“Do you know,” Hedvika said, her voice thick and rich like honey, with the hint of an indiscernible accent, “that is what they all say? It must be what they think I want to hear. It is not. You are allowed to be more original. I would expect it. I have been waiting a long time for you.”
She knelt before Bri, her butterfly skirt settling with a few flutters of wings. “You’re hurt.”
“I…yes. I was clumsy.” Bri gazed at Hedvika’s dazzling face, unable to hide her own surprise and confusion at the tender note of concern. It sounded so genuine.
And she did have the faint lace of thin white eyebrows arching gracefully over her dark eyes. Not quite grey, not quite brown—umber—that was the color. They were laughing at her.
“May I?” Hedvika held out her hands aglow with golden light.
“Heal me?”
“Of course.”
Bri grit her teeth as Hedvika pulled her knee out straight and prodded at her leg.
“Oh.” She gasped as Hedvika’s hands lighted upon her shin, right where she suspected the fracture might be. She closed her eyes and nodded. “Okay.”
A flash of heat, a quick jolt of pain, and then she felt nothing. She opened her eyes to find Hedvika moving on to the next injury. Bri sat there on the ice for several minutes as Hedvika tended to her with tenderness and patience.
Gratitude rose up in her unbidden, and for a moment she wondered if Hedvika was somehow manipulating her emotions. She knew this was part of the game, meant to disarm her—she was disarmed. Such gentleness, even if it was artifice, was the last thing she had expected.
She wouldn’t let her guard down for real, but she had a feeling she should play along.
Except, she’d been chided for playing along. Hedvika had challenged her to be different. If everyone simpered, Bri would try being blunt. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
A smile tugged at Hedvika’s lips, and she fluttered her diamond-studded lashes. “Of course not. Something as positively unique as I am cannot be conceived of.”
Well hello, vanity.
Bri thought up a witty reply but discarded it. She needed a better read on Hedvika first. She couldn’t afford any missteps. Lucas’s life might depend on her.
She was saved from having to say anything at all when a hulking Viking warrior entered the chamber, drawing Hedvika’s attention away. His hair and beard were a light blonde, long, and matted. He was wearing nothing but a leather skirt. The markings across his shoulders and chest looked vaguely like the ones Lucas had.
This must be Maxxim.
Hedvika rose to her feet and held out her hands—no longer glowing—to help Bri stand.
She was shocked that she could do so without pain. “Thank you.”
“It is nothing.” Hedvika released her. “It will not do to have a guest laid up when I have been so long without company.”
So, she was a guest. That sounded promising.
“I would be grateful to be warm and in clean clothes,” Bri said carefully. How far would this solicitude extend? She should make use of it while she could.
Hedvika nodded, the curl of her mouth tugging her falsely painted lips thin. “Everything you need will be provided. But first, there is the matter of rules.”
Suddenly, a whip of barbed vine sprang out of the solid ice at Bri’s feet and coiled around her wrist, sawing its serrated teeth into her flesh.
She cried out and fell to her knees, struggling to get free. Another coil slithered around her free hand, and both vines pulled tight, until it hurt too much to move. She stared up at Hedvika with raw pain and fear in her eyes—she did not try to hide either.
“All are welcome here who mean me no harm and speak only truth,” Hedvika said, calm and unhurried, though the air vibrated with magic. “Swear it, and you are my guest. My roses will taste the truth of your words.”
Tears tracked down Bri’s cheeks, but she lifted her chin and looked straight into Hedvika’s dark, catlike gaze. “I swear to speak only truth and that no harm will come to you by my hand.”
“Wonderful!” Hedvika clapped her hands in delight and smiled so wide Bri could see her back teeth.
The vines released her and slithered back through the ice, which sealed seamlessly behind them. Bri’s blood fell to the ground in thick, slow droplets. The ice drank them up, leaving no trace. Hedvika wrapped her glowing hands around Bri’s wrists until the dozens of tiny cuts healed.
She held on an extra beat, her face serene and beaming. “Merry meet, sister.”
