The guard ran to execute his commands. Miro headed directly to the stables. Rumors must have spread even here, because the stable hands had all gathered to trade excited whispers. At Miro’s entrance, they all stood.
“Saddle a fresh horse,” he told them. “Send a runner for provisions and gear for a week’s ride.”
He drank a mug of soup while he waited. Sooner than he expected, the stable boy reported the horse saddled and ready. Miro swung onto the horse, felt it twitch and sidle in response to his own nerves. He settled it with a hand on its neck and soothing words. A sturdy beast, the kind he loved best. He took that as a good sign, and his heart beat faster as he passed through the outer gates of the castle. Until this moment, he had felt his future unbounded. He might have done anything, gone anywhere.
This will be the end of my hunt, he thought as he urged his horse toward the northern plains.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
VALARA’S SPIRIT REJOINED her body with a shock that doubled her over. She gasped, choked out the words to summon the current. Too quickly, the magic overwhelmed her. She lay back, eyes closed, and breathed slowly through her nose until the nausea faded. It was the presence of the Mantharah. Its magic was too strong. It was like walking along Enzeloc’s cliffs in a hurricane. She could not judge her balance.
Every bit of her from scalp to toe ached. Her hands felt as though her muscles had locked into fists a hundred years ago. She released a shaky laugh. Maybe they did.
She rolled onto her side. Her hand unfolded to reveal the sapphire. Asha. Her breath caught in renewed wonder. So I have not lost you yet. Not again.
Still cupping the sapphire in one hand, she levered herself to sitting. Overhead, the mid-morning sun shone down upon them.
My brother is dead, came her next thought.
It didn’t matter that her body had died a dozen times or more since their plot to steal the jewels and divide an empire. They were brothers in the soul. Now he was dead, he who had defied the void between lives, who had survived four centuries, while an empire had broken into kingdoms, and the wheel had turned for new lives, new souls.
A strange sensation assailed her—one she could not properly identify. It was not precisely grief. Regret?
She glanced toward her companion. Ilse lay motionless on the ground, eyes blank and staring upward. One arm was flung outward toward the Agnau, the other lay over her breasts. She still wore Daya the ring on her finger, just as she had in spirit form. Valara set the sapphire to one side and crawled over to Ilse. Her skin was warm. A strong erratic pulse beat at her throat.
She lives.
Valara had not been certain. Those last few moments in Dzavek’s chambers were a blur in her memory. She had tried to kill Dzavek. He had stopped her—easily. His reply was an explosion of magic that ripped through her spirit. She remembered then, the jewels, singing in great booming voices, like waves thundering against a cliff, like the bells of Morennioù castle. For a while after, she was too deaf and numb to understand much. Only when the guards appeared had she roused herself enough to escape with Ilse.
More tentatively, she touched the wooden ring. Its surface was warm and silken, with a strong current of magic rippling under her touch. Much fainter came the whispering of voices.
… awake, awake to the flesh, awake to life …
Ilse gasped and pitched upright. Valara caught her before she fell against the stone cliff. Ilse fought her blindly. Her skin burned fever-hot. She was choking, a terrible strangled noise deep in her throat. Quickly, Valara summoned the magic current. Again, it was too much. The current rushed in like a flood tide, but then she found the balance. Soft, soft, softly, she thought, and the magic obeyed.
Ilse drew a wheezing breath, coughed, and breathed again. Valara continued to murmur in Erythandran until the fever faded and Ilse breathed more easily. Then she lowered Ilse to the ground and searched around for water. She found the shallow cook stone. It was dry, but a handful of snow lay next to it. Valara scooped that up and, holding up Ilse’s head, let the melt-water trickle into the woman’s mouth.
Ilse coughed up the first mouthful, but swallowed the next. “Leos,” she whispered. “Leos, I’m sorry. It wasn’t—”
“Hush,” Valara said. “You did well.”
“I betrayed him,” Ilse whispered. “He thought I did. But it wasn’t true. I wanted … peace. No more war. He didn’t understand.”
