by Kat Ross
“Snow.” She tried the word. Her breath made a white fog.
Beside her, Korinna pressed against the wall as if a single step might send her tumbling over the edge. Her witch stared into the darkness with an unreadable expression.
“What do we do now?” Korinna hissed.
Thena glanced at Demetrios. His hand tightened painfully around hers.
“Something is happening,” Demetrios gasped. “Great power….”
Thena watched in amazement as his breath transformed to tiny crystals in midair and fell tinkling to the ground. A fine, glittery lattice crept up the blank wall of air, obscuring the moon and stars. Korinna screamed.
Witches rushed toward them from both ends of the corridor, arrows knocked to bows. But even in the shifting shadows, Thena could see they weren’t Valkirins. All had raven hair. She dropped to her knees, heart thundering in her chest. Had the talisman led them astray? Was this not Val Moraine?
Her lungs burned with each inhalation, as if the air had turned to frozen dust.
Protect us, Apollo. Shelter us from evil.
She knew the god held no authority here, so far from the sun, but Thena prayed anyway. She prayed as a chill shroud closed around the keep and the moonlight dimmed.
“How did you get in here?” A female witch towered over her, face grave. Then her eyes turned to Nikias. Her jaw dropped.
“Rafel?” she breathed.
Victor closed his fist around the diamond. It required only a thin flow of air and water to trigger the power inside, enough for one man to do alone. His ears still rang with a brittle hissing—the sound of all the moisture in the air for leagues around crystallizing into a slab of ice twenty paces thick.
The abbadax pressed against the rear wall of the pen, emitting sharp, agitated chirps. Victor knew how they felt. The other holdfasts would never get inside now, but Val Moraine had become a frozen tomb. For an unnerving moment, Victor wondered what he was doing there. Why hadn’t he simply gone home, as Mithre urged him to? What did this frigid chunk of stone really matter? Eirik Kafsnjór was dead, his bloodline as good as extinct. And despite Tethys’s threats, Victor doubted she would have actually banished him—though she might now.
“Gods,” Mithre muttered beside him. He gave a hoarse laugh. “It worked, though I’m not sure which side of that ice I’d rather be on.”
Victor thought of the young Danai who waited inside the holdfast. He’d offered them all a chance to leave Val Moraine before deploying the defenses. None had taken it. For some strange reason, they seemed to trust his judgment.
Fortunately, Victor wasn’t prone to rumination—or regret. Two centuries in prison hadn’t broken his spirit, nor would a minor bout of claustrophobia.
“We’ll start hacking a small tunnel out of the stables,” he said decisively. “Enough for a single abbadax to pass through. There are plenty of axes in the armory. I expect Runar and Stefán will arrive shortly, and Halldóra, of course. We’ll parley with them and present our terms. They retreat to their holdfasts and pledge not to encroach on Danai lands, and we abandon this place. They ought to thank me for ridding them of Eirik.”
“But who will get the Maiden Keep?” Mithre asked.
“No one.” Victor tossed the diamond into the air and caught it in a gloved fist. “Not as long as I have this.”
“And Delilah? What if she returns?”
“I’ll fly out and hunt for her,” Victor replied. “But it’s a long way to Samarqand. She and Lara probably just arrived.”
For once, Mithre didn’t attempt a jest. “I’m sure they’re well,” he said, his vulpine face grave. “Darius too.”
“Of course they are,” Victor said gruffly.
He turned away from the wall of ice, intending to seek the relatively warmer environs of Eirik’s study, when Kelyn burst through the door to the stables. She wore a white Valkirin coat with the hood thrown back and her chestnut hair looked like birds had been nesting in it. Kelyn was normally unflappable, with a maturity beyond her years, but now her eyes were too bright, her voice high with tension.
“It’s Rafel,” she said. “Come. Quickly!”
Victor pocketed the diamond. “Who?”
“Rafel. He disappeared in the forest a year ago, along with his sister, Ysabel.” Kelyn paused. “He’s…he’s here.”
“Here?” Victor stared at her.
