by Kat Ross
“Katrin was right,” Culach said bitterly. “I am a broken creature. You’re free from your obligation. I’ll speak to Eirik today.”
She was silent for a long moment. “Well, this presents something more of a challenge than I anticipated. But I’m not giving up on you yet, Culach.”
“What do you mean?” He couldn’t bring himself to hope she could fix him.
“I…I’m not sure. But I wish to study this further.”
“So I’m to be your pet project? The bird with the broken wing?”
“Call it what you like.” She drew the furs over him again. Amusement colored her voice as she added, “I see why the women like you despite your abrasive personality. You have other…attributes.”
“Bloody hell, Mina,” he grumbled, rolling to his side.
“And I’ll try to persuade Gerda to come visit you. Do we have a deal?”
He muttered something.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She started for the door. Culach sat up.
“And tell the cook no more beet soup or I’ll come down to the kitchen myself and strangle him with my bare hands.”
He heard laughter as her footsteps faded away.
And then Culach was alone again. He knew if he tried to sleep, he would dream of fire and choking sand. So he forced himself out of bed and started pacing, counting his footsteps. Twenty-nine to cross the room to the window, thirty to the other end of the chamber, eighteen back to his bed.
Mina. Damn the woman.
His treacherous body still faintly ached for her. Culach didn’t worship any gods, none of the Valkirins did, but if he had, he thought they’d be laughing at him right now.
13
Some New Devilry
Galen spent the morning hunting deep in the forest with Ellard. By the time Selene had passed her zenith and was sinking toward the trees, they had a brace of rabbits. The Danai generally shunned meat because it couldn’t be cooked and raw flesh was tough and distasteful. Most of the daēvas subsisted on the fruits of the forest: nuts, berries, mushrooms, birds’ eggs and the like.
But Galen had discovered a method of marinating the rabbits—skinned and finely diced—in bitterlime juice and pepperleaf. It softened the meat and gave it a pleasant citrus flavor. He whistled between his teeth, anticipating supper together. The air grew crisp as they returned to House Dessarian and the pair walked together in companionable silence.
Galen felt at ease with Ellard. They were both outsiders, if in different ways. He glanced over at the slender, silver-haired youth. He’d caught Ellard watching him several times that day. Each time, Ellard had looked away when Galen’s eyes met his. But he wondered if perhaps Ellard felt more for him than strictly friends. The idea sent tingles through his belly. He hadn’t dared to hope for it, but he’d harbored a secret crush on Ellard for years now.
At first, his attraction had an undeniable whiff of forbidden fruit. The Valkirins were their enemies. And not merely the Valkirins—Val Moraine in particular. A liaison would be deliciously wrong. Besides which, he was curious. What were the Valkirins like? Were they truly as cold and fierce as everyone claimed?
So Galen had volunteered to be the one to shadow Ellard around the Dessarian compound. Like Mina, Ellard would be given a reasonable amount of freedom. It was part of the deal. And he was warded. What harm could he do?
After a week of this, Ellard had approached him and asked in a direct manner if he ever went hunting. And so their friendship began. Galen had gotten to know him. To see past the exotic looks to a man as guarded and lonely as he was—but also kind and decent. Not what he had expected at all.
“You look a thousand leagues away,” Ellard said teasingly. Despite the chill, he wore a light cotton shirt with no cloak. His Valkirin blood was thicker than the Danai. Even at rest, Ellard radiated heat. “Drooling at the prospect of a real supper?”
Galen smiled. This time, their gaze held. “Something like that.”
Ellard grinned back, but a flush crept into his cheeks. Galen’s smile broadened.
Perhaps things were finally going his way. With Darius gone, Galen felt as though he’d shed a burden. Whatever the others believed, he didn’t hate Darius on principle. Under other circumstances, he would be grateful for a half-brother. The problem was Darius had everything he didn’t.
Galen knew he looked more like Victor—the spitting image, some said. But where it counted—in the power—he had nothing in common with his father. Galen had always been weak in earth magic. Just lifting a pebble left him trembling and exhausted. Air and water came to him easily, but never earth. This was unheard of among the Avas Danai. Earth magic was their affinity. When Darius tore open deep chasms in the ground to corner the Valkirin assassin, Galen had felt physically ill with envy.
