not even sure I want to be someone’s wife,” I admit. “It was always just expected of me, and I hate to disappoint.” I glance around the confines of the weaving room. “But this place is not my dream. Thanks to the Witch Queen, I fear it can only ever be my nightmare.”
Loviatar’s expression softens, turning sad. She sinks back down to her stool. “I cannot force your hand,” she says at last. “I thought, when I heard of how you sacrificed yourself for your friend, that there was nobility in you, a rare kind of courage.”
I go still, heart aching at her mention of Siiri.
“I thought it again when you claimed Inari’s life to spare Lilja the pain of the kill,” she goes on. “You are generous and kind. You are selfless, Aina. Loyal. Patient. Resilient. Rare qualities in a mortal, even rarer in a god. You would be a queen worthy of a crown.”
Before I can reply, the door to the weaving room slams open.
With a scream of rage, Tuonetar sweeps in, wand held aloft. “Daughter,” she shrieks, blasting a loom out of her path. It slams into another, and they both splinter. From my place on the floor, I make like a mouse and scamper, ducking behind the looms, staying to the shadows.
Loviatar rises regally to her feet, her black hair unbound, flowing down her back. She folds her hands before her and waits. “Yes, Mother?”
The Witch Queen stalks forward, chest heaving with rage. “Was it you?”
Loviatar doesn’t cower. “You’ll have to be more specific—”
Tuonetar snatches her daughter by the throat one-handed, lifting her clear off the floor. “Was ityou?” she says again. “Did you sneak those dead little rats out from under my nose?”
Loviatar dangles in the air by her throat, not struggling. She places a hand over her mother’s wrist. “No,” she rasps.
I scoot further into the shadows, trying not to make a sound, trying not to even breathe.
Tuonetar drops Loviatar to the floor with a snarl and paces away. Loviatar rolls to her knees, brushing the column of her slender throat with a shaky hand. “You must think you’re so clever,” the Witch Queen taunts. “I know how you plot and scheme against me. You’veneverbeen on my side. I told you I wanted to keep them. I had such glorious plans!”
“And they would have been torturously cruel, to be sure,” Loviatar replies, still rubbing her neck. “You are singularly talented at brewing despair.”
Tuonetar grabs her daughter by the shoulders, her voice dripping with venom. “I will ask you this only once, you faithless maggot. Do you still plot with him against me? Would you see your own darling mother overthrown and cast aside, diminished like the frost gone with a spring that blooms too soon?”
Loviatar raises her chin in defiance. “I learned my lesson. I take no sides. How many times must I say—”
“Your words meannothingto me,” the Witch Queen screams, her voice rattling the very walls. “You defied me once, you sightless, mewling monster. You helped that girl escape my clutches, and I willneverforgive you.”
They’re speaking of her child, the one Tuoni helped free. A daughter.
A tear slips down Loviatar’s cheek. “I’ll never forgive myself,” she replies. “And that is punishment enough. Believe me, or don’t,” she adds, setting her shoulders against the witch’s wrath. “I will not attempt to persuade you, either way.”
With a growl, Tuonetar brandishes her wand again, shooting jets of light across the room that smash looms, turning them to kindling. I hardly have time to roll out of the way before the loom I cower behind bursts apart in a spray of splinters. I crawl on my belly along the wall, seeking safety.
“You have always been my bane.” Tuonetar’s voice quivers with rage. “I should have let the north wind tear you asunder!”
