by Bree Barton
Her pace slowed. The ice kabmas had thinned into barren white nothingness. A light snow began to fall.
The boy from the tavern wasn’t coming after her. No one was.
Pilar didn’t want to run anymore. She’d run from Refúj, run from the forest where Karri lay dead, run from Kaer Killian. She’d even run from Quin, the one person she actually wanted to be with. She was running from the past—but also from the future.
Pilar Zorastín d’Aqila, the girl who’d thought herself a warrior, was a coward.
She doubled over, hands on her knees. Tears rammed up her throat. She choked them back down.
A sheet of whirling snow swept over the tundra. When it cleared, Pilar saw a herd of reinsdyr not far from where she stood. She walked forward slowly, in case they bolted.
But they weren’t afraid. The beasts were easy in their bodies, lean and muscular. Short fur mottled white, gray, and brown. They rooted through the snow. Pawing. Chewing. A gray cow nudged her calf toward a fresh eating patch. They were just animals, she knew, but somehow they seemed noble. Kind.
Pilar thought of the reinsdyr come to life in the Watching Chamber, the way the ice leopard tore smoothly into the soft flesh. She thought of the reinsdyr stew she and Quin had eaten in the palace.
She reached out her hand, let it rest on the reinsdyr’s nose.
So mighty, so strong. And still so easily devoured.
Orry
Orry
Orry
No matter where she went, no matter how far or fast she ran, he found her everywhere.
The cold sliced into her skin as she struggled to hold herself up. She touched her shoulder, trying to remember the warmth of Quin’s kiss. The memory of his gentleness made her crumble. She didn’t deserve love. How had she ever thought she did?
Regret eroded you from the inside out, like a poison. Shame was a curved blade. It eviscerated you, scooped out all the parts you thought were worthy. Shame carved an empty space nothing could ever fill.
Pilar’s chest shuddered and cracked open. She sank to her knees on the tundra. Wrapped her arms around herself, with only the reinsdyr there to see.
She was alone. But then she’d always been alone.
In the middle of the wilderness, she sobbed.
It took Pilar some time to pull herself together. She couldn’t remember the last time she had sobbed like that. Probably never. Her eyes stung from crying. Her skin was cold and raw, tears frozen to her cheeks.
Her heart felt heavy—and also somehow lighter. Maybe hearts got smaller and smaller every time they broke until you were left with nothing but a bloody stump in your chest.
By the time she stood and brushed the snow off her trousers, her fingers had gone numb. The sun wouldn’t rise for hours. She knew she should go back to the tavern. Back to Quin.
Pilar scanned the horizon. She thought of the three missing girls. It was easy to vanish in a place like this, especially with no one looking.
She took a breath and walked deeper into nowhere.
The snow under her boots crunched, then softened abruptly. She looked down and found herself trudging through a field of frostflowers. Blooms so thick they made a silvery white blanket.
She stooped and plucked one. The flower was velvety soft. So different from her bone carving. When she stroked a petal, it ripped in two. Beautiful and fragile.
Fierce and lovely.
She pushed all thoughts of Quin from her head. Rolled the white blossom into a tiny scroll and chucked it as hard as she could. The frostflower fell sharply, as if it had been sucked down into a pit.
That was how she found the quarry.
Pilar stood on the ledge of a massive canyon. Below she saw cranks and pulleys, coils of cables, rusted iron tubs. Quin’s fyre ice mine, she assumed, or one like it. There were probably hundreds of pits like this around Kom’Addi.
The moon sagged in the night sky. All the workers were out at the taverns, greasing their misery with silver coins. The pit was dark, empty.
Only it wasn’t. Not completely. At the far end of the quarry, she spotted a soft blue light. Someone mining midnight fyre ice, maybe. Pocketing a few slivers for themselves.
The road down into the pit was easy to find. Brown dirt stamped by wagon wheels and some footprints, too. The path snaked down the rock, spitting Pilar out at the bottom of the canyon. She headed toward the blue.
