Birth Stone

by Kate Kelley

  “Oh,” Lyra said. She burned when Terrin sidled up next to her, reaching for her hand. She evaded it, hesitating. Finally she took a deep breath, and grabbed his hand back quickly, shutting down her shield. The contact sent a shock of awareness through her. She couldn’t look him in the eye. Just hours before, that hand had been on her breast. She fought against an involuntary shudder.

  He brought her close against his chest, and she let him, the steady thump of his heartbeat soothing and paining her at the same time. She breathed in a lungful of his scent, rain and earth, and manly musk. Oriel huddled close to Persimmon and together, they all touched the stone at once.

  Chapter 29

  Arctic whites and ethereal blues met them as the group landed on the other side. Clinging to Terrin’s still rain-dampened waist, Lyra attempted to steady herself as her feet scrambled for purchase on slick ice. Terrin pulled her up easily, righting her. She held her arms out, testing her balance on the frozen ground until she felt sure on her feet. It was then that she looked up at her surroundings, and let out an audible gasp.

  Towering glacial walls rose on either side of them in the expanse of the landscape before them, hundreds of feet in the air, and as wide as they were tall. There was something ancient about them; a reverence was due as you gazed upon their sheer magnitude. They stood like natural walls, and Lyra wondered how long they’d stood in Ursa. How much they’d seen.

  The four of them stood inside an icy overhang, a small, half-ice cave, of sorts. The walls were slick, with undulating grooves artfully morphed from years of snow accumulation. The back wall of the cave was stark black--obsidian. The portal stone. Thick, wickedly sharp icicles dangled above their heads. Everything glowed here, the stark white of the land reflecting the moonlight; the moon, as bright and clear here as the northern star. There was a wide opening through the glaciers, about one hundred feet in front of them. It was quiet here, eerily so. The crunch of their boots in the snow echoed through the frozen tundra as they made their way to the glacier opening. Everyone took their time to study their surroundings, their eyes drinking in the alien world.

  Except for Terrin, who was stalking ahead of the rest, intent on his goal. Terrin had been to Ursa before. But for the rest of them, it was unlike anything they had ever seen. Once they reached the glacial opening, like a wide open city gate, they stopped.

  Their trek was marked for them. Up ahead, a winding uphill path snaked about a half mile long, marked by snow-laden evergreens on either side. At the top of the hill stood a glistening castle, glinting like a diamond in the moonlight. It was hard to make out at first, only a deep concentration revealed the structure. Fog rolled through its many spindly towers. Further behind the castle, the peaks of the other side of Thane Mountain were visible, a charcoal alpine backdrop, better showcasing the ghostly palace.

  Icy winds lashed across Lyra’s cheekbones, whistling hollowly off the ice floe. She hadn’t noticed the cold until now, so wrapped up in the sights around her. She hugged her bare arms to herself, feeling goosebumps. A covering blocked the icy winds from her shoulders, tickling her neck. She turned in time to see Terrin walking away from her through the glacier gate, his cloak gone from his own shoulders.

  Damn him for trying to atone.

  But there was no sense in freezing to death. She wrapped the cloak tighter around herself and moved forward. As they made their way up the path, various snow owls passed overhead, their white wings visible against the twinkling midnight sky. The path narrowed as they got closer to the castle.

  “Wait. We don’t even have a plan. Are we just going to barge in, demand to see Poppi?” Lyra asked, incredulous.

  Persimmon quirked an eyebrow at her, her scoff creating a puff of steam from her mouth. Lyra noticed she wore Oriel’s coat. “You forget we travel with someone who has a bit of a relationship with the princess,” she said.

  Lyra’s cheeks burned. “Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten?” she mumbled under her breath. She stared ahead, the castle walls coming into view. Great blocks of ice made up the walls and the archway with no door. Her gaze swept the outside of the walls and the hollow of the archway.

  “No guards,” she mumbled, a crease forming between her brows. Lyra stopped suddenly, her feet rooted to the ground. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Persimmon ran into her back.

  “What’s the problem?” she hissed.

  A familiar growl ripped across the night, causing Lyra to swirl. Terrin was already running toward the sound, around the curve of the path, Oriel close behind. The growl sounded again, just out of view. Lyra squinted into the night and pushed Persimmon behind her. Persimmon scoffed, ripping her arm away from Lyra.

