by Kat Ross
Nazafareen crawled to the end and fell into a dark corner.
Just rest for a bit.
Her eyes slid shut and blackness descended.
35
The Cold Cells
Eirik kept his word and returned with reinforcements. The Valkirins managed to shake some dust loose, but failed miserably to pry the door open. Earth and air were elements in perfect opposition and they lacked the strength, even combining their efforts. Eirik cursed his son a final time. Then he left.
Culach lay down next to Mina, who’d fallen into a deep slumber. Someone was going to get in eventually. If it was Eirik, Mina would die. If it was Victor, Culach would die.
Not a very good bargain.
But they still had some time left. Whether it was minutes or hours, he didn’t know. Culach was just glad he could spend it with her.
He thought about Petur and he thought about his mother, Ygraine, who he never knew but who’d given him her eyes and love of flying. He even thought about Gerda, sitting alone in her frigid rooms. He’d meant to go see her again, but he hadn’t gotten around to it. Now he wished he had. Perhaps she was right to be bitter. He wondered if Gerda had ever been young and in love, but it was nearly impossible to imagine her as a girl.
He knew by the deep pitch of the wind and the way the sound rose and fell that it was blowing from the east, from the White Sea. Culach had ridden an abbadax over it once when Artemis returned. She was full and round, twice as large as the other moons. On a normal day, the swells below would have been rough. But under the influence of the giant moon, they looked like small mountains, the trenches between them deep as valleys and cobwebbed with spindrift. The wind had torn at his hair as his mount soared lower and lower, nearly brushing the wave crests. Culach had laughed, full of wild abandon. They’d gone further north than he ever had before. He knew he had to turn back before his mount tired too much to make the return journey, but he’d wanted to keep going. To see what lay beyond the horizon. She would continue if he wanted her to. Finally, he had turned back. But part of him always wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t.
If he could live one moment forever, it might be that one. When he and Ragnhildur flew out to sea together under the giant moon. Not the victorious battles or drunken fistfights, although he’d enjoyed those too. Just that one moment, before he played it safe.
Or it might be this one right now.
Mina stirred beside him and mumbled something. He found her braid and wove it through his fingers. She fit perfectly against his chest. Culach nuzzled her neck. Suddenly, she bolted upright.
“Galen!” she cried.
He felt her leave the bed. Culach propped himself on one elbow.
“It’s all right, Mina. Calm down.”
“It’s not all right. Nothing is all right.”
She paced to the window, then back to the bed.
“He could be dead.”
“Eirik won’t kill him. Galen’s on their side, remember?”
She slapped him and he caught her arm, pulling her tight against him. The top of her head fit just under his chin. Mina struggled like a wild thing so he let her go. His head rocked back as she slapped him again, and then her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him to her mouth. She kissed him hard and shoved him down on the bed.
“I hate you,” she said, her breath hot in his ear.
“As long as you don’t pity me.”
“I’ve never pitied you. You’re an asshole.”
But her mouth was smiling against his despite herself. His hands roamed under her thick woolen dress, exploring her back and hips. Compared to Katrin, she was tiny, but her soft curves were delicious. When her tongue found the hollow of his throat, Culach moaned. An avalanche of sensation overwhelmed him. He tipped his head back, trying to catch his breath. Mina straddled his hips.
“You’re not broken everywhere,” she observed.
He laughed hoarsely. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her fingers touched his mouth. “Hush.”
Culach let Mina undress him, which she took her time about. He couldn’t see her, but his other senses were heightened to an almost painful degree. The heat of her skin, the salt taste of her sweat. When she finally took him inside her, he felt fire run through his veins, scalding and exquisite. And this time, Culach didn’t care if the whole world burned.
He woke to shouts in the hall, the ring of swords, and finally, the cracking of stone.
“Looks like Victor wins the prize,” Culach muttered.
In his heart, he’d been praying for the Danai to come before his father did. At least Victor would give him a quick death and take Mina home where she belonged. He rolled out of bed and groped for his clothes.
“Do you see my sword anywhere, darling?” he asked. “I’d prefer to die with something sharp in my hand.”
“Don’t be a complete idiot,” Mina snapped. “Get behind me.”
Culach tried to protest. Then the door shattered. He heard chunks of it roll across the floor.
“Pants?”
Mina thrust a bundle into his hands and he hastily pulled them on.
“Stay back,” Mina growled.
Several people entered the room, all of them breathing hard.
“Pick up your sword, you murdering piece of shit, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
Culach buttoned his trousers, the cold air raising goosebumps on his skin.
“Give me a minute, Victor. You certainly know how to make a dramatic entrance.”
“Get away from him, Mina.”
“Fuck you.”
Culach smiled.
An unfamiliar, infinitely cold voice said: “Don’t talk to my husband that way.” And then, “Something’s wrong with him, Victor.”
“Nothing a few holes can’t fix.”
“Look at his eyes.”
Culach straightened his spine and turned toward Victor’s voice. He might be big for a Danai, but Culach was still an inch or two taller. “Would you like to examine me? Come a little closer.”
“Gods, he’s blind,” Victor said in disgust.