It didn’t take long to realize the light wasn’t coming from a human, but a cave.
The opening was only as high as her hip. She ducked, crouching low as she made her way inside. When she looked up, she gasped.
The walls were carved of clear blue ice. But “carved” wasn’t quite right. She had the feeling no human hands had ever touched this cavern. The ice had formed naturally into plates. Like armor, she thought. Or a dragon’s scales.
Not that she’d ever seen a dragon. On Refúj she’d never even seen a snake.
She dropped to her knees and crawled farther into the cave. Dizzying rows of scales stretched across the walls and ceiling. What made the ice glow? She couldn’t find a source of light. Maybe a hole dumped moonlight from overhead? Or maybe all fyre ice glowed of its own accord, like the violet walls of Freyja’s palace.
But something didn’t add up. Fyre ice was purple. And wasn’t it always warm? That was the whole point: the Grand Fyremaster had brought heat and light back to Luumia.
Pilar reached out to touch one blue scale. Cold and silky smooth.
Intrigued, she crept a few feet deeper. The ground, too, was icy, the cold seeping through the knees of her trousers. She was in a tunnel now, surrounded by bright blue on every side. Some scales had tiny objects trapped beneath the surface. Bubbles. Petals. A brown bug frozen forever on its back.
Her hand struck a barrel of carved trinkets. She dug out a bird and scraped it against the wall. When that didn’t work, she hurled it with all her might. Freyja had said a single sliver of fyre ice could create a paroxysm.
Nothing happened.
A chill spread over Pilar’s skin. If this wasn’t fyre ice, they’d been lied to. And if it was fyre ice, then the rest of Luumia was mixing theirs with something else.
A low thud echoed through the canyon. Rhythmic.
Pilar tensed. Horse’s hooves.
She cursed herself. Why had she crawled wide-eyed into the cave? Now she had nowhere to run.
The hooves echoed louder. Sweat licked the back of her neck. The blond boy from the tavern. It had to be. He’d awoken from Quin’s plank to the skull with a lump on his head and rage in his heart.
Pilar dug her hand into the barrel and seized the sharpest piece of blue ice she could find. Not ideal, but something. She backed out of the cave on her hands and knees. Stood. Braced herself.
The boy was in the quarry now, coming quick. Horse and rider masked by a cloud of brown dust. All she saw was a shock of fair hair.
Pilar swallowed. She was alone. Trapped. As good as dead.
Would she use magic to defend herself? She didn’t know. But this time, she wouldn’t turn and run like a coward. She would fight.
The horse reared inches from her face. She clutched the makeshift knife so tightly she felt it break skin.
“Pilar?” shouted the rider.
Her heart leapt out of her chest. “Quin?”
“Thank the gods!”
He dismounted and rushed toward her. Wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Pulled her close. Could he tell she’d been crying? She didn’t care. She sank farther into his arms. He was the only thing holding her up.
“The most amazing thing happened, Pil.” He stepped back, his face flushed. She held onto his arms, not wanting to let go. “After that lout tried to attack you, I ran downstairs to get help. I couldn’t find the tavern keeper, but you’ll never guess who I found instead.”
Pilar tried to smile.
“If I’ll never guess, you’re not going to make me guess, are you?”
“Griffin Rose.”
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t he rotting in the dungeons back in Kaer Killian?”
“Not anymore, I guess. When I told him what happened, he drew his dagger and charged up the stairs. But the boy was gone.”
“That’s not good news.”
“We made a full report. The boy won’t be able to show his face in that tavern or anywhere in Kom’Addi again. But you’re missing the point. Griffin Rose has come to Suvi West with a ship.”
Quin looked at her, expectant.
“So what you’re saying,” she said slowly, “is that the leader of the Circle of the Hunt, the man who killed too many Dujia to count, is here in Kom’Addi. And this is good because . . .”
“Because he’s here for you and me. He’s come to rescue us.”