  “I can hold my own, new girl,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt.

  “Are you a mage?” Lyra shot back.

  “No, but I’m not a weakling as you mages like to believe!” Persimmon shouted.

  A blast of light stopped Lyra's response, and a vicious growl sounded again. Fat flakes of snow began to fall through the air. Terrin ran toward them now, coming back into view. A four striked gash marred his cheek, blood dripping down his beautiful neck, his face full of wrath. Their eyes met as another blast of light exuded from around the corner.

  “Get into the castle, alert Navi and Poppi,” Terrin commanded. Lyra bit her tongue. Now wasn’t the time to continue her silent treatment.

  “I want to fight with you. What is it?”

  Terrin shook his head, backing away. “A red wolf with blue eyes. Huge. Go into the castle. That’s an order,” he shouted, before turning and running back to help Oriel.

  The red wolf..surely not the same one she met before.

  Lyra fumed, wanting to help, but Terrin's earnestness stopped her. She turned, pulling Persimmon along. They jogged through the archway, finding no one to greet them. When they reached the large, ice blue doors, they didn’t stop to knock. Heaving it open with a high-pitched creak, they stepped into a castle that mimicked it’s world. Curulean glass floors, walls, and ceilings surrounded them, lush white furs lining parts of the floor. Crystal chandeliers adorned the ceilings, lighting the space with bright white flames. To the left, a giant room with a sitting area and massive fireplace, the roaring fire contrasting strangely with the stark coldness of the rest of the decor. Lyra and Persimmon stopped in front of the fire, warming themselves until the feeling returned to their fingers. The silence was deafening.

  “Where is everyone?” Persimmon murmured, looking around the room. Lyra walked through the castle, passing a luxurious dining hall, kitchens, and ballroom, all empty. When they reached the staircase, Lyra shook her head.

  “It doesn’t feel right going up there,” she said.

  Persimmon scoffed and pushed past her. “The King and Oriel are in danger,” she said, “Decorum can wait.”

  Lyra reluctantly followed. When they were done searching all of the halls and rooms, they were thoroughly confused.

  “Why are the candles lit and the fire roaring if no one is here? Where are the servants?” Lyra thought out loud.

  A whistling wind shrilled against the window at the end of the hallway where they stood. Lyra looked out of it, flashes of light rising in the shadows. They were still fighting that beast!

  “We have to help them!” Lyra shouted, slamming her hand against the window in frustration. The whistling wind sounded again, this time louder. Lyra stilled, cocking her head. The whistle sounded again, deeper this time.

  “That’s..” Persimmon started, her voice trailing off as she turned and noticed a tiny door to the left of the window that blended into the wall. It was almost indistinguishable from the glass wall, except for a faint outline that marked its borders.

  Persimmon moved her hands along the door, searching for a notch to open it. Nothing was there to open it. The whistle sounded again, sounding more like a wail. Lyra’s blood ran cold. There was someone crying out behind this door. Lyra stood back, staring at the door.

 
; “Get back,” she said to Persimmon, who didn’t need telling twice. She set her jaw and let her aura shoot toward it. A crash of glass filled their ears as she blasted a hole in the door. Just big enough for someone to sneak through. Peeking through, she saw a narrow staircase.

  “It leads to a tower,” Persimmon said, matter-of-factly. Carefully passing through the hole so as to not cut themselves on the glass,they steeled themselves for something awful at the top of the stairs. The staircase wound upward in a tight spiral. Several minutes later, they reached the door, a wooden, rickety thing. Lyra lifted her hand and blasted it easily. When the dust settled, a horribly acrid, pungent smell reached them, and they covered their noses with their arms.

  A scream sounded on the other side. Peering through the hole, Lyra cursed at what she saw and jumped through. A girl lay on a dirty floor, curled into a ball, her hair matted and torn out in spots. Her clothes were shredded, and smudged with brown stains. Lyra didn’t know if it was old blood or dirt. Probably both.

