by Kat Ross
“What do you want from me, Mina?”
Victor watched her warily. She stood at the window with her back to him so he couldn’t see her face. Mina seemed even smaller than he remembered, although she made up for it in ferocity. She’d always been a tough little thing and her years living in the chill bosom of the Valkirins had only made her harder. It showed less in her face—she was still youthful—than in her eyes and the stiffness of her shoulders.
He knew she hated him and had good reason to. Victor would almost—almost—rather have had tea with Gerda than answer Mina’s summons. But he couldn’t refuse, and he knew that if Delilah were there, she would tell him to try to make things right.
“I want to talk about our son,” Mina said quietly. “Galen.”
Just hearing the boy’s name made Victor’s temper flare. He drew a deep breath.
“What about him?”
The blizzard that enveloped Val Moraine for weeks had finally broken and Hecate was visible for the first time since he’d entered the mountains. Her cool light spilled through the window, shining on Mina’s dark hair. She turned to him, fury in her eyes.
“This is your fault,” she said. “Galen never had a father to guide him. And because of your affair with Neblis, and the cowardly way you fled into the Dominion afterwards, he had no mother either. When Neblis disappeared, everyone thought you’d spirited her away with you.”
Victor opened his mouth to reply, but Mina cut him off.
“Shut up and listen. You didn’t see Eirik’s rage. He blamed all of us. I feared Eirik would have Galen killed, so I offered myself up instead. To save our son.”
Victor shifted. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded curtly. “You’re sorry. Well, so am I. But you can’t blame Galen for all of it. Not all of it! You’ll take some bloody responsibility. Did our son make terrible mistakes? Yes. But you’re the reason he’s so damaged.”
Victor smothered a howl of outrage. So now Galen was the victim in all this? “He caused the deaths of six innocent people. In case you’ve forgotten, the chimera he helped to raise are still out there. I’ve no idea if my other son is even alive, or Nazafareen either.”
“He didn’t know what he was doing. Galen didn’t even know what a chimera was. Eirik used him.”
“He let himself be used,” Victor growled.
“To get me back. That’s all he ever wanted. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“What about Nazafareen? He knew they’d try to kill her.”
She glared at him. “Galen saved Darius’s life. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“It means something, but it doesn’t erase his other crimes.”
She crossed her arms and studied his face with frightening intensity. “You’re even more of a prick than you used to be and that’s quite a feat. What happened to you after you left?”
Victor hesitated. “The gates lead into the Dominion, but there are other worlds beyond. I found one, similar to our own in many ways except that there were no daēvas. Only mortals.”
“And?”
“They captured me,” he admitted. “I was held prisoner for a long time. My son Darius was born into slavery. The girl Nazafareen helped him escape from it.”
“I’m sorry, Victor.” She sounded sincere. “I didn’t know.”
He shrugged as if it was nothing. Victor didn’t like to think about that time. The scars were too fresh. “What exactly do you want me to do about Galen?”
“I want you to remove his ankle chains, for starters.”
“The boy can’t be trusted.”
“Oh, please. There’s more than twenty of you here. He can barely work earth magic anyway. He’s no threat to anyone.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Fine.”
“And I want to see Culach.”
Victor stared at her. “Why?”
“None of your damn business.”
“He’s a murderer too.”
“Spare me your moralizing. Yes or no?”
“Maybe I already executed him.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Victor.” She took a step toward him and Victor had to resist the urge to inch away. The Valkirins must have regretted being saddled with this particular hostage.
“You can visit him in the cold cells.”
“Hell no, I’m not going down there. Bring him up here.”
Victor realized he had somehow acquiesced to all her demands, but he didn’t feel like arguing. He just wanted out of that room. And he’d already promised Culach that he could see her. Culach had kept his end of the bargain.
“I fail to see why everyone wants to see the ugly brute, but fine.” He stabbed a finger at her, trying to salvage what remained of his pride. “But I hold you personally accountable for both of them.”
“Get out of my room.”
Victor gave her a last impotent glare and left.
Over the next days, Culach worked with Victor and Njala. They took several short flights into the howling blizzard together, less because Culach really wanted to—though he had missed Ragnhildur—than so he could hold Victor to his promise. The man had nerve, Culach was forced to admit. He had to be terrified—even Valkirins sometimes threw up after their first abbadax flight. But Victor followed Culach’s shouted instructions, or at least Culach assumed he had, since they both landed on the ledge again. Now he was helping him imprint abbadax to some of the other Danai.
What does it matter anyway? I’m Culach No-Name. I have no clan, unless you count Katrin and Gerda. And bloody hell, they’re practically the same person in different bodies.
Culach gave a hollow laugh. He walked between a pair of Danai guards who had come for him at the usual time. To his surprise, they’d gone the opposite way from the stables, which was where he spent all his time when he wasn’t shivering in his cell or listening to Katrin mutter curses. It wasn’t Gerda’s tower either. She hadn’t asked for him since he’d rejected her insane plan to ally with the Vatras—who were probably dead anyway.
Then they stopped and knocked on a door. A moment later it opened. He smelled her hair before she spoke.
“Mina,” he said hoarsely.