Valara hushed her, ran her hands over the other woman’s face with as much gentleness as she could. It wasn’t something she had learned from mother or sister. Not in Morennioù. Ilse murmured something incomprehensible. As Valara bent closer, she caught a glimpse of strong memories running like a flood tide through the other woman’s thoughts.
… she saw a young woman running through the snow-dusted forests. She wore the rich clothing of a noble, a jewel in her cheek. An equally young man waited in a clearing. He was handsome, his face the pale brown of the empire’s southwest provinces. They spoke in Károvín. He was an emissary from the emperor. There was a chance for peace, he said. If she would but promise to persuade the new king to treat with them …
I will, the young woman said.
Before she finished speaking, a shout echoed through the forests, and an army appeared …
“He died.”
“Yes. It was time.”
“I never loved him. We were betrothed by our parents.”
Ilse lay quietly, her gaze upward toward the sky, away from Valara. Her eyes were like dark bruises, her face gray with exhaustion. “So. What comes next?”
So many questions hidden inside that one.
“Our plans depend on the jewels,” she said slowly. “We must withdraw, certainly. The king is dead, but the king certainly has advisers, councillors, other mages. We cannot remain here in case they track us. But where depends on Daya and Asha.”
“We won’t have long,” Ilse murmured. “Nor will they.”
Her gaze crossed Valara’s. They both smiled faintly.
She was no bad ally, Valara thought. Clever. Stubborn. Subtle. She would do well in Morennioù’s Court. Already her thoughts were running back to her kingdom, and how she would present this woman to her councillors.
They helped each other to stand. Valara retrieved the sapphire. It burned like a tiny blue flame in her hands, and its song rose up clear and bright and joyous, each word as distinct as a bell tone. Rana, my brother. Rana, my sister, my cousin, my love, myself.
There it was again, a sense of regret. Of things left undone. Awkwardly, Valara ran her fingers over the sapphire, sensed the threads of magic and song, like a fabric woven in several dimensions. Asha, I’m sorry. We … We lost Rana. We had to leave too soon. Before the king’s mages discovered us. But we will go back for her. I promise.
No and no. Turn. Open your eyes and you will see her.
Asha spoke so emphatically that Valara glanced over to Ilse before she realized she had done so. The other woman stood still. Her eyes were wide, her expression astonished. She was staring at Daya.
“Did you hear?” Valara asked.
“I did. And … I think I know what Asha means.”
Without waiting for Valara to reply, Ilse made for the gap between the cliffs and the ridge overlooking the plains. Valara hurried after her, the sapphire held tightly in one hand. Its song had fallen silent, but the magic remained, its current pulsing in time with her own heartbeat.
“Ah.” Ilse exhaled. “I should not be surprised.”
Valara shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare. She could just make out a dark speck moving against the shimmering expanse of plains. A rider, galloping directly toward them. “It’s Duke Karasek,” she said. “The man who attacked us. I know his signature.”
They could not run. Karasek with his horse could overtake either one of them easily.
“We must go at once to Autrevelye—”
“No.” Ilse pulled Daya from her finger and handed her to Valara. “Take Asha and Daya. G
ive me enough time to distract this Duke Karasek, then attack with all your magic, and all the magic of the jewels. If he does have Rana, you will need their help.”
She drew her sword and strode down the ash-strewn mountainside to the plains. Even before she reached the lower slopes, the horse slowed to a canter and then came to a halt. Karasek dismounted and waited patiently. It was that patience that unnerved Valara. Since their first meeting, he had countered every action she took and guessed her every change in plans. That he appeared so soon after Dzavek’s death said he had guessed again, and arrowed directly from the Jelyndak Islands, to Rastov, to here.
Ilse paused a few steps away from Karasek. Valara murmured an invocation to the magic current. But far quicker than she anticipated, Karasek drew his own sword. Metal flashed against the dull sky.
“No!” Valara shouted.
Winds shrieked across the edge of the cliffs. The Agnau had turned pale, and its molten surface heaved as colossal waves rolled across its breadth. Daya cried out in shrill tones, Asha’s voice rose higher, blending with the winds. Sint unde waerest unde werden unde—
Valara shut out their voices. She raised her fist with Daya and Asha. “Ei rûf ane gôtter,” she cried out. “Ei rûf ane—”
A force—like a concentrated wind—swallowed her words. A dazzling light struck her face.