  A threadbare blanket lay out over her lower half. There was no bed. Human waste sat in a bowl in the corner. A bowl of ice sat near the girl’s head. Lyra supposed it was once water. The girl shook violently, her head covered in her arms. She was scared to death.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” Lyra said softly. The girl looked up slowly, wonder on her face.

  “Poppi!” Lyra screamed, and fell on her knees next to her. Poppi watched her, her mouth hanging open.

  “Shyte, you know her?” Persimmon asked.

  “Are you real?” Poppi whispered, gazing at Lyra like she’d disappear. Her face was ashen, gaunt, deep purple circles painted like half moons under her bloodshot eyes. Lyra touched her cheek. She was ice cold.

  “Hell! She’s freezing,” Lyra exclaimed. She stood, pulling Poppi up. Poppi tried to stand, but stumbled, falling back down in a heap. Lyra gripped her shoulders and winced. She was pure bone.

  I'll help you carry her,”Persimmon offered, and Lyra accepted the help, even though Lyra could probably have carried the waifish girl by herself. She opened the door first and then nodded and lifted Poppi under her legs while Persimmon gripped under her arms. Poppi’s head rolled back, her eyes drifting closed. Panic squeezed Lyra’s heart.

  “I don’t know if she’s going to make it,” Persimmon said, disturbed.

  Lyra swallowed as they started down the stairs. “Poppi, you have to stay awake. Tell me who put you in there,” Lyra said sternly. Poppi’s eyes popped open. She blinked.

  “You are real,” she breathed. Her mouth was crusted with dead skin and blood.

  “Stay with me, Poppi. We are getting you out of here. Who put you in there?” she asked again, breath coming hard as they bobbed down the numerous stairs. Poppi swallowed thickly.

  “Navi,” she croaked at last.

  Lyra’s blood turned to fire.

  When I get ahold of that bitch…

  “Why?” Persimmon asked, her eyes wide.

  “Didn’t...get...information...on...Lyra...”

  “Why does she want information on me?” Lyra asked, growing dizzy with the spiraling stairs. Poppi’s breathing turned labored. Bile stung Lyra’s throat as worry ate at her insides.

  “Working with a man...sorcerer...wants to take the Gem throne…”

  When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Lyra lowered Poppi gently to the ground.

  “I’m going to get her some food and water,” she said, sprinting toward the kitchen. She returned shortly with bread and a mug of fresh water.

  Lowering the glass to Poppi’s ashen mouth, she was careful to only give her small sips. Poppi sprang to life, clutching the goblet and gulping down the water as quickly as Lyra would give it. The water seemed to revive Poppi slightly, and she then handed her the bread, which Poppi took eagerly, ripping into it, choking it down. Persimmon blinked and looked away, uncomfortable.

  “You were right about Navi,” Persimmon said.

  Lyra shook her head. “No, she’s much worse than I thought. And I’ll be the one to drive a stake through that witch’s heart.” It was a promise.

  Persimmon gave her a sharp glance. Lyra didn’t care how crazy she sounded. No one treated another person like this, least of all her best friend.

  A bang sounded downstairs and cold air wafted toward them. Lyra ran to edge of the hallway, peering over the corner. Terrin and Oriel, sweat and blood drenched, ran up the stairs toward her. She jumped out, startling them both.

  “Did you kill it?” Lyra asked.

  Terrin shook his head. “It ran. We wounded it badly,” he said. His face wounds were healed, but Lyra noticed he covered his neck with his right hand, blood dripping freely underneath it. She ran forward.

  “You’re bleeding badly,” she said.

  He gritted his teeth. “You’re speaking to me again.”

  “Terrin, this isn’t the time,” she said, inspecting his neck, “Why won’t you heal yourself?”

  He shook her off and walked toward Oriel, who was carrying a limp Poppi down the hall.

  “This was your lady’s maid, correct?” Oriel asked Lyra.

  “Yes. Navi did this to her. Left her to die in the tower with no food or fresh water. She’s dying. That bitch did this to her because she didn’t get enough information on me for a man--probably Ganymede.” She turned to look at Terrin. Wrath crossed his features.

  “You’re calling off the engagement, I assume,” she snapped.

  He glanced sharply at her. “I need more proof, of course,” he muttered.

  “Please. We need to leave..she could come back any time,” Poppi said weakly.