“Get those chains off him,” she told the guards. “Right now.”
They grumbled but did as she ordered. Culach rubbed his wrists.
“Leave us,” she said. “Go on, shoo.”
Their footsteps receded. He felt her hand on his arm, pulling him inside, and then the door closed and they were alone together for the first time since the keep had fallen. He wanted to take her in his arms, but she’d already moved away. Not a good sign.
Culach had never been inside her chambers. Rather than risk tumbling over a footstool, he stayed by the door. He detected a hint of dried flowers, of the soap she used and the wool of her gown.
“How are they treating you?” he asked, feeling suddenly awkward.
Had they become strangers to each other again?
“Better than you. That beard is nasty.”
He laughed. “Do I smell awful too?”
She sniffed the air. “You were worse when Eirik first sent me to your rooms.” She paused and sniffed again. “Not by much though.”
Culach shifted, feeling like a clumsy giant let loose in someone’s flowerbed. A step in any direction might crush a delicate bloom.
“I’ve missed you,” he ventured.
“I’ve missed you too. But things have been…difficult. I’m worried about Galen.”
Culach kept his face neutral.
“The guilt is eating him alive.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?”
Her voice rose a notch. “You hate him, don’t you? You hate my son. Just like the rest of them.”
She’d set the bait and he’d bitten. Well, they might as well have it out.
“He betrayed both our people and murdered my best friend. So yes, I despise him. But it doesn’t change what I feel for you.”
“And I’m glad the keep fel
l,” she said heatedly. “I hate you Valkirins.”
“But you still like me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
She made a noise of irritation.
Culach leaned back against the door. “I thought you might come to see me. Not that I blame you for staying away. The cold cells weren’t designed with visitors in mind.”
“I tried,” she admitted reluctantly. “Many times. The guards wouldn’t let me through.”
Culach nodded. He didn’t mention the abbadax and his promise to train them.
“So I told Victor he was a shitty father and it was all his fault. And that he’d better let me see you or I’d make his life a living hell.” She let out a sharp exhalation. “I don’t know why I bothered. It’s your fault too. You two deserve each other.” She paused. “Have they been feeding you? I could get you something.”
Culach smiled. “Come over here.”
“Why?”
“Just come over.”
“You’re filthy.”
“Who cares?”
He heard her footsteps approach and his heart beat faster.
“You could give me a bath.”
She stood there for a long moment, within arm’s reach though he daren’t reach for her. Mina was like a skittish mount sometimes. Better to let them come to you. It was a lesson he’d been trying to teach Victor for ages. Culach held himself still and smiled inwardly when she took his hand and led him across thick carpets.
“Who has time for a bath?” Mina murmured, and then she was pushing him into a chair and sitting on his lap, her hands on his face. “You’re a horrible, callous man.”
“I’m not callous. I just haven’t been warm for about a month.”
“Shall I thaw you out?”
Culach gave a low laugh as she traced the scar down his face with one finger. He closed his eyes. “I’ll confess, I’ve thought about that a few…hundred times.”
He found her braid and began to slowly unwind it. Mina’s mouth brushed against his. He wrapped her hair in his fist and pulled her closer. Her legs tightened around his waist.
“Gods, Mina. Are you sure you don’t want me to wash first?”
“Mmmm. You smell like you, but even more so. It’s a bit intoxicating, actually.”
“If I’d known I had that effect on women, I’d have shunned soap and water,” he murmured, hiking the dress up in one swift jerk.
“Don’t get carried away,” she replied breathlessly, tearing at the laces on his pants. “That scraggly thing on your face still has to come off.”
“Whatever you…Oh Gods, Mina.”
He kissed her fiercely, drowning in her, hands cupping her round bottom as she thoroughly had her way with him. Later, she kept to her promise, giving him a leisurely bath and shaving his face clean. It ended with them in her bed, arguing over whether or not he should get a haircut too—Mina wanted him to grow it out again—but that turned out all right because making up with her was even better than fighting. When the Danai finally came for him, Culach accepted the manacles with a gracious smile. Mina, on the other hand, blackened one of their eyes.
All in all, it was the best afternoon Culach had had in years.
Galen stood at the edge of the open wall to his room, the side that looked out over the mountains. The weather had finally cleared and the jagged peaks stood out in sharp relief against the sky. He’d used a small amount of air to punch a hole in the shield. The drop beneath plunged for a thousand paces or more.
Victor had personally removed Galen’s chains and given him a proper chamber to sleep in, but he hadn’t spoken a single word and his contempt had been palpable. He’d heard the thud of a bolt sliding home when Victor left. Galen knew he must have done it for Mina. She was better off with him gone. He’d always be a millstone around her neck. She wouldn’t leave him, but what life could she have with a pariah for a son? Even if he somehow managed to escape, no Danai House would take him in. He’d probably be killed on sight if he set foot in the Great Forest.
Then there was Ellard. He stood a little way off, silent and accusing. A pale specter who trailed after Galen wherever he went. Victor had promised to return his body to the crypts beneath the keep, but it must already be rotting by now. The thought made Galen ill.
I should have told you how I felt. We should have run away together, if you felt the same.