Bri managed to smile faintly, barely hiding her bewilderment. The blood was still wet on her palms.
Hedvika let go and gestured to the hulking guard. “Emil will show you to your room and wait upon you until dinner.”
Bri gawked at the Viking warrior for a long, charged moment. Emil?
…yes.
So, he was a Kinde, not just an enchanted bear.
“Th-thank you.” She bowed her head and scurried across the ice to follow Emil down another dim tunnel.
The room he showed her to was made out of solid, rough-hewn stone. There was no ice or frost, but she still feared she might never be warm again. At least there was a bed, and it was covered in a heap of furs. The only two openings in the room were the door to the hallway and an archway to a narrow patio. Both were draped in more thorny black vines, which shivered open for her when she approached. No doubt that was only because they’d been told to. She didn’t trust them not to attack her again if she made one misstep.
Her skin crawled and her hair stood on end with every faint rustle. She felt like they were watching her.
The vines grew over the railing and draped all the way to the ground below, where they slithered and roiled like an unsettled ocean of black tentacles, breaking against the circle of bone trees a quarter mile away. The patio had an enchanting view of the crescent mountain range that cradled Hedvika’s lands and the stark northern sky behind them, streaked with waving festoons of auroras.
Hanging braziers were set at intervals in the concave walls of her chamber, and a few candles danced on a table by the bed, sticking out from a mound of melted wax as if they’d grown out of it rather than melted into it. A cold spring sprinkled from a rock ledge in the far corner of the room, serving as ice cold shower and sink. There were scented oils and soaps for her to use, but Bri did the bare minimum required to meet hygiene standards, braided her wet hair and pinned it in place with a few wooden combs. Then she spent nearly ten minutes figuring out how to put on the clothes laid out for her.
The dress she understood, but the underthings were an obstacle course. She skipped most of them at first, but eventually realized many were required to get the dress to fit and maintain the proper shape. Everything also had to be laced up.
Never heard of zippers? She thought as she checked that she was fastened in with no embarrassing loose strings hanging out. She didn’t have a mirror, but she twirled, admiring the embroidery on the fine grey fabric. The corset bodice was inlaid with intricate patterns of tiny pearl beads and silver thread. It hugged her curves and complimented her coloring nicely.
But she had no illusions. Standing next to Hedvika in her supernaturally conjured butterfly gown, Bri would look like a serving wench. Not that she cared–whatever pleased her hostess worked to her advantage. If Hedvika needed to upstage Bri, she was happy to be a wallflower.
She wouldn’t simper—and her pride was glad—but she could begin steadily insinuating herself into Hedvika’s good graces with charm and wit. Assuming Hedvika had good graces.
The vines parted for her as she passed into the hall, where Emil was waiting. He had not changed. Or bathed. She gave him a wobbly smile and gestured for him to lead the way.
Wordlessly, he did.
You do not speak in this form either?
No.
Are there more servants here like you?
No.
No?
“But—” she started to say but thought bette
r of it. Where was Maxxim the owlkin? Ryder couldn’t have lied, but how could he have been so wrong? If she’d known Hedvika’s Familiar was a giant white bear, she certainly would have mentioned her visions to Lucas.
Or would she have? She might have only taken it as confirmation that she must go with Ryder because she’d already foreseen it. She might have kept it secret for that very reason.
Either way, she would have ended up here. The means to save Kean were here—she believed it even more now.
More and more, she was beginning to have a feeling of Fate guiding her. She felt like one of the stars floating in the dark river of her dream-vision. Her whole life, she’d been swimming against a current, fighting that river. Always trying to escape, never able to catch her breath. A slow, suffering drowning.
Now, as she had in the river today, she had let go of the reins. She’d set a course and let her path take form before her. And it was so…exhilarating, it overwhelmed a bit of the fear she should be feeling.
