Sisters of Sword and Song

by Rebecca Ross

  He broke from her grip and Evadne momentarily went underwater, the tether yanking her in his wake. She broke the surface, gasping. The current was unyielding. Evadne could not have swum against it had she been alone.

  They were almost to the falls. She could see the edge of it, the way Damon’s constellations glittered upon the water.

  They were going to die here.

  The panic stunned her, stole her breath.

  And there was a moment when everything stilled, when it seemed as if the water eased and the stars gathered around her. She reached out to hold on to Damon, and she felt a shiver move through him as he realized Xander was a phantom, his senses finally returning to him.

  A woman laughed in the distance, her amusement echoing off the rocks and water.

  It was too late.

  Damon’s fingers wove with Evadne’s as the water bore them over the edge, into a cold, endless plummet.

  XXIII

  Evadne

  They fell together, entwined, stars dying in their hair. Evadne’s heart was pounding so fiercely she couldn’t think. Of all things, her mind clung to one image: the grove, home. She saw mighty Kirkos fall and break his wings, his body hanging limp in the branches of the olive tree.

  Fly.

  Evadne commanded her heart, and the screaming rush of air quieted, answering to her. Damon’s weight, though, was heavy, his face pressed against her neck, his hands clinging to her as she clung to him.

  Fly, she breathed again, and while she could not hold them both suspended in the air, she brought them down gently, slowly, the cascading water roaring beside them.

  They reached the bottom. It was slick bedrock, the water shallowly spilling over it to tumble into a deep pool. Evadne set Damon down on the rock first. Exhausted, she settled on his lap, gracelessly straddling him, the mist in her face and the water rushing about her knees. There were just enough stars remaining for her to behold Damon’s awestruck face as he gazed at her, his dark hair a shade of blue in the bewitching light.

  He said nothing, but he reached around her, to lay his palms upon her back. Where her wings should be.

  And a delicious shiver moved through her; she didn’t know if it was from his touch, his wonder, or the way her blood still hummed from the fall and the flight.

  She pulled Kirkos’s relic out from beneath her drenched tunic, and the lapis lazuli wing rested against her chest, gleaming like a spoken secret. Damon’s gaze riveted to it, and he began to shake beneath her. She realized he was laughing—in relief, in amazement. It seemed ridiculous to laugh at such a dire moment, but she joined him, and it eased the knot of horror that had been winding tight within her.

  “You never told me you possessed a relic, Evadne,” he said when his laughter quelled.

  “You never asked,” she replied, hiding the lapis wing back beneath her tunic.

  “No, although I should have. You are full of mysteries.” And yet his eyes revealed far more, seeming to say, You are a mystery I want to know, to slowly unravel.

  And she knew her gaze reflected the same longing.

  “Come,” she said, to hide the lambent desire she felt. “We are almost to the door.” She moved away from him, ignoring his slight groan. His hands slid from her back, and she helped him stand. That was when she saw the gleam of bones, scattered and fused to the rock around them. Testaments of shattered bodies.

  If Damon noticed them, he said nothing. But he eased into the pool first, turning to help her in.

  She could not feel the bottom. There was no telling how many leagues deep this water went, and Evadne shuddered as she thought about what creatures might swim its depths.

  “Try not to think about it,” Damon whispered, and she knew he had been dwelling on the same thing. But what could be worse than treading mysterious water? Only one of his stars remained, and he began to sing his enchantment again, rousing the fire. He started to swim, searching for the stairs that would rise from the water and lead to the door, Evadne at his side.

  But swimming and singing was exhausting. They both grew tired, and Damon was becoming more and more forgetful. Evadne sang for him, to help him remember, but when she glanced at him, she saw blood trickling from his nose.

  He stopped, treading in place. Evadne stiffened in dread, thinking he was seeing another phantom.

  He broke his singing to breathe, “There it is,” and Evadne looked ahead of them, where his constellations framed their path, lighting the stairs. They were carved of white rock, rising out of the water, spotted with moss. They led to the door of the Underworld.