“Wir komen de gôtter.”
Valara blinked. An incandescent light illuminated the Mantharah and its heights. From its midst, two vast figures approached, their faces like suns, one with eyes like the stars, the other with great dark voids where eyes should be. First came Lir with Toc behind. The next moment their places changed. First and last, as the legends said. Together and separate—the paradox of magic.
Lir folded her hands around Valara’s numb ones. Toc clasped both of theirs within his. Together, sister and brother spoke in a language unlike any Valara knew. Their lips did not move, but their voices filled the air with rippling tones, like raindrops on a canopy of summer green leaves.
Asha thrummed. Daya grew heavy, an impossible weight.
Lir spoke a word. A light blazed. A shrill cry echoed from the Mantharah’s cliffs. Asha sang, and Daya’s darker voice rose into a glorious chorus of bright notes that tumbled and rolled together, pleading and crying and laughing.
Look, look, look, cried the jewels.
Look, Lir commanded, as she and her brother released Valara’s hands.
Valara drew a sharp breath of surprise. The plain wooden ring she had worn for so many weeks had vanished. In its place was an emerald. Lir’s emerald. But not as she remembered it. No longer plain or dark, it gleamed like burnished magic.
Lir brushed fingertips against Valara’s cheek, her caress like the touch of memory. Toc’s blank gaze turned toward her, his gaze as penetrating as if he still possessed eyes.
Lir who quarreled with Toc and then forgave him. Toc who carved the world’s foundations with his sword, purely because he could. For all his strength, Toc had died. For all her wisdom, Lir had wept in the darkness, uncomprehending. Each night, she set her glittering tears in the sky, in remembrance of her lover and her brother, until he returned.
A warm breath tickled Valara’s face. A sharp green scent, like that of wildflowers and new grass, filled the air. Lir was speaking, but her voice was too much like the wind and thunder, and Valara could not understand what she said. Her vision blurred; the unnatural light dimmed. She blinked again, wiping away the unexpected tears from her eyes.
Lir and Toc had gone.
She knelt beside the Agnau, her hands clenched so tight, they ached. Dazed, she unfolded them. Two jewels lay there, emerald and sapphire, gleaming softly against her hands.
I wasn’t dreaming. The gods came.
“Your majesty.”
Valara stumbled to her feet. Karasek stood a short distance away. A few steps behind him came Ilse, whole and unharmed. Ilse gave Valara a brief smile. No humor, but an assurance. Of what? Her attention veered back to Karasek. Dust and sweat streaked his face, and dark bruises circled his eyes. He met her gaze steadily. “I’ve come to negotiate.”
He took a cloth bundle from inside his shirt and unwrapped its folds. When she saw what lay inside, Valara sucked in her breath. Rana. He brought me Rana.
“What do you want?” she whispered.
“Peace. Honor, for us both.”
The same demand that Raul Kosenmark had made. Again, she had the sense of history pressing in toward her.
“I am not yet the queen,” she began.
“And I am no king,” Karasek said. “But I think we both have some say in our governments. If we do not speak first, who will?”
He pressed Rana into her palm—a brief contact, no more—then stepped back. Valara closed her fingers around the jewels. She and Karasek looked at each other. “How did you find me so easily?”
“You and your companion left a trail. I’ve erased it.”
So much revealed behind that simple statement. A part of her listed that as an item to remember when they negotiated in truth, with her installed as queen, and him an emissary from abroad. That would not be honorable, said a voice she remembered from lives long ago.
Honor. She had once held that above all, but then she had lost her way between lives. She remembered once, centuries ago, a chance with the same soul as this man Karasek. She could not recall exactly what passed between them. Not dishonor, but a misunderstanding.
There were no simple patterns. No single thread that one might pluck away, and thus undo centuries of mistakes.
Dimly, she heard Ilse speaking. “Remember what you promised. The jewels are not mere things. They are thinking creatures like us. We cannot treat them as objects to bargain with.”
