But that history was lost on Serena; it had been regurgitated from her guardian, Jozef. How much of it was true? And how much of it was just a fairy tale to justify her family giving her up and handing her off to keep her safe from the Idari? If Serena did have a home—a real one—then she wanted it to be like Frosthaven.
‘Serena.’
Genevieve’s voice. Serena hadn’t spoken to her since Aulton died. Gallows walked beside her.
‘Genevieve, I—’
The singer held up a hand. ‘Before you say anything else, I want you to know that I don’t blame you for Aulton’s passing—and neither would he. It isn’t your fault, Serena—none of this is.’
Serena couldn’t meet Genevieve’s eyes. She stuffed her hands into her coat pocket to keep from fidgeting.
‘Well.’ Genevieve’s fingers laced together. ‘This is where I depart. Best of luck with your…’
‘Mission,’ said Gallows.
‘Quest.’
Serena wanted to ask why she was leaving, but a better question would be: Why should she stay?
Genevieve embraced Serena. ‘I look forward to hearing how it all ends. Wherever I am, Serena, there will always be a place for you.’
‘Good luck, Genevieve,’ said Gallows.
‘Yes. And you.’ Genevieve wrapped a shawl around her head. ‘I’ll warn Taliana and pray that she listens.’
More people brushed past. Some carried luggage far too heavy for them; others had nothing but the clothes they wore.
Serena watched them meander down the slope. The Childhood’s End remained airborne in spite of the incoming passengers; the terrain of the landing island was too jagged and precarious for landing. The wind whipped its tethering cables and the rope ladder unfurling from its hatch.
In silence, Serena and Gallows watched Genevieve disappear inside, and kept watching as the airship turned and floated above the icefjords.
And then it was gone.
‘Uh, right.’ Gallows stepped back. ‘We should sit down, plan our next move.’
‘Right, yeah,’ Serena agreed. ‘It’s just…’
‘What?’
‘Can I have a little time? I don’t know what’s gonna happen when we leave this place, I just…’
‘I get it. Take as much time as you need.’
‘Thank you.’
Serena wandered for almost an hour, taking in more sights and smells, before resting by a large, sturdy church.
Before she heard her footsteps, Serena sensed Myriel hobbling behind her.
‘Is this Musa’s temple?’ Serena asked without looking.
‘Ah, we’re on speaking terms again?’ Myriel said.
A knot formed in Serena’s belly; she’d snapped at Myriel for lecturing her about the siren-song, only to lose control and kill Solassis.
No—I was in complete control.
Myriel sat next to her. ‘And no, this is not the temple we’re after. We’re a couple of days out from that.’
Myriel clutched her chest, and the usual glow in her face had faded to pallor.
‘Can you handle the journey?’ Serena asked.
‘Well, perhaps not this very minute—but yes. You don’t have to worry about me, child.’ The looming icefjords stretched out like fingers, as white as the bleached bones of a skeleton. ‘I am on the mend.’
‘Serena, Myriel,’ Gallows called. ‘Meet the leader of the Frostcloaks.’
‘The “Frostcloaks”?’ Serena asked.
‘Yes,’ Myriel sighed, ‘as opposed to Ryndara’s crimson ones.’
‘Ah.’
The leader of the Frostcloaks was a middle-aged man with long, grey hair, a swollen gut, and the thickest woollen sweater Serena had ever seen. His wind-beaten face possessed more lines than the craggy cliffs that Frosthaven was built upon.
‘Heinrich Uradel.’ His Tarevian accent sounded like someone coughing up gravel. ‘The “Frostcloaks” ensure the neutrality of Frosthaven—we serve neither Ryndara nor Tarevia. Come—evening will be upon us soon. We have soup, shelter. Let us be out of the cold.’
The old church was the village’s equivalent of a town hall, Serena guessed. She mopped a thick wedge of seeded bread into the stodgy spiced chicken and chickpea soup and threw it down to Scruff.
Right now, Gallows sat across the table with a villager—Serena recognised her as one of the stall owners, the one with the jade figurines of the Indecim. Gallows was probably talking her ear off about how ‘That twelfth century figurine of Deolira you’re trying to sell me for a thousand aerons is actually three weeks old and worth about two pennies and half a button—but that piece of wood you’ve been using as a door-stopper was actually carved from Aerulus’ favourite rocking chair and is worth ten million blah blah blah.’