  The sight reinvigorated them, and they swam to the stairs, their garments drenched and heavy as they stumbled out of the water. It was almost over, Evadne thought as she sang, her voice turning hoarse. She followed close behind Damon, the path to the door suddenly narrowing.

  The door was not huge as she thought it would be, but it was exquisitely carved. Evadne admired the grapevines and ocean waves and mountains that were etched upon the stone. And over its center hung an olive wreath, its leaves lustrous in the light, eternally green and silver.

  Acantha’s All-Seeing Crown.

  Evadne reached forward, to brush it with her fingers, to claim it with her hands. And a hiss met her, flowing from the cracks of the threshold.

  “Evadne, Evadne of Isaura,” said Pyrrhus, the trapped god of fire, his voice hungry like the flickering of a flame. “Open the door and set me free, esteemed daughter of Kirkos.”

  Her hands froze just before she could take the crown.

  She knew Damon heard it, too, because he stopped singing.

  “Evadne, Evadne, girl of wind, release me,” the god of fire begged, and she heard him scratching at the door.

  “Take the crown,” Damon said, his eyes fixed upon the door as it shuddered. “Quickly, Evadne.”

  She lifted the crown from the door, and she felt Pyrrhus’s anger in the floor, warming the rock beneath her. The door shuddered violently, as if Pyrrhus was throwing all of his weight against it.

  “Evadne,” he screamed; it sounded like a screech of claws on instrument strings, and the hair rose on her arms. “Evadne, do not leave me here!”

  She would have remained rooted to the floor had Damon not taken her hand and led her away. The crown rustled against her; she slipped it farther up her arm, to hold it in the crook of her elbow.

  They reached the stairs and stepped back into the water. Damon was moving swiftly; he no longer sang, his stars gradually winking out one by one. He guided her back across the pool toward the roar of the falls and the stone staircase that was almost hidden in mist, and she knew he was trying to save his voice. She could still hear Pyrrhus’s screams, and it chilled her blood, more than the cold of the mountain.

  Damon crawled onto the bedrock, mindful not to slip, and drew Evadne up behind him, his grip like iron. They found the foot of the seemingly endless stairs, but Damon paused, unsheathing the kopis from his belt. With unfaltering confidence, he cut the rope that bound them.

  “What are you doing?” Evadne demanded.

  “I want you to fly, Evadne,” Damon said calmly, slipping his kopis back into its scabbard. “I will meet you at the top.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but she felt a shudder in the rock beneath her, then another. She glanced over her shoulder, watching the ripples form on the surface of the water. But it was not in response to Pyrrhus’s tantrum. Something was rising from the depths.

  “Now, Evadne!” Damon began to run up the stairs, taking two at a time, and Evadne leapt into the air, flying just above him. She watched, anxious as he began to slow and tire. But she could hear him singing in between pants, snatches of his enchantment so the stars would remain to light his path.

  Pyrrhus fell quiet, but over the roar of the falls, Evadne heard a splash of something stirring the pool. She strained to see in the darkness and saw a horde of golden eyes, gleaming as they emerged from the water. The phantom dogs were charging up the stairs in pu
rsuit of Damon.

  Evadne flew to him. “Take hold of me. I will carry you.”

  Damon shook his head. “Go, Evadne. Leave me,” he struggled to say, his chest heaving.

  The phantoms were gaining on him. He did not look behind to see what fear was chasing him, but he knew it would catch him. He was reaching to unsheathe his sword and Evadne wound her arms about him, lifting him into the air.

  She barely got him high enough, his arm coming about her to hold on, just before the phantoms snarled and jumped to snap at their heels. She toiled to draw her and Damon higher, her mind pounding, If only I were stronger, faster.

  And she heard Halcyon’s voice respond, There is steel within you.

  Evadne grit her teeth and honed her will, flying higher, faster, the constellations remaining about them. Damon was laboring to breathe; she could feel his exhalations warm the front of her tunic, and his grip on her began to ease.

  “Damon, hold on!” She adjusted her hands, terrified that he would slip away. Water was rushing beneath them now. They had reached the second tier of the cistern. They were halfway back.