Honor. A promise kept. Her brother’s voice saying, Yes, it is time to die.
“Yes,” she murmured, half to herself. “And I think I know the way.”
Without giving herself time to consider, Valara spun around and rushed to the Agnau’s edge. She plunged her hands into the lava. Fire burst into life—magic fire that coursed through her body, stronger than any she’d ever experienced. Her head jerked back and her throat opened in a scream.
From far away, she heard Ilse’s voice, calling to her. Then Miro Karasek’s. Thereafter, she heard nothing but the jewels. Their voices rose into a single note, so pure that her bones ached and her blood sang. Each gem burned a pinpoint in her palm, searing her flesh. Two pinpoints, then three, then two again, marked her palm, the count wavering with her concentration. She lost track of how many she held. Now they filled her hands, swelling to gigantic size. It was the ending. She had died and her soul taken flight into the void. One moment between, one moment of stillness and expectation, before death lifted her into forgetfulness …
The moment ended. A voice rang out. Like the rushing tide, the magical current surged forward, and a brilliant light exploded in her mind.
Three. Became two. Then one.
For a long moment, Valara could not breathe. The magic had released her, but she could not bring herself to open her eyes, to see what the jewels had become.
“Valara?”
Ilse’s voice, hardly more than a whisper. Gradually, Valara became aware of two arms holding her upright. She was kneeling, her hands still submerged in Agnau’s lake. Ilse crouched next to her. Karasek knelt on her other side, holding her by the shoulders. The Agnau had smoothed to a glassy calm. Shaking, she withdrew her hands from the silvery lava, and gave a cry of shock. In spite of the agony she had suffered, her hands were unscathed, her skin seemingly untouched by the lava. Still uncertain what had happened, she unfolded her hands.
A single jewel lay in her palm. Glistening droplets of creation beaded on its polished surface; hints of ruby, sapphire, and emerald flickered in turn, only to disappear into flashes of opalescent white.
Ishya, said the jewel. Daya unde Asha unde Rana. Waere unde werden.
A dazzling light, like a miniature sun, filled Valara’
s hands. The jewel swelled, its shape lengthening into the figure of a man, a woman, an alien creature such as Daya had appeared in the void between worlds.
Ishya stepped onto the Agnau’s smooth surface. It spoke, incomprehensible words like the silvery notes of a flute. Then it walked toward the center of the lake. With every step it grew in size and transparency, until at last it blended with the rising steam.
Valara massaged her palm, which felt warmer than the rest of her. “And so they are free,” she murmured.
She tried to stand, but her legs buckled. Karasek caught her and lifted her into his arms. He was speaking to Ilse, something about his packs, but Valara was too exhausted to make sense of what he said. Words like rain and thunder and wind, she thought, recalling Lir’s speech, though she knew Karasek was just a human male.
She tried to tell him so, but her tongue got tangled. Karasek carried her away from the Agnau to a shaded nook beneath the cliffs. Ilse tucked blankets around her. One of them brushed a hand over her forehead. They murmured the invocation to magic, and she dropped into sleep.
* * *
ILSE WITHDREW HER hand from Valara’s forehead. The woman slept—she could read that swift descent into slumber, the sudden stillness, which reminded her of the moment when a soul left the body for Anderswar. Not death, but something like it. She wondered if sleep were a reminder, sent by the gods, of that void between lives.
“And what next?” she murmured. “What next, indeed?”
“Water,” Karasek said. “Firewood. A hot meal.”
At her startled look, he smiled. “It’s an old campaign strategy. Solve the practical matters first, and the hard decisions become … not easy, but easier to address.”
He spoke for himself, too, she realized. Dark bruises under his eyes, the creases etched around his mouth and eyes, deeper ones between his brows—all those spoke of grief and weariness. And underneath it all a palpable air of tension.
I have seen that look before. I have seen you before, in lives past.
Karasek held out a hand, to help her stand. She regarded the hand first—he had removed his gloves to handle the jewel, she noticed—then lifted her gaze back to his face. “How many did you kill?” she asked. “Back there, on Hallau Island?”
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