by Kat Ross
Nazafareen grabbed her sword and staggered out the door. The two daēvas streaked through the woods, the assassin’s white leathers bright in the darkness. She heard rumbles up ahead and dashed past a jagged crevice where the earth crumbled away into a deep sinkhole, the white tips of tree roots erupting like huge worms.
At last she caught up with them. The Valkirin was trapped on an island of solid ground no more than ten paces wide. Darius stood on the other side of the crevasse. A trickle of blood ran from his nose, the price of throwing all that earth around. His face could have been carved from granite.
“You won’t leave these lands,” he said with tightly controlled fury. “Sheathe the blade.”
The Valkirin lowered his sword slightly but didn’t put it away.
“Let me kill her,” he pleaded. “It’s for the best. For your people and mine. She’s a danger to us all!”
“Who sent you?” Darius growled. “Was it Culach?”
The assassin gritted his teeth as fingers snapped like kindling. He switched the sword to his right hand.
Nazafareen ran toward Darius. She heard shouts as the other daēvas caught wind of the attack. Dark shapes pelted through the trees.
“I carry a message from Val Moraine,” the Valkirin announced in a ringing tone. “The Avas Danai are harboring a mass murderer. If you don’t hand her over—”
Darius crossed the gap between them in one graceful bound.
“And I have an answer,” he said.
Nazafareen tossed him her sword and he seized the spinning hilt just in time to parry a blow from the assassin’s own blade. There was no cautious circling. No testing of defenses. Instead, they hammered at each other, one blade of bonewood, the other of iron. The assassin was good, but Darius was better. Inch by inch, he pushed the Valkirin toward the yawning pit at his back.
Then the assassin turned to Nazafareen. The ground gave way beneath his heels as he drew a huge breath and blasted it at her. She cried out in surprise as the wave of air lifted her off her feet and threw her backwards.
“Nazafareen!” Darius cried.
She hit the ground just in time to see the assassin aim a vicious kick at Darius’s knee. He raised his sword, smashing the hilt into Darius’s skull. Nazafareen heard it fracture with a sharp crack. The Valkirin brought his sword back again, this time for a killing stroke—when a black-fletched arrow punched through his chest.
Nazafareen spun and saw Galen three paces behind her, bow in hand, his eyes wide.
The assassin fell back, the glaze of death falling across his foxlike features. Blood bubbled around the arrow in his chest. Somehow he summoned the strength to speak—to her.
“You die,” he gasped, staring at her with loathing. “Or they all die.”
The words sent ripples through the crowd of daēvas. Victor leapt across the ragged crevice, face a thunderhead, and thrust his sword into the Valkirin’s heart.
Nazafareen ran to the edge, but it was too wide and deep for her to cross. Darius lay sprawled in the dirt. Blood matted his hair, a black stain in the moonlight. She felt a stab of sheer terror until she saw his chest rise and fall.
“Don’t touch him!” Tethys hurried over. “He cannot be moved, not until I give what healing I can.”
Tethys sprang lightly across the gap and knelt beside Darius. Her eyes grew distant. Nazafareen felt complex threads of power weaving around both of them.
“What’s happened here?”
Nazafareen turned and saw Delilah, Darius’s mother, striding up. She looked nothing like her son except for the intense blue eyes. She’d always been thin to the point of emaciated, but Nazafareen suspected she was stronger than she looked. Delilah never came to see her. It was obvious she had no love of mortals.
“I found the Valkirin in my house,” Nazafareen said. “He was about to kill me when Darius came. Darius chased him and they…they fought.”
Delilah gave her a long look. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Victor drew his wife aside. They spoke in low voices. Delilah’s inscrutable gaze rested on Nazafareen.
Well, if his mother didn’t hate me before, she certainly does now.