He’d become adept at concealing this handicap. He’d made it clear that he had no interest in tending the great forest, which required deep and subtle earth magic. He took up the bow instead and become a border sentry, a solitary pursuit that kept him away from the other Danai. It had worked—none knew his secret. But it had also been a depressing existence until Ellard came along. Galen hoped someone at Val Moraine was being similarly kind to his mother Mina.
They stopped as Victor strode up. Since Darius had left, their father walked around with a deep scowl on his face. He hadn’t mentioned Darius’s name once. Their relationship had never seemed warm to Galen, but rather wary, formally polite. Galen was intensely curious about what had happened in the mortal lands beyond the gate, but neither ever spoke of it. That left Delilah, but she was even less friendly than her son.
“We need to speak,” Victor said to Galen. His gaze swept over Ellard. “Alone.”
If Ellard felt offended, he didn’t show it. He gave a brief bow, catching Galen’s eye.
“See you later,” he said. “I’ll start cleaning the rabbits.”
Galen turned to his father as Ellard walked into the trees.
“You can trust him,” Galen said. “We’ve been friends for years. Ellard is a good man.”
Victor gave him a black look. “He’s a Valkirin. Never trust any of them. Come.”
They strolled through the compound. Selene was setting, giving way to Hecate. Galen loved this time of the evening. The delicate shift in the quality of the light from a warm, buttery yellow to cool white.
“I’ve come to a decision,” Victor said, pausing beneath a hickory tree. Green nuts crunched beneath his boots. “I’m not waiting for the Matrium. We need to act now.”
Galen’s chest tightened.
“For one thing, they take too long. I remember how it used to be. Weeks to gather the Houses together and then days of pointless debate. By the time they reach a decision, the Valkirins could have hatched and executed another murderous plot.”
“Do you think they’ll retaliate?” Galen asked.
“Without doubt. But if we act first, land the first blow….” Victor trailed off as they passed a pair of sentries, who gave curt nods. He continued once they moved out of earshot. “And then there’s always the chance they’ll refuse me. I have the utmost respect for those women, of course, but they can be overly cautious. And then there’s this business about the disappearances. We’re supposed to take the Valkirins’ word for it that they’ve lost people, but where’s the proof? I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re behind that too.”
“What do you have in mind?” Galen asked.
Victor’s jaw clenched. “I’m going to kill Culach and his father Eirik myself. We’ll bring a small party, no more than twenty. I want you to come.”
Galen swallowed. “It’s a great honor—”
“Don’t be a fool,” Victor snapped. “Killing isn’t an honor. It’s a burden. But one we must bear.” The hard planes of his face softened a touch. “You’re one of the only ones I trust. Son.”
The word brought a warm flush to Galen’s neck.
“But how?” he asked. “Those mountains are impass
able. The stronghold of Val Moraine has never been breached, not once.”
He knew his history. In the Iron Wars, when three other holdfasts—Val Altair, Val Tourmaline and Val Petros—had allied to squabble over mining rights, they’d broken their teeth on the walls of Val Moraine. And they were all Valkirins, bred to the altitude and harsh conditions. That was how Val Moraine came to be known as the Maiden Keep—because she’d never been taken.
Victor gave a thin smile. “I know a back way in. Now, you must tell no one of this. We leave tomorrow. The whole thing will be done quickly.” He fingered the hilt of his sword. “Nazafareen is like a daughter to me. I want her back as much as Darius does. And she won’t be safe until her enemies are dead.”
Galen’s mind raced. “But what about my mother? What if they kill her?”
Victor laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll catch them by surprise. I won’t let that happen. We’ll bring Mina home.” His eyes grew distant. “I’ve been an arrogant man, Galen. I’ve made terrible mistakes. But this is the only way to avert all-out war, do you see that? Val Moraine is already weakened. Kill Culach and his father and we’ll behead the snake. They won’t have the will to strike back.”