He was so tired. Tired of living with what he had done. At least he could choose the manner of his own death.
Galen gathered his courage. The cold air pouring through the gap made him shudder and he knew he’d have to do it before his nerve failed.
Forgive me, he whispered, leaning forward.
And then he saw three specks pass in front of Selene. He rocked back on his heels in surprise, wind-milling his arms. The edge lay half an inch from his mangled toes and his balance wasn’t what it used to be. For an instant, he thought he might fall. Galen instinctively reached for the Nexus. His mind stilled. His weight stabilized. And in the distance, he felt the slight disturbance of beating wings.
Galen ran to the door, pounding hard until it opened.
“What?”
Mithre stood there, wolfish and annoyed.
“Abbadax,” Galen said breathlessly, pointing to the window. “Three.”
Mithre spun on his heel and ran down the corridor, leaving Galen to follow. A minute later they reached the stables, where Victor was rubbing oil into a leather harness. Two of the creatures perched on their nests. They hissed at the intrusion. Galen eyed them warily.
“Valkirins,” Mithre said. “At least three.” He glanced at Galen, who nodded affirmation.
Victor tossed the harness aside. They all hurried to the cavern mouth. The riders had drawn closer and were angling for the stables. Mithre ran to the winch that dropped the portcullis, but Victor raised a hand.
“Leave it open and get your hoods up.” He looked at Mithre, black eyes silently communicating with grey. “Bring the others, but wait out of sight in the corridor.”
Mithre nodded once and ran off. Galen stepped up beside his father as the abbadax wheeled around for a final approach. Each carried a single rider clad in white. The leader must have spotted them by now, but gave no signal of recognition.
“Look busy,” Victor snapped. He moved over to one of the mounts, a smallish one with blue spine feathers, and laid a hand on its neck. The creature uttered a low cry but allowed him to stroke its beak.
Galen expected Victor to draw his sword, but then he realized that in leathers, with his dark hair concealed beneath the hood, Victor looked like a Valkirin—from a distance. Up close, there would be no mistaking him. It was a horrible risk to take. What if the riders knew the keep had fallen? They might summon air and toss Victor over the edge like a dead leaf. There was no shield to stop his fall.
He tried to follow Victor’s reasoning. If only three had come, it meant they didn’t know. Or they were even more cunning than Victor and hoped to lure him into a trap.
Galen moved into the shadows, pretending to examine one of the saddles hanging from iron pegs driven into the stone. If Victor was wrong, they would both die. He bit back brittle laughter. I was about to kill myself a few minutes ago. Does it really matter if I jump or get thrown?
Galen watched the first abbadax swoop down to the ledge, its wings raising a fine powder of loose snow. Claws scrabbled for purchase on the ice as it slid to a stop. Victor raised a fist in greeting, but kept his body turned to the side. The rider swung off, boots landing with a thump. He was huge, taller than Galen by two full hands and thick as an oak tree. A blonde braid hung down his back, secured with a ruby clasp. He stared at the back of Victor’s hood, eyes narrowing, as the second abbadax skidded in, followed moments later by the third. Galen wished he had a weapon. Even a belt knife would be better than nothing. These three made Eirik Kafsnjór look like a frail old man.
“Does Val Moraine no longer greet her cousins—” the hug
e Valkirin boomed.
Victor turned, sword rasping from the scabbard at his hip. His hood fell back.
“Surprise,” he said, teeth bared in a savage grin.
To his credit, the Valkirin didn’t waste a moment. He drew his own sword, a monstrous iron thing with nicks along the edge that signaled it had seen its share of battles. His eyes flicked to Galen—and dismissed him.
“Go!” he growled at the others. “I’ll hold this little sparrow. But one of us must live to carry word.”
At that, Victor leapt forward. Their swords rang together. Galen ducked under the sweeping blade of another Valkirin, a woman with high cheekbones and murderous grey eyes. The abbadax Victor had been petting tilted its head back and screeched, a sound full of mournful rage. All hell broke loose. The abbadax began fighting each other, snarling and slashing with hooked claws. Their huge bodies crashed together, tumbling across the ledge and forcing the combatants to leap aside or be shredded by the razor-sharp feathers.
“Njala!” Victor cried. “To me!”
The smaller abbadax screeched and unfurled its wings. Galen ducked beneath them and launched himself at the nearest figure in white. His bad foot ached with the cold. That and the icy ground made him clumsy. His attack turned into an uncontrolled skid. The Valkirin turned, startled, and punched him in the face with the hilt of her sword.
Galen found himself face down in the snow, lights exploding before his eyes and a boot planted on his back. Groping blindly, his fingers closed on a stray feather. They weren’t soft, downy things, those abbadax feathers. It cut his hand to the bone, but he gripped it, slashing at the leg that pinned him, and heard a scream.
Galen pushed himself upright and spat bloody teeth on the ground. Frozen tears distorted his vision, but he saw an abbadax launch itself into the dark sky, a rider clinging to its back. Danai poured onto the ledge. Five of them pushed one of the wounded enemy abbadax over the edge. Its cry as it fell raised the hair on his arms. He pitied it. Only defending its master. Never given a choice….