She wanted to ask Emil more, to find out why he couldn’t speak, if Hedvika had done that to him, see if she could find some weakness in his loyalty or maybe even ask him about the book. But he led her down a wider stone hall that opened to a vast, bright chamber of floor-to-ceiling white quartz, and Bri was dazzled into silence once again.
This room felt more like a palace than the main courtyard of the ice cave. Elegant, and more modern, including a whole wall of carved white bone wood, inlaid with veins of silver and semi-precious stones in such intricate detail they looked like a mural painted with a fine brush. The tree of light and the fountain were the backdrop, but in the mural, the tree was a throne. Hedvika sat upon it, her hair a dark sable instead of white, but her face the same. She wore a white toga and a sparkling crown that shone with white light. The cavern around her was brimming with worshippers prostrating themselves–human, animal, and fae, demon and wraith.
So that is how she sees herself.
The hallway led into a wide chamber filled with lush furnishings and decadent rugs and tapestries, still in the same monochrome palette of whites, silvers, and greys. Crystal chandeliers lit the space, and a mirthless fire of cool blue flames waved steadily in the fireplace that took up most of the back wall. White bone branches were mounted to the gleaming quartz hearth, and several crows perched upon them, watching Bri’s every move with beady black eyes.
Emil guided her to a high-backed chair covered in the bristly hide of a white deer, or maybe a reindeer. As soon as she sat, he stepped away and a moment later draped a silky blanket of white fur over her lap.
“Oh! Th-thank you,” she said, flustered as his large hands tucked the edges under her thighs. He left again and returned with a steaming white teacup full of some sort of mulled wine. Bri nearly drooled as the scented steam hit her cheeks, and she suddenly realized she was ravenous.
Emil stepped back against the wall beside the fireplace and stood like a statue, staring vacantly ahead, hands clasped behind his back. Like the bound and collared Kinde that served as security detail at the Arcanum. Just clean him up and put him in an Armani suit and shades.
Bri wondered what sort of magic Hedvika used to control him.
The wine was tart and spicy but jolted her body with a welcome warmth. She eyed the cup. What if it was infused with magic?
“Elderberry wine is an acquired taste,” Hedvika’s smooth voice said over Bri’s shoulder.
Her hostess took the seat across from hers, and an instant later, Emil was there giving her the same practiced attention he’d given Bri, as if going through the steps of a dance they’d done a thousand times.
Hedvika took the dainty teacup into her regal fingers and sipped, ignoring him. She’d toned down the theatrics. Traded out her ethereal gown for one of simple slate blue velvet and let several coils of her white hair down from their diamond crusted combs. Still, she was no less beautiful.
Beautiful wasn’t the word, though. Arresting. The way none of her features did what you expected. They moved from delicate curves to sharp edges in odd places, yet the whole was quite pleasing. She was mesmerizing in her…well, uniqueness, Bri mused.
“Dinner, Emil. Do not keep our guest waiting. She must be hungry.”
Bri nodded and sipped her wine.
Thank you, she said to Emil’s back.
He didn’t answer, and she wished she had talked to him more before Hedvika arrived. A few seconds ticked by as she waited to see if her hostess would take control of the conversation. And then she remembered—she was the entertainment.
“You must have questions,” Bri offered as an ice-breaker. She hoped she was gliding right along that line of friendly and means-business, but her diplomat skills were a little rusty.
Hedvika’s smile was indulgent. “Perhaps we should begin with introductions.”
“Oh,” Bri laughed. “That’s so strange, when we met I felt like I already knew you–I must have forgotten the formalities. How silly of me. My name is Briana.”
“You may call me Vika. What has brought you here, Briana?”
Vika? They were already on nickname terms? “Oh. Well, actually, my friends call me Bri. And I came because I heard—because I have been looking for another Skydancer.”
Her keen gaze narrowed in appraisal. “What were you going to say? What was it you heard?”
“The legend of the White Wood,” Bri said without missing a beat. All truth, just out of order. “It sounded like the story of a Skydancer. And I had a vision—”
“Vision?” Vika leaned forward.
“Y-yes,” Bri answered, losing a bit of her nerve.
