by Rosalyn Eves
The praetheria milling about the room disappeared as though snuffed, and the guard vanished midstride. Only Zhivka and the lidérc remained, staring wide-eyed across the cave.
A lifetime ago (quite literally, before I died), I found my sister a confounded nuisance. As was the fashion among my friends, I adopted an attitude of affectionate derision toward Noémi, teasing her mercilessly and declaring that few things were as likely to turn my stomach as a mushy declaration of feeling for one’s siblings.
Before I died, I’d been something of a prick. (Perhaps I still was, but at least now I was aware of my failings.)
When I’d first come back after dying, it had been too dangerous to seek Noémi out, and the itch of her absence had begun to teach me what I’d dismissed in her presence. But when I’d heard she was missing, it was as though someone had pulled a chunk from my heart, as though some critical part of me had gone missing too.
As my crow’s wings sliced through the icy updrafts above the mountain where Noémi was trapped, I found myself thinking not of my sister’s tirades (which were mostly merited, truth be told) but of the times she had protected me: when she shielded my adolescent drinking from my father by making me devilish-tasting elixirs that cleared up my hangovers, when she steered me away from my first desperate infatuation with a much older woman whose practiced seduction concealed her predatory nature. More than once, Noémi had loaned me money out of her own slim savings and made nothing of it.
We had been good friends, once. I hoped we could be so again.
Damn it, I was becoming maudlin in my afterlife. I needed to be alert, not sentimental.
Ducking into the caverns, I had to fight the crow’s natural instinct to resist such confined spaces. The rock felt smothering, a heaviness that was antithetical to everything in my hollow-boned body. I swallowed a caw of warning and flew after Anna and the others.
The walls surrounding us were coated in ice, gleaming like gems. Zhivka hadn’t said anything about the cold, but perhaps with her samodiva fire-blood she hadn’t noticed it. I followed the women into a large chamber, where a massive pillar of ice cleaved through the center of the room. The space was empty, save for the four of us.
I frowned. Where were the praetheria Zhivka and the lidérc reported seeing? I circled the room, trying to spy the side chamber where the praetheria kept my sister. But without flying into the darkened corridors branching off the main room, I could see nothing.
Below me, Anna froze. She and the lidérc had a quick, furious conversation, and then Anna’s eyes slid shut in concentration. Zhivka froze too, her lips pinching together in something like chagrin.
What were they seeing that I could not? A crow’s senses did not always register as a human’s did. Nor, apparently, as a praetherian’s. A stabbing sense of danger raised my feathers, and I fluttered to the ground, shifting as I landed.
A mistake: a million points of gooseflesh lifted on my exposed skin, and the cold of the room sheared through my naked flesh as I crouched down. I let a fine layer of fur grow across my skin. Better—though to judge from the expression on Anna’s face, the hirsute look was not one of my best. Or perhaps it was my near nakedness she objected to.
“What’s wrong?”
“Illusions,” Anna said. “Everything in the cave was an illusion.”
“Is Noémi here?” Every muscle in my body tensed. If she wasn’t…
“We don’t know,” the lidérc said. “I’m afraid we were set up. We should get out before—”
She cut off as a thousand tiny stars exploded in my vision. Something fine settled over me: an imperceptibly weighted net that tangled about my feet as I tried to turn and run. I stumbled, falling to my knees with a painful thud.
“Run!” I shouted at the others, but they were already moving, Anna and the lidérc scrambling back the way they had come, slipping across the ice.
Zhivka halted beside me.
“Run!” I told her again, shifting into a mouse, something small enough to escape through the net. But as I shrank, the net shrank with me, and my heart turned cold. I shifted again, taking on the shape of a flea, but I could not shrug free of the mesh.
Vasilisa had cast just such a net when she’d tried to trap me and Anna.