Chapter 35
Somehow Familiar
PILAR REJECTED THE IDEA of rescue. She’d come to Kom’Addi of her own free will, and she had zero reason to go back to Valavïk. She certainly didn’t need a man to save her—let alone Griffin Rose, leader of the Circle of the Hunt. Everyone knew what the Hunters could do. What they had done.
Of course, Pilar had never heard his full story. Not till the night Angelyne enkindled them in the castle. That’s when Zaga had revealed her love affair with Wynna, the woman who would enthrall Griffin Rose—and give birth to Mia and Angelyne.
Angelyne, who threatened to reveal her own mother for being a Dujia.
Wynna, who cut her life short before Angelyne could reveal her.
Mia, who wanted to kill Dujia before discovering she was one.
Griffin, husband of Dujia, father of Dujia, killer of Dujia.
And Pilar thought her family had problems.
“Orange?” Quin said.
They were in the ship’s galley eating breakfast. Nothing spectacular: thin flat cakes made of flour and butter, cold tea, and slightly moldy oranges. A pauper’s feast.
Pilar had yet to see the infamous Griffin Rose. When she and Quin returned to the tavern, they’d found an Addi guide waiting with two fast horses. The ship was waiting in the harbor once they arrived in Suvi West. The sailors welcomed them aboard, told them to eat and drink whatever they found in the galley.
Now Rose was off in his private quarters, doing whatever people did in their quarters on a ship.
It had all been suspiciously easy.
“Come on now,” Quin prodded, holding out the orange. “You don’t want to get scurvy.”
Pilar snatched the fruit and smashed it into the table. He raised a brow.
“What did that orange ever do to you?”
“Nothing.” She rolled it in circles with the heel of her palm. “It loosens the peel.”
When she dug her fingernails into the skin and stripped it off, the orange meat plopped out in a perfect orb.
“Why does Rose think I want to go to Valavïk? I came here to find the Snow Wolf.”
“I thought that wasn’t what you wanted anymore.”
“I said it wasn’t all I wanted.”
“Well you haven’t found him, have you? In just a few days your father will be at the queen’s palace. You’d be a fool not to be there, waiting.”
Pilar ripped off a wedge of the orange and swallowed it without chewing. Even if Quin was right, she didn’t have to like it.
“Since when has Griffin Rose owned a ship in Luumia?”
“I think it’s one of the queen’s fleet.”
“Another reason to distrust Freyja, if you ask me.”
She squeezed the orange too hard, and sticky juice squirted everywhere. She swore.
“Why do you want to go back to Valavïk, Killian?”
“Must you really ask?”
She felt a clutch of fear. “Answer the question.”
“No, no. I’m not trying to be evasive. I’m just . . .” He sighed. “I’m going to Valavïk because you are, Pilar. And I want to be with you.”
The fear released its grip. She smiled. Then felt shy. Then felt the need to hide the fact that she felt shy.
“Want some orange juice?” She held up her sticky hand. “Better lick it off. You don’t want to get scurvy.”
Before he could answer, a burly sailor appeared in the galley.
“Pilar d’Aqila? Lord Griffin would like a word.”
Griffin Rose’s quarters were stately. Dark, shiny oak desk, thick red curtains, chairs with pieces of gold stuck in the wood. It was all a bit rich.
Rose gestured toward a chair. Pilar didn’t sit.
“You don’t look well,” she said.
It was true—his hair had gone straight gray since she’d last seen him. He looked impossibly tired.
“It’s been a long few months for us all,” he said.
Pilar almost laughed. He didn’t know the half of it.
“Last I heard you were rotting in the dungeons. You seem to have made it out of Kaer Killian just fine.” She looked around the room. “And stole a ship, apparently.”
“It’s on loan.”
“Nice loan.” She folded her arms. “Why am I here?”
“Could you sit, at least?”
“Why?”
“So we can have a proper conversation.”
“I don’t do proper.”
“Very well.” He stood, hesitated, then leaned against the wall. “We’ll stand.”