  The phantoms continued to pursue them, running along the surface of the water, growling and snapping whenever Evadne dipped too low. Her back was aching, her muscles burning and cramping. But she could see the final waterfall, the final staircase. She flew to it, every fiber of her blazing, alive. She sensed the ceiling closing in, and she adjusted herself, remembering the first tier was shallower, and then it went dark.

  “Damon, I need light!”

  His hands tightened on her as he began to sing, his voice so shredded she almost didn’t recognize it. But the stars returned, just in time for Evadne to see she was hurtling toward one of the pillars. And she did not have time to redirect herself.

  She slammed into it, her shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. She and Damon were separated, and down she went, into the shallow water. It was not a long fall, but she sprawled on her back, gasping for breath, the crown amazingly unharmed as she embraced it to her chest.

  She heard something rushing to her, splashing through the water. She cringed, waiting for a phantom dog to maul her. “Evadne!” Damon cried, taking hold of her and dragging her up. “Draw your sword, now!”

  She found her footing and clawed for the hilt of her sword, withdrawing it with a groan of pain. The phantoms finally caught up to them, circling her and Damon. There were eight of them, and while they prowled and snapped, they could not touch the enchanted fire. Damon’s stars continued to burn all around them, and he sang again, enflaming the constellations even brighter.

  Evadne walked at his side, raising her voice one final time to join his. They stepped carefully through the water, as stately as if they were a mage and a scribe at court. They did not rush, not even when they saw the mouth of the tunnel that would lead them up, back into the world. They did not run or swing their swords.

  And their phantoms relinquished them at last.

  Evadne led the way into the passage, Damon close behind her. The floor began to tilt upward. In the distance was a tiny door of light.

  When she could feel the sun on her face, she ceased singing and sheathed her sword. She ran to the promise of blue sky, hands outstretched as if she could catch the light in her hands. Acantha’s crown rustled on her arm, soaking in the sun.

  They staggered into the open air blinking and stumbling, kneeling on the smooth flagstones when their legs gave out. Evadne held herself up and wept. And Damon knelt before her, cupping her face in his hands. He wiped her tears away, and the same thought passed through them.

  Halcyon and Xander would not have survived this mission.

  It did not matter that they had been the strongest in their legion. They both would have perished in the heart of Euthymius without fire.

  “Your shoulder, Evadne,” Damon whispered, his hand drifting to it. His thumb traced her collarbone beneath her tunic, searching for a break.

  “I hardly feel it,” she confessed, the pain eclipsed by her relief to be alive. “It is bruised, not broken.” But when she made to roll her shoulder, it throbbed in response, and she winced.

  “Let me see.”

  Evadne nodded, and Damon’s hands carefully rolled up her sleeve. The crown rustled between them, and their gazes met, full of wonder.

  “I think we make a good team,” she whispered to him, smiling.

  Damon’s lips parted to speak, but a different voice sounded from a distance, smooth as river stone, polished with mockery. A voice Evadne never wanted to hear again.

  “Well, this is fortunate.”

  Damon stiffened. His hands drifted from Evadne as they both looked toward the voice.

  There stood Macarius, only a few paces away, a nasty cut marring one of his cheeks. He was not alone. A feeble woman stood before him, and he held a kopis blade to her throat. A sound escaped Evadne when she realized the woman was Halcyon.

  “Hello, Evadne,” Macarius greeted with a cold smile, but his eyes were on the crown she held. “How about we strike a trade? Your sister in exchange for Acantha’s All-Seeing Crown.”

  XXIV

  Halcyon

  No,” Halcyon rasped. “Do not give him the crown, Eva.”

  Evadne continued to kneel and stare at her, soaked and flushed from the frigid water of the mountain. She was stricken, horrified. Halcyon knew she had not recognized her at first, and pain bloomed in her chest, to realize she looked so terrible that her own sister had not known who she was at first glance.

  But she could not dwell on such agonizing things.

  Because her little sister had the All-Seeing Crown in her possession. Her little sister had just done the impossible, and Halcyon felt humbled and awed and proud of her.