When Tethys signaled it was safe to move him, two Danai brought a litter and gently maneuvered Darius back to solid ground. All Nazafareen’s earlier anger dissolved into stinging tears that she angrily scrubbed away with a sleeve. She trailed along behind as they carried him to Galen’s house, which was the closest. Tethys sat at Darius’s bedside and cupped his face, murmuring to herself. Darius stirred feebly, his eyelids fluttering. His face relaxed into sleep.
“He will need a great deal of rest,” Tethys said, looking drawn and exhausted herself. “I cannot say when he will wake.”
Nazafareen felt her heart unclench a little. Darius would live.
Victor ran a hand through his dark hair. “This provocation cannot go unanswered, Tethys. They violated our borders and nearly killed my son. I warned you this was coming. We should have acted long ago.”
Tethys drew herself up. “You were gone for more than two hundred years, Victor,” she said evenly. “Things have changed.”
“Have they?” he sneered. “They seem exactly the same to me. The Valkirins at our throats and House Dessarian doing nothing to put them down.”
“How dare you?” Tethys hissed. “You left me your…mess to deal with, which I did. But you have no right to second-guess how I run this house.”
“Peace, mother, I’m sorry if I gave offense,” Victor said, although he still managed to sound arrogant. “But you heard what he said. If we don’t surrender Nazafareen, they’ll come in force. The survival of our house is at stake.” His temper sounded close to catastrophically snapping. “We know who’s behind this. Let me handle it.”
Tethys gave a humorless laugh. “I know how you handle things, Victor. Like a rampaging bull.”
“And what would you do?”
Tethys’s predatory gaze fell on Nazafareen. “Go back to your house, girl,” she said sharply. “This is Danai business.”
Nazafareen steeled herself for battle.
I won’t be treated like a child, not even by this ancient, powerful woman. Let her see this rabbit has teeth.
“It concerns me,” Nazafareen said levelly. “I have the right to know what you intend to do.”
Tethys opened her mouth to reply when Victor stepped up and laid a hand on her arm.
“She’s right,” he said softly. “There’s little use in keeping secrets now.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you intend to throw her to the wolves?”
Tethys pursed her thin lips. “Give me more credit than that,” she snapped. “Very well. She can stay. But she’ll keep quiet.”
Nazafareen knew better than to argue the point. She sat down on the floor at the foot of the bed and tried to make herself small, which wasn’t difficult.
“As I was saying,” Tethys continued, “you seem to have forgotten the fact that they have Mina. We have Ellard. The whole purpose of the hostage arrangement is to keep the peace. It’s worked so far.”
“Worked?” He laughed mirthlessly. “They just sent an assassin to kill Nazafareen in her own home. Would you call that a breach of the peace?”
Nazafareen covered a smile. Tethys was right—Victor snorted and bellowed and didn’t care who he trampled beneath his hooves—but she liked that he was standing up for her.
“It’s more complicated than you know, Victor,” Tethys said quietly.
“What haven’t you told me?”
“Over the last two years, some of us have gone missing. Vanished into thin air.”
A frown came over Victor’s darkly handsome face.
“How many?”
“Four. Two from House Dessarian, a brother and sister, and one each from House Martinec and House Kaland. They’d gone to assess the far southern groves. It should have been no more than a week’s journey. When they didn’t return after two, scouts went looking. Not a
trace was found.” She glanced down at Darius, tucking the blanket around his shoulders with a gentle hand. “And before you start hurling accusations, five Valkirins have vanished too—each one traveling alone. We blamed each other until it became clear we’ve both suffered losses.”
Victor let out a slow breath. The floor creaked under his bulk as he paced the room.
“How could you keep this from me?”
“Because I didn’t trust you not to go rushing off again,” Tethys said calmly. “If something is indeed hunting daēvas, the clans need to stick together. Or at least not start a war.”
“I agree,” Delilah said.
It was the first time she’d spoken.
“You don’t know the Valkirins—” Victor growled.
Delilah cut him off. “I’m not suggesting we do nothing. But your mother is right. Action taken in anger and haste would be a mistake.”