  “Why would she do all of this to you? Why not just kill you?” Terrin asked, peering down at Poppi.

  Lyra’s was incredulous. “What is your issue? She’s hurt and weak. What sort of question is that?!”

  Poppi stared up at him, a strange heaviness overtaking her features.

  “She can’t directly kill me, as royal mages can’t legally kill their kin.”

  Lyra’s blood turned to ice again. “She’s your kin?!” Poppi hung her head back against Oriel’s strong arm.

  “My sister,” she whispered, shame washing over her features.

  “We need to get her out of here before Navi comes back,” Oriel said sternly, making his way to the stairs. Lyra followed dumbly. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

  Poppi is Navi’s sister?!

  “Why can’t royal mages kill their kin?” Lyra asked Terrin as they bounded down the steps.

  “It’s forbidden by the gods. To prevent the overriding of the throne’s decision on who rules. It’s why Techni didn’t murder Iris, why I couldn’t kill Techni. The penalty for such a crime is death and exile from Vanaheimr.”

  “Vanaheimr?” Lyra asked, a shiver going up her spine.

  “Afterlife. Exile from the afterlife. Fate worse than death,” he concluded.

  Lyra eyed his wound. “You really need to get that looked at.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he ground out, ending the conversation. As they reached the doors, Oriel stopped. A person stood in front of them, blocking their way.

  “I really would have put out some refreshments if I’d known we were having a party tonight,” an icy voice rang out.

  Lyra’s blood fumed. The witch in the flesh stood against the doors like a doll. Milky white skin, blood red hair tumbled down to her waist. Her lips matched her hair, pouting innocently. Her ice blue eyes stared calculatingly at the group of people in front of her. She wore a black dress with a high collar, giving the impression of a person in mourning. Or a person who brings death, either one.

  She zoned in on Lyra. “Where are you taking my maid?” she asked her, cocking her head to the side.

  “Out of your reach, that’s where!” Lyra shouted, aura rising to her palms.

  Navi smiled at her, a chillingly perfect thing, her teeth gleaming white. “You’re simply adorable, aren’t you? Tell me. Did you think you
could win Terrin’s hand just because you let him fuck you? It’s the novelty of the thing, when a King chooses a peasant. Many of those pairings end in death for the peasant. It’s fascinating when a wench thinks she’s going to be queen.” She blinked slowly, oddly childlike, at Lyra, waiting for her reply.

  A lump formed in Lyra’s throat, preventing her from replying.

  Terrin stepped forward. “Why were you having Lyra spied on?” His voice was a shred more even than a growl.

  Navi trained her eyes on him and shrugged delicate shoulders. “I didn’t like the attention you gave her.”

  “Why was Poppi in my courts before you arrived?” he asked.

  Navi blinked at him. “I have eyes on your castle at all times, Terrin, dear. Surely, as a ruler, you understand that. When I heard about your obsession with the peasant, I sent Poppi through the portal directly back to Gem to check.”

  Terrin’s eyes were guarded as he looked at her.

  “Oh, for gods sake, Terrin, if you trust this Red Witch and not me, then you’re even more stupid than I thought,” Lyra spat, disgust roiling in her gut.

  Poppi moaned, and slumped back, her eyes closed. Oriel frowned down at her and laid a hand on her forehead.

  “What about locking Poppi up? How do you explain that?” Lyra asked the Red Witch.

  Navi’s lips twitched as if she wanted to bare her teeth. She turned her eyes on Terrin. “You’re going to allow this scum of the earth to speak to me in such a way?”

  Terrin sighed and moved forward. “We are leaving now, Navi. I’ll speak with you shortly.” Lyra watched in amazement as he took her hand and kissed it. Navi sniffed boredly, then moved out of the way, letting Terrin pass. He moved through the doors, Oriel moving to follow.

  “My maid stays,” Navi said flatly, looking onward. Oriel paused, clutching Poppi to his chest. Lyra glared at Navi.

  “You mean your sister?” she spat.

  Navi’s eyes flashed with anger. “My half-sister. An abomination. No magic. The mistake of my father’s indiscretion.” She shook her head, “Ursa King, bedding a peasant whore. Disgusting.”