  She wanted to weep, to collapse and crawl to Evadne until she felt the warning of Macarius’s kopis on her neck.

  “How much is her life worth to you, Evadne?” Macarius taunted. “Surely, Halcyon means more than a mere crown.”

  It was not a mere crown, Halcyon thought, clenching her teeth. It was their last hope for the queen.

  Evadne finally took her eyes from Halcyon and looked at Damon, who was still on his knees, close beside her. Halcyon watched the two of them stare at each other, as if they were holding a private conversation in their minds. Macarius, ever impatient, stomped his foot.

  “Evadne! This offer will not last for much longer. Answer me now, or I slit your sister’s throat.”

  Halcyon expected Evadne to plunge into panic. But her little sister continued to surprise her.

  Evadne met Macarius’s gaze, her expression calm, her eyes heavy-lidded with contempt for him. Slowly, she rose, her tunic dripping water onto the courtyard.

  “My sister means everything to me,” she said. “I will give you the crown, but you must first set her free, Macarius.”

  Macarius laughed, the crackling sound of wood burning. “You think me a fool, Evadne? Hand the crown to my scribe, and I will let Halcyon go.”

  Beryl appeared then, from behind an outcrop of rocks. She stopped halfway between the two groups, waiting for Evadne to close the distance with the crown.

  Evadne stared at Beryl. They were both scribes, and yet how different they were. Halcyon watched as Evadne began to walk the crown to Beryl, the limp prominent in her gait.

  No, she wanted to shout at her sister. No, Evadne. Do not give up that crown for me.

  But then Halcyon saw the wicked gleam in her little sister’s eyes, the way her hand was clenched. She thought of all the times Evadne had been underestimated and overlooked.

  And yet it was Evadne who had just stolen the most revered relic in all of Corisande, surviving Ivina’s phantoms and Mount Euthymius’s precarious water.

  Halcyon waited, heart suspended.

  Her little sister stopped directly before Beryl. Evadne studied Acantha’s crown, glittering in the sunlight. She offered it up to Beryl with her left hand.

  Beryl, greedy for the relic, set her gaze u
pon it and took the crown, the leaves rustling in protest. She did not see Evadne’s swift motion until it was too late, and Evadne flung a handful of shale into her eyes.

  Beryl squawked and tripped backward, dropping the crown, and Damon surged to his feet. With his hand outstretched, he uttered a charm that rang like a blade—dessanos vor—and Macarius was magically disarmed before he could slice Halcyon’s neck.

  His kopis arced through the air. Evadne dashed beneath the steel’s flashing descent, recovering the crown as she made for Halcyon. Halcyon lunged to meet her, slipping from Macarius’s grasping hands, her body quivering from strain. Her feet were numb; she stumbled into Evadne, and her sister took hold of her thin arm, holding her steady, before she frantically dragged her toward the outcrop of rocks.

  From the corner of her eye, Halcyon could see Beryl, seething on her knees as she wiped the grit from her eyes, and Damon and Macarius engaging in a duel, hissing charms in God Tongue, words that flew and sparked like hot iron on an anvil, scorching through their clothes, leaving the tang of lightning in the air. Macarius’s shadow rose and stretched into a creature, long talons and sharp teeth, slithering across the courtyard. And just before she ducked out of view with Evadne, Halcyon saw Damon summon his shadow in response, but it was not a monster. It was the shadow of a hoplite, armed with spear and shield, and she knew it was inspired by Xander.

  A lump welled in her throat, and she slipped, losing her footing. Evadne lost her footing, too, and the sisters slid down a gentle incline of shale. Evadne had to stop their tumble by catching them on a rock with her feet, and Halcyon heard her grunt in pain.

  “Hurry, Hal,” Evadne whispered, ragged. She rose and helped Halcyon stand, her dark eyes glancing up the hill to the marks they had made in the shale. Flickers of searing light and shadows continued to play on the mountain threshold. The clouds darkened overhead, and the wind began to howl. She was worried about Damon, Halcyon sensed. But they also needed to hide, because Beryl would come for them.