Myriel exchanged pleasantries with someone she knew from way back, doing her best to pretend she wasn’t in pain. Enoch sat on a bench, hunched over like tal Varaldo’s The Scholar, looking perplexed as a kid bounced a ball off him.
And Tiera did her own thing—she ate her food in silence, the scowl on her face not shifting for a moment.
It wouldn’t last, of course, but Serena enjoyed seeing everyone together, their troubles on hold.
After draining a mug of cocoa, Serena whisked herself from the table and disappeared outside. The sky had turned bruise-purple.
She watched the volcano, breath misting in front of her, carrying in the breeze and dissolving into nothing.
‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ Heinrich said at her back. He drew up next to her, gazing at the horizon. An old, leather-brown pipe hung from his lips.
‘The volcano? Yeah, it is.’ Dots of light blinked at the Zemsuhdenya’s base, around the icefjords, and in the distance. ‘Is this all Frosthaven?’
‘Mm. This main base took the name first. For a time, this place was nothing more than a tin hut next to a broken landing strip—a forgotten wasteland nestled between two great nations. But even in the darkest cave, a flower can bloom. We’ve expanded so much that we’re almost as big as one of Dalthea’s districts.’
Heinrich placed his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet, sucking on his pipe. It was curved and had decorative scales, like the hide of a dragon. The smoke smelled of cherry and vanilla, more like a subtle perfume than tobacco. ‘No-one knows who named Frosthaven, but it didn’t take long for the message to spread. All over the world, people come here for refuge, regardless of name or nationality.’
Serena’s heels dug into the snow. ‘Do they all stay? Everyone who visits?’
‘Some. Most are refugees crossing the border—they either hop off the train and fly to Tarevia, or they land here and jump onto the train to Ryndara—often without pausing for breath. Others stay for weeks or months before they get bored. We have a big library by the lower well and yet people still manage to get bored. The mind boggles! Alas, Frosthaven’s not for everyone.’
Serena thumbed the copy of Captain Crimsonwing and the Sky Pirate’s Daughter stuffed in her pocket. ‘But it is for you?’
Heinrich’s teeth shone amidst his bushy beard. ‘Oh, yes.’
A home for people without a home. If you don’t belong anywhere, you belong here.
Serena pulled at the lapel of her sheepskin coat, twirling her hood’s drawstring around her finger. ‘Have… Have you ever had visitors from a seafaring tribe?’
Heinrich removed his pipe. ‘We’ve had many sailors come in from the Discordant Sea. A group of Dalthean soldiers made their way here after their ship was destroyed on the same night as Horizon Bridge. Why?’
‘No reason. Just curious.’
One of the kids Serena had spoken to earlier burst out of the hall. She cowered at Heinrich’s legs, grinning up at Serena. A woman carrying a baby boy followed; she was short and slim, and—judging by the rich, ochre skin and the button nose they shared—the mother of the girl playing at Heinrich’s feet.
‘This is Lyani,’ said Heinrich.
Lyani nodded in greeting. �
��How do you do?’ Her accent carried traces of Ganaldi. Serena liked it.
‘And this hurricane twisting at my feet is Prishmi.’
Serena said hello, and the sight of Prishmi bursting with joy made her own heart swell.
‘What’s the baby’s name?’ Serena asked.
‘Mateus.’ Lyani beamed and thrust the baby into Serena’s arms.
‘Oh… R-right.’ He wriggled in Serena’s arms, eyes clenched tight. She’d never held a baby before—there was no weight to him. Serena wasn’t so much terrified of dropping him as she was of letting him go and watching him float away.
‘He’s beautiful.’
‘Da,’ agreed Heinrich. ‘A beautiful surprise, at that.’
She handed him back to his mum. ‘Are you a Frostcloak, too?’
‘We all are, here. We did not choose the name.’
‘It was either that or “Ice Shepherd”,’ Heinrich cut in. ‘And I am no shepherd.’
Mateus complained, and Lyani rocked him back to sleep. ‘Heinrich hasn’t bored you with his spiel about the volcano yet, has he?’