Tethys gave Delilah a nod of approval. “You’d do well to listen to your wife, Victor. She seems to have a modicum of sense. Do I trust the Valkirins? Of course not. They’re underhanded and ruthless. Violence is in their blood. But Val Moraine may have acted alone in this. Halldóra of Val Tourmaline is the most reasonable of the bunch. I’ll send a bird to her tonight. And then we must convene the Matrium. The other Houses should know of this. It concerns us all.”
“Then do it quickly,” Victor advised. “Once Culach learns the attempt failed, he’ll send more to finish the job.” He glanced at Nazafareen. “The Valkirin was waiting for you?”
She nodded.
Victor scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “How did he know which house to go to? And how did he discover you were here in the first place?”
Everyone fell silent. Nazafareen avoided their eyes. Tethys already knew—well, she supposed the others deserved to hear it too.
“I was in the forest yesterday,” Nazafareen admitted, shame making her cheeks burn. “I know I shouldn’t have gone out alone.”
“You shouldn’t have gone at all,” Delilah muttered, casting her a baleful look.
“I don’t disagree,” Tethys said dryly. “But the girl isn’t to blame. If the Valkirin scout had seen her, he would have killed her on the spot. He’d be halfway back to the mountains before we found the body. He took a great risk coming into the heart of the settlement, and paid the price for it.” Her gaze narrowed. “No, it makes no sense. They found out some other way.”
“You mean someone told them?” Victor demanded.
“I don’t know.” Tethys sighed. “We’ve kept her presence a secret from the other Danai Houses and few here know the full story of what she did. But secrets have a way of slipping out.”
“What about Ellard? He’s the obvious suspect.”
Nazafareen had seen him once, walking with Galen in the forest. Both moons were full and his silver hair had stood out like a beacon in the darkness. Heart racing, she’d run to Darius’s house. Then she learned that Ellard lived here. He’d been swapped as a hostage for Galen’s mother long ago and raised at House Dessarian.
“Ellard is bound by wards,” Tethys said. “Strong ones. I did it when he first came. If he took any action against us—in word or deed—I would know about it.”
“And he wouldn’t anyway,” Galen put in quickly. “I’m with him all the time. I know him. It’s not Ellard, I promise you.”
“It’s possible a spy slipped past your sentries, Victor,” Tethys said. “This assassin seemed to have no trouble.”
Victor grunted. “I intend to find out who was on duty tonight. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“What about the body?” Delilah asked.
“There are herbs to preserve the flesh against decay, for a time at least,” Tethys said. “I’ll see he’s attended to.”
“We’ll keep the corpse as a bargaining chip,” Victor said decisively. “They’re fussy about their fallen. I heard they have catacombs deep in the mountains dating back a thousand years. A city of the dead. They’ll want him back.”
Nazafareen wondered if the Danai returned their own dead to the earth. No one had died since she’d been there so she couldn’t say what their rites were. But it didn’t surprise her that the Valkirins preferred the cold embrace of stone. They had an icy look about them, with their silver hair and white skin. She imagined rows of pale warriors laid out in the darkness of the earth’s bones.
“Ellard says his name was Petur,” Galen put in. “That he’s from Val Moraine.”
“Of course he is.” Victor sounded irritated. “Who else could be behind this but Culach?”
The way he spoke the name—like a curse—revealed a bitter hatred that had been carefully tended for years, centuries even. She wondered at its original source.
Culach.
She remembered him from the Dominion. He’d been large and frightening, but he’d carried her when she fell sick. She hadn’t been afraid of him then. The fear had come later, after he passed through the gate. He had…changed. Flames burned in his eyes.
The thing inside him had wanted to take Nazafareen too, but she’d driven it back to whatever lightless depths it had come from. The memory raised gooseflesh on her arms.
She’d thought Culach might be dead, but it seemed dead things had a way of coming back—no matter how deeply you dug the hole.