“How’d you get in, anyway?”
“Your sweet sister told me a way.”
Culach shook his head. “She was always terrible at keeping secrets.”
“Can I still execute him?” Victor mused. “He deserves it.”
“I have no objection.”
That was Victor’s new wife.
“You make a charming pair. Oh, did you happen to kill Eirik yet?” Culach asked. “Please say yes.”
Victor ignored him. “I don’t know.” He sounded deeply unhappy. “It seems wrong somehow.”
“That’s because it is,” Mina snarled. “And if you try, I’ll crush you with a block of stone.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the low, steady roar of the east wind.
“Get on your knees. Now.”
Culach assumed Victor was talking to him. He held his hands up and dropped to the floor.
“Bind him.”
Rough hands yanked his arms behind his back. He felt cords bite into his wrists.
“This is going better than I expected.”
“Shut up.” Victor stood over him. “Gods, you’re a mess.”
“Don’t be cruel. I bathed just this morning, with soap and everything—”
Victor kicked him in the ribs and Culach shut up.
“Put him with the other.”
“Where’s Galen?” Mina demanded. “I want to see him.”
“He went after Darius.” Victor’s tone softened a touch. “Don’t worry, Mina. He’s a man now. He can handle himself.”
“What are you talking about?” she snapped. “Galen is here. I…” He heard a sharp intake of breath as she realized her mistake.
“How could he be here? I saw him off myself. He was heading for the Umbra.”
A long, deadly silence followed.
“That lying bastard,” Victor said in a low voice.
“Search the keep. I want him found.”
Two sets of boots ran for the door.
“Victor…”
The naked plea in Mina’s voice made Culach wince. He felt sorry for the kid. Galen was about to find himself in a world of pain. Possibly even worse than Culach.
“He just wanted to see his mother,” Culach said. “Go easy on him.”
Victor gave him another kick, harder this time. “I’m surprised you’re standing up for him after what he did.”
“What do you mean?”
“The killer you sent? Galen put an arrow in his chest.”
Culach felt cold. “Galen shot Petur?”
Not Mina’s son. It couldn’t be.
Victor gave a bitter laugh. “It seems the little shit betrayed us both.”
Culach closed his eyes. The cords were so tight his hands throbbed, but he barely felt it. Any residual satisfaction he felt at Victor’s heartbreak evaporated in a wave of remorse.
I’m damned. Well and truly damned. An innocent man is probably dead, and Petur’s murderer is here at Val Moraine. I was standing next to him. Culach felt physically ill.
“Galen said Darius did it. That’s why we—” he cut himself off.
“Sent the chimera?” Victor grated.
A large hand seized Culach’s hair, tipping his head back.
“You need to talk. How do they work?”
“If they have his scent, they’ll follow him to the ends of the earth.”
“How can they be stopped?”
“They can’t,” he mumbled. “And there’s a second pack.”
“What?”
“Eirik sent them after the girl too.”
Victor swore.
“I’ll go to Samarqand,” his wife said at once.
“No.”
“One of us has to warn her and Darius both. If they’re even still alive. And you’re needed here.”
“Take someone with you. Lara?”
“Of course,” a woman’s voice replied.
“I’ll meet you both in the armory,” Victor said. “Mina, you can come with us or go with him. Make your choice carefully.”
“She’ll go with you.”
“Be quiet, Culach. I’ll answer for myself.”
“They’re obviously lovers,” Victor’s wife said. “She can’t be trusted.”
“She’s a Danai and a hostage. He could have raped her for all we know.”
Culach put on an expression of shame. “She tried to fight me off—”
Mina sighed. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”
He heard her light footsteps approach.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re all to blame for this mess.”
Her skirts rustled against his skin as she knelt beside him.
“But in balance, Culach is actually less of a bastard than you are, Victor. So I’ll stick with him.”
Not exactly a declaration of undying love, but Culach would take what he could get.
“At least let Mina keep her rooms—” he pleaded.
“One more word and your ugly head will decorate the battlements. Get him out of here.”
The Danai dragged Culach to Val Moraine’s cold cells and thrust him inside. Ice coated the interior walls and each breath burned his lungs. His Valkirin blood would keep him from dying, but it wasn’t pleasant. He curled his knees to his chest.
After eight hundred and thirty-two years, the Maiden Keep had finally surrendered her virginity to House Dessarian. Culach smiled grimly. He just hoped Eirik was still alive to see it.
36
Ghosts
Galen dug deeper into the pile of musty furs. He hadn’t been able to hobble far with the bandages on. The Valkirins didn’t bother to give him any healing and each step felt like knives slicing into his feet. Even if he’d managed to find a way out of Val Moraine, he’d freeze to death within minutes. So he’d found a large bronze chest in the next chamber and climbed in, pulling the lid shut behind him. A temporary refuge but better than nothing.
He just wanted to sleep. To close his eyes and never wake up.