“We found him in the corridor. He’s with mortals.” She frowned. “And a Valkirin.”
Victor and Mithre exchanged a startled look, then ran into the keep after Kelyn. They turned a corner and found two daēvas—one clearly Danai, one Valkirin—and two young women kneeling on the ground. Their guards looked troubled and uncertain.
Both daēvas wore thick iron collars around their necks.
Victor’s eyes went wide. He’d seen similar things in the Empire beyond the gates. They were used by necromancers. His gaze immediately went to the women’s wrists, to the twin bracelets. No chains linked them to their captives, but it had to be a bond. In a heartbeat, his sword was out, swinging back to take both their heads before they could force the daēvas to use the power.
“Wait!”
The Danai, the one Victor assumed was Rafel, threw himself in front of the blonde woman. At the last instant, Victor stayed his hand.
“Get out of the way,” he snarled. “Death will break it.”
“But they helped us escape,” Rafel said quickly. “They’re blameless. It is the Oracle of Delphi who chained us.”
Victor turned to the Valkirin. “Is this true?”
He nodded. “My name is D…Daníel. I come from Val Tourmaline.” He looked around at the dozen Danai. “Where is Eirik Kafsnjór?”
Victor ignored him. “Get those off,” he ordered the women. “Right now.”
They obeyed with shaking hands. The bracelets clattered to the stone. Victor kicked them away.
“How did you get in here?” he demanded.
“We used a Talisman of Folding,” Rafel said. He looked at the women. “They stole it from the Pythia.”
“Where is it?”
The other three turned to the black-haired woman. She was beautiful for a mortal, with large eyes and a delicate, oval face.
“I…I dropped it,” she stammered. “In the cistern. I can show you which one if you want to look for it.”
“You dropped it,” Victor repeated flatly. He turned to Jenna and the other guards. “Search them. All of them.”
Cloaks were stripped off and carefully felt for any hidden pockets. None of the four carried a weapon or anything at all.
Victor scowled. “Tell me about this Pythia.”
“She kidnapped wit…I mean, daēvas and holds them at the Temple in Delphi—” the dark-haired one began.
“I will hear the tale from them,” Victor interrupted, staring hard at Rafel and Daníel.
Rafel swallowed. “She has soldiers called the Shields of Apollo. They use spell dust to capture daēvas. Once in Solis, she puts the collar on us.” His fingers fluttered over the iron ring, not quite touching it. “It lets her control the power.”
“I know what they do,” Victor said shortly.
“She still has Ysabel. But these two acolytes took pity on us. They helped us escape using the talisman.”
“Get those collars off right now,” Victor snapped.
The yellow-haired girl kept her gaze riveted on the ground. But the other looked him in the eye.
“I cannot,” she said. “The Pythia has the keys. She keeps them on her person at all times.”
“Then we’ll break them.”
Victor sheathed his sword and strode forward. His skin crawled as he took Rafel’s collar in both hands. He tried to wrench it apart, the cords standing out in his thick neck. A moment later, Mithre joined him. When that didn’t work, Victor attempted to pick the lock with flows of earth and air. They slid around the clasp. Warded. He hissed in frustration.
“They don’t work anyway,” the Va
lkirin said. He squatted easily against the wall, silver hair hanging down his back. “The connection broke when we passed from Solis to Nocturne.”
Victor nodded brusquely.
“You say you’re from Val Tourmaline?”
“Yes. I am Halldóra’s grandson.”
Victor and Mithre exchanged a look.
“Get up,” Victor said. “All of you.” He studied the women. They wore thin white gowns and shivered miserably in the chill air. “What are your names?”
“I am Thena,” the dark-haired one replied. “She is Korinna.”
“And why did you defy the Pythia?”
Thena thought for a moment. “Because it was wrong,” she said simply. “She…she mistreats them, although they committed no crime. I am a follower of Apollo, of justice and reason. The god would not condone her actions.” A flash of fear crossed her face. “We can never go back now. We are at your mercy.”
Mithre snorted. “So you suddenly decided to throw your lives away and risk everything for two daēvas?”