4
The Scarred Man
Snow beat against the invisible barrier of air sheltering the high holdfast of Val Moraine. The storms rarely paused, a result of the extreme geography on the eastern edge of the dark continent of Nocturne. The currents lifted moist air from the White Sea and carried it over the mountains, where it froze and turned to snow. Val Moraine had been carved out of limestone and glacial ice atop the highest precipice, a testament to the Avas Valkirin’s disdain for lowlander luxuries like breathable air.
Even with the poor visibility, the view from the keep was spectacular. Just enough moonlight leaked through the cloud cover to reveal majestic peaks marching to the horizon, and beyond that, the dark, heaving mass of the sea.
Culach could picture it in his mind’s eye with perfect clarity. He pulled the furs closer around his naked body. He couldn’t stand to wear leathers anymore. The worst of his burns had healed, but they’d left him with an exquisite sensitivity. The lightest touch lit his nerve endings on fire.
His jade eyes faced the stone ceiling, but what he saw was the vast dome of the sky, the spray of stars, hard and cold as jewels in the velvet blackness. He spent his time in this way now. His greatest fear was that he would forget and then there would be nothing left but darkness. So he made sure to remember. To painstakingly summon up the smallest details of things. The luminous blue of the glaciers when Artemis returned from her travels. The pommel of his sword. His sister’s eyes.
It angered him that he was already starting to forget her face, and yet he could call up the mortal girl’s with no effort at all. She was seared into his memory just as her unholy power had seared his flesh and bone.
He heard light footsteps enter the chamber but didn’t turn his head.
“Go away,” Culach said.
The footsteps paused, then continued to his bedside. Her scent tickled his nostrils, spicy and feminine.
“I have food.”
Culach didn’t respond. He heard the rattle of a tray being set on the table near the door.
“Eat it or go hungry,” she said. “Your choice.”
He willed her to leave. She didn’t. Instead, he felt her watching him. Her hair would be in its usual tight braid, draped over one shoulder and brushing her hip. Mina only had two expressions in her repertoire. Haughty disdain, and a studiously blank one that said you were boring her to tears. He wondered which she wore now. Probably the first.
“You’ve done your duty. Now get out.”
“You’re a pitiful creature, Culach,” she said. “I never liked you, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so easily broken.”
These last few days, she’d made a concerte
d effort to provoke him. Another of their strategies to get him out of bed. He rolled over and aimed his useless eyes at the spot he guessed her face to be.
“I never liked you either, Mina, though I suppose I should be grateful for small favors. At least I don’t have to look at you anymore.”
She snorted. “Yes, you’ve said many times how ugly you find me. It would break my heart if only I found big blonde apes attractive.”
He laughed despite himself. It sounded harsh, a raven’s carrion cackle. “Ah, Mina. I would never call you ugly. Well, only on the inside.”
In fact, she wasn’t ugly, just different from every other woman at Val Moraine. Mina was small and dark. He could have picked her up by the scruff of her neck like a kitten.
Culach himself was tall even for a Valkirin. Like all his cousins, he had silver-white hair and green eyes. A winding scar bisected his jaw. That one was old. He’d acquired others of more recent vintage, but they were covered by the furs.
He sat up, fingers fumbling along the floor. Far from icy, the summerstone gave off a pleasant warmth. That and the shields of air surrounding the holdfast were what allowed the clan to live at such high altitude.
“Where’s my water?” he demanded. “You moved it.”
Mina laughed. “If I wished to torment you, I’d do more than hide your water.” She pressed a goblet into his hand, careful not to touch his skin.
Culach took a long drink, then lay back. He knew why she was really here and he wanted to make her leave before she pressed him about it. He wanted to hurt her.
“Did they tell you Victor has returned?” he said. “With his new bride?”
Mina didn’t answer, but her brittle silence confirmed he’d landed a blow. Even after all this time, she still pined for her old lover. He wasn’t surprised she hadn’t heard. Mina had no friends at Val Moraine.
“You lie,” she said at last. “Victor is dead.”