Eirik Kafsnjór had interrogated him on and off for hours after Mina left. Eirik seemed to be expecting Victor, but Galen hadn’t told him there was a secret way into the keep. He couldn’t do it. He knew his father would come. That Galen was a dead man. He’d known it from the start. But he was weary to the bone of betrayal. Only Victor could save Mina now. She’d done nothing wrong. Whatever his father’s flaws, Galen didn’t believe Victor would punish Mina for his own sins.
Then he’d heard the clash of swords in a distant corridor and Eirik had dashed off. He hadn’t returned.
Why did I come here? If I’d found Darius, I could have warned him and then just…kept going.
But Galen knew he could never live among the mortals. He’d heard of the sun, a thousand time brighter than Selene. It made his eyes ache just to imagine it. The Marakai moved between both worlds, but they were different. He was Danai. A child of the moonlit forest. To live in a crowded, dirty city bathed in constant daylight….
No, better to have seen Mina one last time. At least someone would weep for him.
The door to the chamber creaked open. Galen held his breath.
Footsteps. The lid to the chest flew open. The furs were torn away. He blinked.
Icy blue eyes met his. Galen’s testicles tightened.
It had to be Delilah.
Long black hair webbed her thin shoulders. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral snarl.
“If you hadn’t saved Darius once, I’d kill you right now,” she said, her breath frosting the air. “I still might. But first you’re going to face Victor.”
Delilah looked like she’d blow away in a stiff breeze, but the hand that seized him was a vise. Galen clambered out, trying to keep the weight on his heels. He said nothing. What was there to say?
“I found him!” Delilah shouted.
Two daēvas—Aedan and Kelyn—stuck their heads in. He’d ranged with them many times near the border. Aedan was one of those who’d taken up the sword. Olive-skinned and beanpole tall, he usually had a quick wit and ready smile. Not now. His hand dropped to the hilt of the blade as if he wanted to draw it. Kelyn—pretty despite a broken front tooth—gave him a grim glare and spat at his feet.
“Go fetch Victor,” Delilah said. “But search the prisoner first.”
Galen felt a buzz of earth power building around her. She didn’t need to put a blade to his throat. He knew if he moved a muscle, she’d start snapping bones.
Aedan and Kelyn checked him from head to toe, not gently. When Aeden kicked his legs apart, Galen bit down on a scream. He hadn’t dared look beneath the bandages, but he knew they covered two lumps of dead, blackened flesh. Satisfied he had no weapons, they left.
The wait seemed interminable. Delilah’s eyes never left him, not for an instant. Galen felt like a bug snatched out from under a rock by a sadistic child. Feebly wondering what would come next.
Then Victor came. He stared at Galen for a long time.
“I don’t care why you did it,” he said finally, his voice dripping with contempt. “I don’t know you at all, so I suppose I’ve no right to expect anything. But you betrayed your own House. Your own clan. You’re a murderer.”
Galen opened his mouth but found he couldn’t speak. Victor turned away in disgust.
“Put him in irons. Not the cold cells. That would be a mercy. Just stick him somewhere I don’t have to look at his face.”
He dimly sensed daēvas taking his arms. Heard the clank of chains. But his gaze remained fixed on the pale figure standing just behind Victor. Looking at him with those green eyes. Blood stained his mouth. Matted his silver hair. Galen wanted to reach out and wipe it away. To kiss those frozen lips. To breathe life back into that slender body.
Murderer.
He wrenched his eyes away and kept them on the ground as the Danai led him away.
37
Parth
enoi
By the time Nazafareen found their old alley, she could hardly keep to her feet. The ground swam before her eyes as she slumped against the wall. Thunder rumbled in a distant drumroll and the storm finally broke. Sheets of rain swept down. She tore her cloak away. She felt so hot. Within moments, it soaked her to the skin. She turned her face to the rain, shivering violently.
She huddled there for what seemed an eternity, sinking in and out of delirium. Minutes might have passed, or hours. The deluge saturated the hard earth and spilled over into puddles. She found her cloak and pulled it over her head, but it didn’t keep out the visions.
Trees burning. Screams. The man with the scar. The darkness inside him. She’d tried to cast it out….
Nazafareen woke with a start. The rain had eased to a gentle patter. She rose unsteadily to her feet and wrung out her sodden cloak. In the ribbon of sky above, she saw a patch of blue. She had to get out of the city before they found her. But then she remembered Javid. This was all her fault. The Valkirins must have sent those things after her. She couldn’t leave him to the Pythia. If only using the power didn’t make her so ill, she’d go back to the Acropolis right now. She wished Darius were here. He’d know just what to do.
I bring death and misfortune everywhere I go.
She sagged against the wall.
Feeling sorry for yourself won’t do any good. At least you’re still free, which is better than Javid has it.
Then inspiration struck. The girl with the ivy wreath! She was a friend of Herodotus. Maybe she would help. Nazafareen remembered where the house was. If she kept to side streets, she might be able to get there without running into the Polemarch’s soldiers. Nazafareen started down the alley when a boy appeared. He smiled.
“Over here!” he shouted.
She froze. She recognized him. One of the thugs who had attacked Herodotus. His arm hung in a makeshift sling and without thinking, she charged, planning to kick his broken bone and shove past, but then she heard running footsteps and three more boys blocked the way.