“You don’t get to decide what I do.” She slammed herself down in the chair to prove a point. “I’ll stay in your boat, and I’ll go to Luumia. But I have nothing to say to you.”
Rose lowered himself back into the chair. He met her gaze. His eyes were a sad, muted gray.
“I have committed atrocities too numerous to count,” he began. “Until my wife was taken, I never thought to question the narrative I inherited. But for the past three years I have tried to fight for the Dujia, not against them. I have dedicated my life to atonement. I know it will never be enough. I deserve neither your sympathy nor your forgiveness.”
“Good. Because you’re not getting them.” She folded her arms over her chest. “What do you mean, the past three years?”
“After I learned the truth, I stayed in the king’s employ. But I did not continue his campaign of slaughter. I was a Hunter who did not hunt. I used my position to help as many Dujia as I could.”
Pilar hadn’t expected that. Was it even true?
“And now your daughter carries out her own campaign of slaughter. You birthed a monster as bent and twisted as you.”
Rose’s eyes softened. He looked down at the desk.
“I have had a good deal of time to reflect the past few months. More and more I think the bond between parent and child is not as I understood it.”
“Fair,” Pilar said. “Since a monster birthed me.”
“I don’t hold you responsible for any act your mother has committed.”
“Thanks. I do hold you responsible for the acts your daughter has committed. You taught her how to hate. Clearly she’s learned the lesson well.”
“What you’re saying is true. I don’t dispute it. But my daughter is not what she was. Some say she is horrified by the dark turn her reign has taken, that she grows weak from the weight of her guilt. The view from the castle dungeons is limited, and a rumor is precisely that: rumor, not fact. But I know she opened the borders in an attempt to reestablish trade routes, to show the other kingdoms that Glas Ddir is not the intolerant, hateful dominion it once was. She did this without Zaga’s approval, and I fear she has paid the price.”
Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Your mother has always been drawn to magic’s darker currents. With all of Glas Ddir crumbling by her hand, she has been given the opportunity to indulge her appetites.”
“I’ve known her my whole life, and I assure you, she’s never had any trouble indulging those.”
“Do you remember the night in the Grand Gallery? When we all sat at the feasting table, enkindled? The night my . .
.”
He didn’t finish. They were both thinking it: The night Mia died.
“Of course I remember.”
“You will recall your mother speaking of Wynna Merth, the woman she loved. The same woman who would enthrall me for two decades as a way of paying penance. My wife.”
He looked away. “I was fodder for their experiments. But before Wynna and I started our life together—before the grand experiment began—it was your mother I loved.”
Pilar frowned. “My mother loved no one.”
“I never said she loved me back.” His smile was tight. “I was wrong about many things back then. So many things I did not know, no matter how much I might have wished to.”
He laid his hands on the desk. “The list of wrongs I have committed is long. I have dedicated the rest of my life, however short it may be, to atonement.”
“You said that already. It doesn’t make me like you.”
“Nor should it. But if there are any lies I can turn to truths—any people I have wounded to whom I might still be of service—I will do everything in my power to help them.”
He reached into his jacket and drew out a stack of yellow parchments tied with brown twine.
“It was Angelyne who freed me from Kaer Killian,” he said. “She gave me these.”
“Angelyne let you go?”
He didn’t answer. Just held out the stack of papers.
“What’s this?”
“Six letters. They were meant to come one at a time, but life intervened.”
“What could Angelyne possibly have to say to me?”
He set the parchments on the desk between them. Pilar’s curiosity won out. She plucked the top letter off the pile, unfolded it, scanned the first few lines.
She shook her head. “These letters aren’t for me. They’re for Mia.” She tried to hand back the parchment. “Looks like sweet demented Angie is writing to the grave.”
Rose pushed the stack of letters gently toward her.
“No, Pilar. They’re for you.”
“It says right here, ‘My dearest sister.’” Pilar grabbed the next letter. Shook it open. “‘Beloved sister.’”
She looked up at Rose, who held her gaze. His gray eyes were somehow familiar. Almost like she’d been staring into them for years.