Galen was barely listening. He was still fixated on what Victor had said about his mother.
We’ll bring her home too.
That was Galen’s dearest wish.
He clasped Victor’s forearm. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We can be there in two days—”
He broke off at Victor’s wary expression. They’d reached Darius’s house. It was empty and quiet. So very quiet. That’s when he realized the birds and insects had fallen silent. Victor flicked his eyes at the front door. It stood slightly ajar. Just an inch or two. Galen couldn’t remember if it had been like that when he passed it with Ellard that morning on their way into the forest.
They shared a look. Victor drew his sword. Galen hastily nocked an arrow.
“Has Darius returned?” Galen asked in a low voice.
Victor wordlessly shook his head. He used his blade to ease the door open. The kitchen was neat as a pin. Moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating a bag of onions dangling from a hook over a counter with a wooden chopping block.
Victor stood stock still for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I’ll look in the bedroom. You check the second floor.”
Galen ascended a circular staircase that wound into the leafy canopy above. The room ran the length of the house, with wide plank floors and a gap at the end where the roof lay open to the stars. A shelf held a collection of orreries and astrolabes. Sawdust danced in the moonbeams, tickling his nose and making him want to sneeze. It was Darius’s woodshop. Galen paused before a bench covered with tools. The small table next to it held a half-carved figurine of a girl leaning on her sword, a tiny enigmatic smile on her lips. She had a wide mouth and a determined chin. Her nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken and never healed right. Nazafareen. Even unfinished, the face was unmistakable.
Sickness twisted in his gut. A black wave of misery and self-loathing.
My mother is probably already dead. And I—
Galen’s heart lurched as something stirred in the shadows at the far end of the room. A trick of the light? He instinctively found the Nexus and raised his bow. The calm of the void cleared his mind.
There.
The moonlight caught something. The lash of a tail?
Galen backed toward the stairs, the hair on his arms rising. Something rushed through the shadows and landed on his chest. Hot breath struck his face. And then Victor was there, his blade slashing.
“We’re under attack!” he bellowed.
Galen stumbled to his feet. He thought there was more than one, but it was impossible to tell. The moonlight slid and bent around them. The jumble of limbs seemed impossibly wrong, a pattern of light and dark that made no sense. Victor sliced through one of the creatures as if through air. From the corner of his eye, Galen saw curved teeth flash. They meshed together like the bristles of a brush. Jaws snapped, closing on Victor’s arm. He lifted it up, shaking, but it clung like a dog with a bone. Galen scrambled for his bow and managed to nock an arrow, loosing it where he thought the thing’s eye might be. The missile struck home and it finally let go.
“Get out, boy!” Victor growled.
When Galen didn’t respond, he gave him a hard shove. Galen was standing before the window and he tumbled backwards, striking the ground far below on his back. Daēvas ran toward the house from every direction, weapons drawn.
“Galen?” Ellard crouched over him, his face tight with worry. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, unable to speak. The fall had knocked his wind out. Ellard gently touched his cheek. Understanding passed between them.
“I’ll be back for you,” Ellard whispered. “Just sit tight.”
Galen reached for his hand to pull him back, but Ellard was already gone, running into the house. Shouts and the sounds of breaking furniture drifted from the upstairs windows. Galen couldn’t wield much earth himself, but he sensed it. The daēvas inside were drawing vast quantities of power. Surely, nothing could withstand them. He rolled to his side, tasting blood in his mouth. A moment later, three shadows streaked past, tearing a swath through the crowd and vanishing into the woods. He drew a ragged breath and pushed to his feet, steadying himself on the doorframe.
Two dead daēvas sprawled on the kitchen floor. Galen climbed the stairs. More bodies, all with terrible wounds.
“Ellard?” he called.
Then he saw the glint of silver hair at the end of the room. Galen’s heart drummed in his chest as he approached. The sounds around him faded until he stood in a pocket of perfect silence.