I glanced around the cavern, trying to see the praetherian witch-woman, but there were too many obstacles: icicles of stone and rock, light and shadow fracturing around them. If it was not Vasilisa behind the spell, it was someone with power like hers. Either way, we were in danger.
I surged upward, a mountain cat with sharp, scissoring claws. The hunger from so much shifting was starting to gnaw at me, but I ignored it. I could eat when I was free. But my claws and teeth made no difference to the magic mesh, which merely re-formed in the wake of my claws, like sand when you draw a finger through it.
The ravenous feeling tugged at my heart. This was more than the merely physical hunger that shifting brought out in me; this was the deeper yearning that the World Tree called from me. Even here, hundreds of miles from the puszta, I could sense the tree, its roots cracking fissures in my soul, pulling every cell in my body toward a powerful, devastating dragon shape. I doubted even Vasilisa’s net could hold me in that form.
“Mátyás!” Zhivka cried, and I looked down to find that my cat feet had hardened into dragon claws.
No. I’d given in to the dragon twice before, and the first time, I had nearly killed my friends. The second time, I had killed my friends, my hunger driving me to attack those around me indiscriminately. I shuddered into my own body, the sharpness of bile stinging my throat.
I had been so close to shifting into the dragon shape between one breath and the next, without any conscious decision.
Heart thudding, I glanced around the room. A wall of fire had sprung up before Anna and the lidérc, blocking the exit to the next chamber and the entrance to the cave. As I watched, Anna managed to shatter part of the spell, and the flames vanished. The lidérc made it across the glistening ice, but fire spurted up in Anna’s face as she followed, and she fell back.
Zhivka still had not moved.
My subconscious understood her immobility before my conscious mind did, and my stomach tightened with pain, as though someone had punched me. Then three figures emerged from the shadows, and I no longer cared why Zhivka was not running.
A young woman with bone-pale hair: Vasilisa.
A horned creature with the pointed ears and goat tail of a satyr, a pair of loose trousers hitched about his waist.
And a bright-faced woman with fire-gold hair whom I had met once before, when I set her and her samodiva sisters free and Zhivka had stayed behind as a guarantee of good conduct. The samodiva queen.
I looked back at Zhivka. Her lips were tight, but her eyes were steady.
She knew.
She had always known what waited for us here.
“Why?”
She dipped her head, dropping her eyes to the ice floor. “Because my queen asked it of me. And while you are my friend, my sisters have my heart.”
Anna was faltering now, sweat running down her face as the wall of fire flared, then sprang up again as her attempt at spell-breaking failed. The praetheria were closing on her, and she could not get out.
But I could get her out.
Maybe.
I had enough energy for one more shifting before I would need food and rest. I could not use it myself—I was trapped by Vasilisa’s magic net unless I adopted the dragon form, which I would not do unless I had no other option—but I could shift Anna into something that would let her escape. A bird, maybe. My glance flickered to the samodiva queen, powering the wall of fire. Or something fireproof, like a samodiva.
I shuffled forward, hoping the praetheria would overlook me as they focused on stopping Anna.
I nearly made it. A few more steps, and I’d b
e able to touch Anna’s sleeve.
But Zhivka saw me. “Don’t let Mátyás touch her!”
The satyr grabbed me, arms like iron bands tightening across my chest. I tried to throw him off, but he was too powerful. I couldn’t shift myself, not if I hoped to have enough strength left to shift Anna. Iron. I’d subdued the samodiva queen once by transmuting her hair to iron, a transformation less demanding than a whole-body shapeshift. I changed a few hairs on the satyr’s arms to iron, but he didn’t even flinch. So much for that idea.
I had only a few seconds before Vasilisa could seize Anna. I’d never shifted anyone from this distance—but then, until a few months ago, I’d never been dead before, either. I still didn’t quite know the limits of what I could and could not do since the Lady had resurrected me.
I closed my eyes. There’s no real merit to closing one’s eyes while spell-casting, but everyone does it. I thought of Anna, the way her dark hair straggled about her face, her long, not-quite-graceful gait.