Thena swallowed.
“I…I came to care for Daníel very much in the time I knew him. And Korinna for…Rafel.”
Victor watched the daēvas. Daníel’s green gaze rested on Thena. There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes. Rafel was harder to read, and Korinna simply looked terrified. Understandably…perhaps.
“And you claim she speaks the truth?” he asked the daēvas.
They both nodded. Thena shifted on her knees, a flash of pain crossing her face.
“What’s wrong with you?” Victor demanded.
“It’s nothing….”
“Stand up.”
She pressed a palm against the wall and drew herself upright with a wince.
“The Pythia…she punished me.”
“What for?”
“She said I was too soft on Daníel.”
The woman raised the hem of her dress and Victor drew a sharp breath. Oozing red blisters covered her slim thighs.
“Gods.”
“The Pythia still holds my sister,” Rafel said. “We hoped to free her, too, but it was impossible.”
Victor sighed. He looked at the wall of ice sealing them in. “If only you had come earlier, I might have gotten word to the other Houses. But we will search for this talisman you spoke of.” He gestured to Jenna. “Take the mortals to the cistern.”
He thought of Darius and his gut clenched. Thank the gods he went to Samarqand instead of Delphi.
Victor turned to the Valkirin. “I don’t relish confining you again after what you’ve been through. But know that Val Moraine belongs to House Dessarian now. If you put one toe out of line, you’ll find yourself in the cold cells.”
The Valkirin nodded, his face carved from stone. “My holdfast has no love for Eirik Kafsnjór.”
Apparently no one did, not even Eirik’s own kin, but there were still holes in their story.
“Then why did you come here? Why not go straight to Val Tourmaline?”
“I didn’t mean to. I’ve never used such a talisman before. It is…imprecise.”
Victor grunted. “How long were you held?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced at Thena.
“A year,” she replied.
So Daníel wouldn’t know about any of it. How Culach, enticed by his sister Neblis, had brought death and ruin down on his holdfast.
Victor loathed all Valkirins, but he couldn’t help feeling pity for Daníel. He knew all too well what a bond could do. This one seemed an amalgamation of the necromancers’ chains and the Empire’s cuffs. How had the Pythia come by the collars? It was a deeply troubling thought.
The Danai closed around Rafel, smiling and embracing him. Victor leaned close to Mithre.
“If he’s truly Halldóra’s grandson, we have another bargaining chip.”
“Do you believe their tale?” Mithre's mouth was set in a grim line. Victor could see he was deeply shaken.
“I don’t know. But we must find a way to destroy those collars.” Victor studied the strange group. “Watch them,” he said softly. “Watch them all.”
Thena led the witch called Jenna and two others to the cistern. They spent a miserable hour diving down to the mossy bottom, but of course the talisman was not found. Now she watched Korinna pace the room they’d been given. It was cold and dark, though a large blue crystal embedded in the wall gave off dim light. An iron bed sat against one wall, with smelly furs piled on top.
“We were sent for a Valkirin, but the Danai hold Val Moraine,” Korinna muttered. “It is a disaster.”
“The god works in strange ways,” Thena replied calmly.
Unlike Korinna, she was not upset by the turn of events. She sensed it was all part of a divine and mysterious scheme of which she saw only a small part—for now. There was something familiar about the black-eyed witch who seemed to be in charge. Not his size, which was formidable, nor his fiery manner. But something in the set of the broad shoulders, the curve of the hawkish nose. He reminded her of….
“What if Nikias betrays us?” Korinna hissed.
Thena rose in one smooth motion and slapped her full-armed across the face. Korinna reeled back, clutching her cheek in shock. Thena gripped a hank of blonde hair and pulled her close.
“You will not speak that name,” she breathed into Korinna’s ear. “The witches have very acute hearing. You will play your part and I will play mine.” Her fingers tightened. “Or you will go to sleep and never wake up.”
Korinna held Thena’s wrist, trying to twist away. “Let go!”
Thena released her and stepped back.
“All will be well, sister,” she said serenely. “Why don’t you rest for a while? You look tired.”