Ellard lay on his back, eyes wide and facing the stars. One hand still clutched his bow. His throat had been torn out. Galen thought of the dead rabbits. They’d had the same glassy-eyed stare. His stomach convulsed and he covered his mouth before he retched. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
“He saved my life,” Victor said gruffly. “You were right. Ellard was a good man.”
Galen felt a deep chill in his bones.
“We have to return the body,” he said, and his voice sounded strange in his ears. “He needs to be with his clan.”
“Of course.” Victor squeezed his shoulder. “Of course. But there are other questions we must answer first.”
He left the room and Galen followed. He couldn’t bear to look at his friend. The angry buzz of the crowd died down a little when they emerged. Victor approached Delilah, whose mouth set in a hard line as she took in his wounds.
“This is some new devilry,” he muttered. “Those things were impervious to the power. It only made them stronger.” A shadow crossed his face. “And they radiated…sickness. Sickness of the soul.”
“Chimera.”
They all turned at Tethys’ voice. Her stern features lit with a fury that matched Victor’s own as she surveyed the carnage.
“What in the Pit is that?” Victor demanded.
“The darkest of elemental magic. It’s been forbidden for centuries now. But someone saw fit to violate the laws of nature and bring it back.”
“Someone?” Victor seethed. “We know who.”
“It could only have been done with a lock of Darius’s hair,” Tethys muttered. “There’s a traitor among us. Probably the same one who told the Valkirins about Nazafareen.” She turned to Victor. “And the pack has Darius’s scent now. It won’t stop until he’s dead.”
“Gods.” Victor’s face seemed to crumple in on itself. Then it hardened and his onyx eyes went dead. “When I find whoever did this…. How can the chimera be stopped?”
“Fording a river might throw them off if he goes far enough downstream. But they can’t be killed, only eluded.”
“Someone has to go after him,” Galen said. “To warn him. I’ll do it.”
Tethys stared at him for a long moment. “Both my grandsons
,” she murmured, touching his cheek with cool fingers. “Go now, then. Chimera run quickly.”
Galen nodded. A wave of nausea rolled through him.
Tethys moved away, gathering the other daēvas in a circle. Galen heard her organizing a search of every house. The Danai looked grim, but none complained.
Victor laid a hand on his shoulder. “I would go with you but….” He lowered his voice. “You recall what I said earlier. It’s time to behead the snake. Come, I’ll see you off. There’s no time to waste.”
They hurried to Galen’s house, where he hurriedly packed two days of rations and an extra quiver of arrows. He eyed his heaviest wool cloak, but left it hanging on the peg.
“I’m grateful for your help,” Victor said awkwardly as they stood outside the door, the dark woods deep and silent around them. “I…. Know that I’m proud of you, Galen.” They clasped hands.
Galen’s heart thudded in his chest as he ran west toward the Umbra. It didn’t slow until he passed deep enough into the woods to change course and veer north.
Toward Val Moraine.
He was woefully unprepared for a journey into the mountains, but Victor would have been suspicious if he’d packed cold weather gear. There was no need for it in the west. But Galen had no intention of going after Darius. He was running for his own life now.
The Valkirins were supposed to give Mina back. That’s all he ever wanted. He’d grown up without father or mother, and while Tethys had seen to his needs, she wasn’t a particularly warm woman. He never felt he belonged at House Dessarian. When Victor first returned, Galen had been both nervous and overjoyed. But the reunion wasn’t what he’d always dreamed of. Victor brought a new wife and son with him. And while he didn’t deny that Galen was his, Victor treated him much the same as the other young men. He didn’t seem interested in being a father to someone he barely knew.
It had been a bitter disappointment. When Galen learned why Nazafareen had come to House Dessarian and why her presence needed to be kept secret—that she was responsible for Culach’s bruising defeat in his quest to plunder the mortal lands beyond the Dominion—an idea had begun to form. Just a little worm of a thought. He’d tried to dismiss it. But it had burrowed deeper, keeping him up nights. Why should Darius have everything and Galen nothing? Who was this mortal woman to put them all at risk? And if the Valkirins found out, would they kill Mina? Was it not his duty to tell them himself? To offer a trade?