This was the moment of truth. According to Ryder, Hedvika’s greatest insecurity stemmed from her inability to master even the simplest Oracle spell. She had no foresight, not even Second Sight. She lived eternity on the edge of a great, black mystery, just as ignorant of the future as any mundane. Bri didn’t think knowing the future was all that great–it hadn’t helped her much so far–but they knew that upon learning of Bri’s power, Hedvika would either fear or covet her.
“I’m an Oracle. The last in a long line of them.”
Before she could gauge Vika’s reaction, Emil returned, carrying a round wooden table laden with a full feast as if it weighed nothing. Bri was momentarily in a stupor as her eyes darted around the heaping piles of steaming food. Much of it was indiscernible to her, but something smelled delicious. There was fried fish, sautéed mushrooms, soup, pickled beets. She grabbed a slice of bread as Emil poured more wine.
She chewed studiously, watching Vika, whose food went untouched.
“You foresaw our meeting? Yet you said I was not what you expected.”
Bri dove into the bowl of soup first, greens and garlic in some oily broth. She shook her head. “Not exactly. I foresaw my meeting with Emil only. I didn’t know what would happen next.”
Vika sipped her wine. “And why seek out another Skydancer?”
“I have so many questions, and I don’t believe the Synod is telling me the truth,” Bri said. Still truth—she could do this.
Vika’s mouth made a moue of displeasure. “Of course not. They don’t even know the truth.”
Bri nodded, wide-eyed, looking clueless and full of wonder. She’d established a common enemy, the first tactic of statesmanship. Now for the ask—a show of trust. “I have so many questions. But first, I must know, do you have any news of my companion?”
“The wolf?”
“Yes.” Bri eased off her food, her stomach sizzling with unease as she swallowed the last bite.
“He’s alive.” Vika waved her hand in a careless gesture and plucked a piece of fish from the platter with her fingers.
“Is he unharmed? Will you grant him safe passage through the forest? He will swear the same oath as—”
Vika’s features stilled and turned hard as marble in that eerie way that immortals had. It must take centuries of practice. “It is too late. He has already aggressed. He trampled through my land
s leaving a wake of blood and gore, slaughtering innocent creatures simply for being in his path. When he reaches the edge of my roses, he will meet justice.”
So much for answered prayers. You block-headed wolf!
“Please,” Bri said barely above a whisper. “Please give him a second chance. I’m sure once he meets you, sees that I am well… he’s only trying to get to me.”
Vika shrugged. “We needn’t another beast around, Briana. Emil can meet any needs you may have, and we can have plenty of fun on our own.”
Bri blinked rapidly, not certain if that was the come-on it sounded like. Her insides shrank at the thought of Vika forcing Emil to meet her guest’s needs. Now she understood where Ryder had gotten his twisted idea of the Familiar bond, if this had been his only example. “It’s not like that. I just—”
“They’re such a trial. All their posturing and domineering. It takes centuries to house-train them.” She tipped her glass toward Emil’s silent, obedient form. “And the wolves are the hardest to break.”
Bri took a moment to appear as if she was carefully considering everything Vika’s words while racking her brain for the best countermove. It was too early to try and leverage whatever fondness Vika had for her by being offended. Pleading would make her seem weak. She couldn’t make demands.
She opted for vulnerable but proud, like a submissive wolf showing the pack leader its belly. Extend the trust further. She would tell her whole sad story if she must. “I promise you, he’s usually perfectly reasonable. He is especially rabid right now because…because he’s my Familiar. We just haven’t completed ritual.”
A sharp blade of interest slid across Vika’s gaze like a guillotine. “Really?”
Chapter Nineteen
Lucas?”
It was Bri. He caught her scent, and his eyes shot open. He was still a wolf, pinned on his side to the frozen ground by the vines that had attacked him and dragged him underground. He smelled others as well. Another female and a…bearkin? His snout was muzzled by a coil of thorns. More of them had burrowed into his left eye. He could only see in a narrow arc with his right one.
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