Korinna shot her a venomous glare but threw herself down on the bed.
Thena drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. If Korinna could not hold her tongue, Thena would have to do something. But not tonight. She stroked her bare wrist. They’d taken the bracelet. It was strange not to feel Demetrios…Daníel. She had to remember that. Daníel would need to be handled carefully.
She didn’t fully understand what had been done to the keep, but it seemed no one could leave. Not without the Talisman of Folding, at least, and only Thena knew where it was.
Perhaps the Danai talisman could be found here. How she hated the dark-haired clan! Andros was Danai. The thought of him made her bile rise. He had tricked her. Humiliated her.
She fell to her knees and prayed for strength. The blisters on her legs cracked open again, soaking her thin gown, but Thena barely noticed.
I will find you again, Andros. And then your lessons will begin in earnest.
25
North Star
Nazafareen leaned on the rail of the Chione, the Austral Ocean stretching to the horizon. A light rain dimpled the surface of the water, which deepened from turquoise in the sandy shallows to azure and sapphire where the rolling swells began beyond the harbor mouth. Marakai sailors swarmed through the rigging, readying the ship for their departure. She’d never seen so much water—or didn’t remember it if she had—and found the sight both awe-inspiring and slightly terrifying.
It had taken their party two days to reach the quaint seaside town of Susa, which was built into rugged cliffs overlooking the harbor. One street perched directly above the next, and to get around you had to traverse steep stairways or narrow curving alleys with only a knee-high stone wall at the cliff edge. It made Nazafareen dizzy at first, but Susa had a cheerfully relaxed atmosphere that soon put her at ease. All the houses were painted bright white with blue shutters. Most had small container gardens of spiky desert plants that thrived beneath the wide open sky. The Austral Ocean provided a constant, cooling breeze. The trade brought by the Marakai kept the port bustling, but no one seemed in any hurry to get anywhere. They dressed casually, baring shoulders and legs, and were content to lounge around in Susa’s innumerable tea salons playing a board game called senet.
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sp; All in all, it was a charming place. Nazafareen had enjoyed exploring the town with Darius while they waited to book passage on a ship going to the Isles of the Marakai, but now she was anxious to get underway. Several times during their journey from Delphi, she thought she sensed something following behind. A faint tingle that made her uneasy. But they’d arrived safely in Susa and Darius said he couldn’t feel anything, so she finally dismissed it as nerves.
We’ll be leaving within the hour—and you’re surrounded by Marakai. Don’t borrow trouble when you have plenty more of it coming.
While the large bay surrounding Susa was deceptively calm, Herodotus said the Austral Ocean was nearly as rough as the White Sea once they rounded the Westfjords. That meant little since she’d never seen the White Sea, but Herodotus assured her that the Marakai ships were specially built to withstand storms and…other things.
Her gaze turned to the Marakai captain, who stood at the bow talking with Darius. She was tall and strong with kinky hair braided tight to her scalp. Like the crew, she wore wide trousers and a leather vest. A tattoo of a many-tentacled creature wrapped around her left arm from shoulder to wrist. Darius said something and she threw her head back and laughed.
“That’s Sat-bu,” Herodotus said, touching his own arm to indicate the tattoo. “The patron deity of this fleet.”
“What is it?” Nazafareen asked. “Some kind of sea monster?”
“Not a monster—or not to the Marakai at least. They have a complex system of beliefs, but as I understand it, each fleet worships a different creature of the deep. There are others besides Sat-bu. Khaf-hor, the fanged eel. The Nahresi, skeletal horses that gallop across the waves. Some sort of giant carp that causes the bottom of the sea to shake.” He smiled. “The Selk Marakai revere a grey cat they claim is the spirit of storms. They take turns carrying it on their ships for luck. It’s said she gets her own berth and must be appeased with honeyed milk.”
Nazafareen gave a delighted laugh. “I’d like to meet that cat someday.”
Herodotus smiled back. He was starting to look like himself again, with flesh on his bones and his beard neatly combed. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps you will.”