‘Not yet,’ said Serena
‘Give it time.’
Serena took in the Zemsuhdenya’s majesty—its scale, the crests of snow, the sparkle of the black glass surrounding it.
‘Is it ignicite?’ Serena asked, recalling a conversation with Myriel about obsidian.
Uradel shook his head. ‘Frozen lava—there from now until Nyr’s Day.’
‘Aren’t you worried it’ll erupt?’
Uradel cackled. ‘Terros would not allow this—we are under his protection.’
The wind nudged the bells in their towers, singing a lullaby over the village.
‘How long have you lived here?’ Serena asked. ‘It’s so… peaceful.’
‘Five years.’ The pipe in Heinrich’s mouth softened the jagged edge of his Tarevian accent. ‘Give or take.’
Something about Heinrich made him easy to warm up to. ‘It’s a beautiful place.’
Laughter rumbled from Heinrich’s belly. ‘Da. I didn’t think so at first—I was one of Taliana Konstantin’s casualties—one of Tarevia’s old guard.’ Heinrich removed the pipe, and his voice fell low, like the hum of an airship’s engine just before it died. ‘Stripped of my wealth and my status. Kicked out of my home.’
Serena’s brow screwed up. Wasn’t Taliana Konstantin one of the good guys? Didn’t she stamp out corruption and feed Tarevia’s poor?
‘Took me a long while before I realised that I was wrong, and Konstantin was right,’ Heinrich admitted. ‘I was a miserable sod for months! And then I met Lyani and Prishmi—and nothing I had before seemed to matter. I have little in the way of possessions here, but I have everything I need. And, Gods be damned, I’m happier for it. Now! The Zemsuhdenya—’
‘Oh, here he goes,’ chuckled Lyani. ‘I warned you.’
‘—every year, brave and foolish climbers stop in Frosthaven before they scale the beast, and only some return. You and your party seem wise, Serena, but if you’re planning on scaling her, I bid you wait until spring.’
Serena wanted to ask more about Konstantin and Tarevia, but she reckoned Heinrich had changed the subject on purpose.
‘Maybe I’ll climb it after I visit the Temple of Musa,’ she said.
Heinrich’s lips drew around his pipe again. ‘You’re here for Musa’s temple?’
‘Yeah,’ Serena answered, unsure if she should have kept it secret. ‘Um, is that okay?’
Heinrich offered a sympathetic look. ‘I’m sorry, but the temple is decrepit. And in the middle of winter, the way is too treacherous. It is a dead place—there’s nothing there.’
What? Serena fought to stop her legs from turning to jelly. What about the people? What about the answers Myriel had promised? What about the siren-song?
Mateus stirred in Lyani’s arms. She hummed a lullaby, ushering the infant back to sleep. ‘You can stay here for as long as you need,’ she whispered. ‘You work for what you eat, like everyone, but we welcome everyone with open arms. And Prishmi would kick up a storm if you left so soon.’
The thought tempted Serena—she’d never been welcomed like this before, in this place where people were free to be whatever they wanted to be.
But she couldn’t escape the power she harboured. And if she stayed here, sooner or later, the Idari would find her.
Maybe when I’m done, when I’ve got rid of the siren-song—
The hall door flew outward.
‘Serena!’ Enoch called.
The expression on Enoch’s face turned Serena’s throat dry.
‘It’s Myriel.’
‘Jasper!’ Heinrich barked. ‘Penicillin!’
The clinic was cramped, cold, and its equipment was ten years out of date.
And Myriel was dying.
Serena’s stomach turned as hard as ignicite. ‘What happened?’ Her voice felt apart from her, like it was someone else speaking.
‘She collapsed,’ answered Gallows. He set Myriel down onto a single bed, her skin glistening with sweat.
You said you were fine… You said you were okay…
‘Jasper!’ Heinrich repeated.
‘It’s here somewhere…’ In the corner, a young man with bleary, hollow eyes and sweaty pink skin rummaged through a cabinet.
‘This injury…’ Lyani examined Myriel’s dressed wound. ‘She is an old woman who needs rest, why is she even with you?’
No-one answered.
‘Jasper!’