I thought of Zhivka, the way she held sparks from an open fire in her hands and they did not burn her.
Then I pictured Anna’s fragile human skin and hair taking on the samodiva’s resistance to fire, and pushed a shape out into the air.
For a moment, I thought nothing had happened.
Then Anna cried out—in surprise, I thought, not pain. At least, I hoped not.
I shouted, “Run!” and Anna-turned-samodiva nodded once and sprinted through the flames. The fire licked at her…but did not burn. “Get out! Find Noémi!”
The satyr released me to pelt after Anna, with Vasilisa beside him; the samodiva queen sent spurts of flame ahead of Anna, a conflagration filling the entire chamber before us.
But Anna did not cry out again, so I assumed her shifting held.
My legs trembled; I’d spent too much energy. I slumped to the icy ground, shivering as exhaustion washed over me. I curled my arms around my knees and huffed warm breath against my forearms. I could see the distant reflection of light from the samodiva’s fires, but the near fire had burned out and the room was bitter cold, the ice slick beneath me.
Zhivka knelt beside me, kindling a fire in her hands and holding it toward me. An apology? I rolled away from her, though my chilled skin protested fiercely at the loss of her warmth.
I’d figure out what to do next when I’d regained some energy. Food would be my first priority.
But for now, I focused all my attention on a silent prayer.
Run, Anna.
I raced back through the cavern like a thing possessed, my hands and legs finding purchase in the scree as though they had minds of their own. My lungs burned with the exertion, but I did not stop. The lidérc, her webbed feet providing her with a grip the rest of us lacked, had disappeared ahead of me.
I stumbled out of the cavern, blinking in the brilliant light of the afternoon sun. I paused for just a moment, to reorient myself and grab a gulping breath.
“Zhivka!” the lidérc hissed, emerging from the shadows of a large rock a few feet from the entrance. Her fingers curled, clawlike.
“No,” I gasped. “It’s Anna. Mátyás shifted me. But they’re right behind me!”
Desperation had lent me added speed, pushing me across the slippery, uneven footing of the cavern, but any moment now Vasilisa and the others would be free of the cave.
The lidérc must have believed me, for she grasped my hand in hers and her shadow-glamour prickled my skin. I wasn’t sure how much protection such a slight spell would afford us, but I was grateful for it nonetheless.
“We need a distraction,” the lidérc said.
I glanced around as we began our descent, my thoughts racing ahead of my feet. Somewhere to hide would be ideal—but the rocky mountainside seemed too exposed, and I was not going back into that cave. In any case, hiding worked only if they did not find us.
It would take us hours to get back to where Bahadır waited, unless we wanted to risk our necks by running down the mountain.
The sky overhead was mostly clear, threaded through with fine white clouds. No storms to offer cover. Maybe a fire? No, the samodiva would walk right through it.
A glint of white at the mountain’s summit caught my attention. If fire could not stop them, perhaps snow? I might loosen the new snow from recent storms, but I could not guarantee that a wave of snow would not bury us as surely as our pursuers.
If not snow, then maybe rock. There was a clump of boulders above the cave’s entrance. If I could just coax them free…
All these thoughts passed more quickly than the time it takes to tell them.
I tugged the lidérc to the side, moving on a horizontal line rather than down the mountain. Focusing on the limestone lip of the cave’s entrance, I thought of the tendency of things (even rocks) to crumble over time. I sought out fissures in the scree just above the cave and pressed on them, remembering how I had persuaded the stone foundations at Schönbrunn to shiver apart that terrible night of the archduchess’s masquerade ball, when the archduchess sent her guards and magicians to round up the praetheria, when she had sentenced me to death for the magic that killed Mátyás.