‘Found it!’ Jasper rushed over and handed Heinrich a syringe. The elder injected the medicine into Myriel’s arm.
Jasper’s round face glistened. ‘Did we catch it in time?’
Heinrich shook his head. ‘Won’t know until morning. The doctors of Rhis did as much as they could, but an infection like this, at her age…’
Serena felt like laughing, like it was a cruel joke.
‘Everyone, outside, please,’ ordered Lyani.
Serena pressed forward. ‘Myriel…’
‘Please, outsi—’
‘Myriel!’ Serena summoned all the anger she possessed—it was easier than the fear and terror.
Someone pulled her back.
‘Myriel! Myriel!’
Serena didn’t know how many hours had passed, but the sky was as black as a funeral veil.
She lay in a bed of hay on the top floor of a small, stone hut, listening to worried voices floating from the hall—they spoke of Myriel being alive but unconscious.
‘Why is she with you?’ she’d heard someone say. The words were more accusation than question—and Serena made up her mind. She’d put her friends in danger no longer. It was better this way.
She tested the ignium lamp and examined the map she’d stolen before tucking it into her bulky rucksack.
Gallows, Enoch and Tiera were asleep on the floor beneath her, but Serena was accustomed to keeping quiet. She eased onto the floor without a sound.
Flicker buzzed around her, sensing what she was about to do. ‘Sshh.’ Serena thumbed the flickertail’s plumage, then opened the window. ‘Keep watch.’
She hooked her leg out of the window; with the hut’s exterior beams, climbing down was easy.
Flicker shot out behind her, his song threatening to wake up the whole town.
‘Sshh.’ Ice cracked at Serena’s feet when she landed. She opened up a pocket on her coat. ‘Come on if you’re coming.’
Flicker obliged, and she tucked him inside.
Pulling her coat tight, Serena padded across the ice towards the far wall of Frosthaven, the Zemsuhdenya looming within the murky darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Four years ago…
‘Did Nyr speak to you that day?’ Warmth radiated from Azima, melting the chill from the mountain air. ‘Is she in your head even now?’
Azima stepped closer, and Damien almost stilled the rampage of his heart—almost.
‘What does she whisper to you?’ Her lips b
rushed against his neck. He knew why she’d brought him here, knew what she was doing—and yet…
‘You wear our robes, but you are no Nyr-az-Telun,’ she whispered. ‘What happened when you touched the altar that day? I need to know.’
‘Adravan needs to know,’ said Damien. ‘He sent us here so you could interrogate me—and kill me.’
‘Does it matter?’ With her index finger, Azima ripped Damien’s shirt open and pressed against him.
With trembling fingers, Damien caressed the smooth skin of her neck. He sensed the blood flow in her veins, felt the increasing rhythm of her heart.
Before he pulled her close and kissed her, he breathed, ‘No.’
Rain slanted over the boxy structures of Dulwin.
Morton couldn’t get a read on the blonde-haired bloke, the supposed Lost Prince; Morton prided himself on figuring a person’s every notion from the other side of the card table, but for Damien, he’d be better off trying to figure out the mindset of a statue.
They sailed over the infamous Diamond District; Morton didn’t know the story behind it, but it was in one of the District’s snoozing kens that he’d picked up the worst case of the Drip he’d ever had. His legs squeezed together at the memory.
The AFR craft shunted from side to side. The officers hadn’t so much as offered Morton a drink or a hand of Ryndaran Switch the entire time, so he was forced to break the boredom by talking to Damien.
‘Looking forward to a cozy bed with a woman as much as me, mate?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, uh—you lean towards menfolk?’
‘No.’ Damien flexed the fingers of his left hand and adjusted the sleeve on his fancy shirt. ‘There are… pursuits that interest me more.’
‘Have to be damned interesting.’
The AFR craft descended over Dulwin’s excuse for a skyport and landed with a shudder.
‘With compliments from Prince Garald,’ the pilot said, his voice devoid of emotion.
‘Right you are.’ Morton saluted, then wished he hadn’t.
The hatch opened, and he followed Damien onto the landing pad and down a metal staircase. Ground crew scattered back and forth, paying much more attention to the AFR craft than the half-dozen other airships dotted throughout the installation.
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