A loud crack like thunder rolled across the valley, and a great plume of dust rained around us as the boulders cascaded down. Smaller rock shards exploded through the air, and the lidérc and I threw up our arms to protect our faces. I prayed Mátyás had the sense to stay back in the heart of the cavern, rather than following the others to the mouth of the cave. Noémi would never forgive me if I killed him twice—indeed, I would not be able to forgive myself.
When the dust cleared, I rubbed my stinging arms and looked back at the entrance.
It was gone.
A mound of boulders stood in its place, rocks still rattling over its surface and bounding loose across the slope.
A vast relief settled over me. It was pierced moments later by a sharp pang, as I thought of Mátyás—I’d left him behind, trapped and vulnerable. But he was resourceful, and the praetheria had no reason (yet) to want him dead.
I hoped it would be enough, until we could return to free him.
But now we needed to get away before we were as trapped as he was. My trick would not hold the praetheria indefinitely.
I dusted myself off and caught the lidérc staring at me. “What?”
She shook her head, dark tangled hair falling about her cheeks. “Nothing. Only you look like yourself again. And you’re bleeding.”
I glanced at my arms. The linen sleeves of the boy’s shirt I wore had been torn, and red was seeping through them. I swallowed a curse: gone were the days when a ruined gown was easily replaceable and meant nothing. I had only one spare shirt, and I didn’t fancy going shirtless while it was laundered.
Then I did curse: Mátyás had gone into the ice caves with nothing. Even if he did escape, he’d have no money with him, no clothes. And he could freeze to death while the praetheria dug out of the cave.
I looked back at the rockslide. I couldn’t leave him like this.
“Come on,” the lidérc said.
“But Mátyás…”
“…can take care of himself.” She started down the mountain again. “If you don’t get away now, you’ll be no use to him later.”
I hesitated a moment longer, staring at the rocks. A crow called somewhere overhead, startling me into action.
Run, Mátyás had said.
I scrambled down the rocks behind the lidérc.
* * *
We reached the valley just as night began to roll in, long, steep shadows cutting across the gorge. Overhead, the last of the light gleamed against the walls of the hilltop castle.
We explained to Bahadır the dire arithmetic of our rescue attempt, how we had left with four and returned with two.
He started toward the trail we’d just descended
, never mind that it would soon be too dark to see his own feet. “We’ve got to get Mátyás out.”
The lidérc hissed in annoyance. “If you climb the mountain now, you’ll either get yourself killed or captured, and you’ll be of no use to Mátyás. There aren’t enough of us to fight the praetheria. We need to find aid.”
My eyes strayed to the castle. I nudged the lidérc. “I have an idea.”
The lidérc and I gathered a few supplies and started across the valley on horseback toward the castle. Bahadır volunteered to stay with the horses, saying “If Mátyás does manage to escape, someone needs to be here to meet him. The praetheria won’t be looking for me.”
The moon rose as we rode, full and bright. While I was grateful that its impartial light made our way less treacherous, it also exposed us to anyone who might follow. I listened for Bahadır’s warning whistle and jumped at every unexpected sound, from a hare, shooting from the bushes in a burst of noise, to an owl hooting in the distance. A smile, fleeting and amused, flickered across the lidérc’s face each time I startled.
A cold wind scoured the valley, and I pulled a cloak out of my bag, wrapping it around my shoulders and thinking of Mátyás, shivering naked in the ice caves. But as we rode and no immediate threat emerged, my body began to shut down, reacting to the intensity of the day’s events. I may have dozed once or twice before the lidérc woke me. Curiously, for a woman who might slit my throat as effortlessly as she might pour tea, the lidérc was proving surprisingly restful—and resourceful.
We skirted a small village and reached the base of the hill, where a trail curled up toward the castle. We dismounted, tethered our horses in a grove of trees, and began to climb. My muscles screamed at me, already sore from my scramble up and down the mirroring mountain. “If I never climb another hill in my life,” I muttered, “I might die happy.”
“You might die anyway,” the lidérc pointed out. “Take your happiness where you can.”