by Rosalyn Eves
“Hungary is my home. I cannot see her overrun and do nothing.”
“You might be killed.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Says the woman who is going to Austria, where there is a price on her head.” The smile faded. “I might die whether I choose to fight or not—and I would prefer an active death. I would prefer to try.”
I knew that. It was one of the things I loved about him. Only…“I don’t want to lose you again,” I said, so softly the words seemed to evaporate in the air.
But he caught them anyway. “Would you want me to go with you, knowing that I contribute little to your search, knowing that my duty and my heart dictate I should be elsewhere?”
I stared at him, fumbling for words. Like a soldier asked to breach a wall with his bare hands, I was cowed by his question, by the immensity of things left unsaid behind it. Much as I wanted him to come with us, I knew I could not ask it of him. His duty was the one barrier I had never—and did not ever hope to—overcome. I might dismiss our social differences and our families’ disapproval as flimsy obstacles. But against his duty, his burnished honor, his pride—I might break myself against those shining walls.
Better to bend than break.
“Of course you should follow your conscience.” My voice shrank. I was not good at these conversations. I did not know how to make myself vulnerable, to say what was in my heart without being ridiculous. I love you, I wanted to say. But I could not bring myself to speak the words without some guarantee they would be returned. “I…will miss you.”
“And I, you.” Gábor dropped his gaze and dug through a satchel hanging at his side. He plucked out a fistful of papers. “I’ve brought something for you.” He handed two of the pages to me. At the top of one was written “To”; at the top of the other, “From.”
“It’s a gift. A small magic. An Elementalist in Pest helped me make them. Whatever is written on the ‘to’ sheet will appear on my ‘from’ sheet.” He held up his other hand, showing two identical papers. “And anything I write on my ‘to’ page will appear on your ‘from.’ ” He tapped the paper I was holding. “The words will remain until you say ‘Változz át üres lappá!’ Then they will vanish.” He paused, the crooked line of his brows uncertain. “That is, if you want the pages.”
His diffidence touched me. Perhaps I was not the only one fumbling for the right words to draw us together. “I do. I do want them.” Such magic could not have come cheap. What had Gábor given up for these pages? For me? To have had these made on short notice and at such expense meant he did not want to lose me any more than I wanted to lose him. Paper and ink might make for a frail connection, but the sacrifice behind the pages spoke of something deeper.
He tucked his papers back in the satchel, then cupped my chin in his hand. My pulse pounded beneath his thumb. “I need you to know this: I am not staying because I do not care about you or Noémi. If this were just about me and what I want, I should not hesitate to come with you. But this war is not what I want.”
He took a long breath. “I do not know what our future will look like if we survive the war. I only know that I am tired of trying not to be with you.”
My heart thrummed unevenly. Our future. “We don’t have to know the future yet. We just have to want the same thing.” Feeling greatly daring, I dipped my chin so that my lips brushed a kiss against his palm.
As though that were an invitation, Gábor slid his hand around my neck to cradle the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my short hair and setting his mouth to mine.
His lips were soft and warm, and in the gathering darkness I melted into him, putting everything I could not say into my kiss. I love you. Be safe.
Kissing him felt like a greeting, a farewell, and a benediction all pressed together. And though we lingered in that alley as long as we dared, it was not enough time.
By morning, I was gone.
I let the memory fade from me. It held a peculiarly pleasant pain—I could not remember that moment without being buoyed by Gábor’s promise…and also weighted down by the distance between us, the uncertainties haunting us. My aching heart merged with the ache in my shoulder, and I sat up to rub at my collarbone.
A light flickered from the trees where Zhivka stood. Probably the samodiva was playing with fire again. At least Mátyás was too deeply asleep to be moved by it. I watched the light, the long-short-long-long of it, as though it were a pattern, a language I could almost grasp. Then the flame winked out.
A moment later, footsteps fell across the grass: Zhivka returning to the camp. Her gaze lit on me, and she stiffened imperceptibly, as though I had surprised her. Then she laughed softly. “Good. You’re up. I thought I should have to wake you, and I detest pulling people from pleasant dreams. It feels cruel, like eating the last piece of dessert before one of my sisters has had her share.”
I didn’t like standing watch and knew that Mátyás sometimes took a longer-than-fair-share to spare me when he could. I didn’t like the way the darkness came alive with noises: every cracking branch sounded like a threat to me. I didn’t like the way the night made me feel smaller than I already was, or the way even a knife in my hands felt flimsy. But Zhivka was waiting, the smile on her lips deepening into a smirk, as though she guessed at my thoughts. I pulled my boots on, hauled myself to my feet, and walked into the dark alone.
I passed an uneventful watch, punctuated by a handful of unidentified noises that sent fear spiking through my body, rendering me momentarily extra-alert until the stillness lulled me once more.
Dawn crept into the valley little by little, a broth of warm gold light filling the stone basin. Somehow the mountains looked even more daunting that morning, with steep blue shadows carved out on the bald grey stone. Hardy evergreens clung to the lower slopes.
Zhivka and the lidérc set off just after breakfast. We watched them climb the mountain, their progress slow and careful as they zigzagged their way across the rough terrain. They were not particularly worried about being seen, as any human who spotted them from the valley floor would mistake them for climbing enthusiasts, and any praetheria would assume they were seeking shelter. Only when their shapes had diminished to tiny specks did I turn away.
I helped Bahadır brush the horses until their coats gleamed, then reread Gábor’s latest letter. He wrote mostly of outside news and little of what I really cared about—Gábor himself. He glossed over the fact that he had joined Kossuth’s army and had been sent to fight invading Serbs along Hungary’s southern border, describing instead how martial law had been declared in Hungary following the murder of some count sent to bring order to the resistant government. The glossing frustrated me: did he think I would worry less if I knew less of the dangers he faced? I could invent more than enough worries to fill his gaps; I’d rather he wrote too much than too little.
I pulled out the paper Gábor had given me and a pen to answer him, but found I had nothing to say. Voicing my fears that he might be injured or killed in a skirmish would scarcely help him, and most of my attention was fixed on the mountain, my thoughts trailing the two women who would return to tell us if we had found Noémi or only chased a rumor. I put the pen away, then tapped Gábor’s letter and whispered the phrase that would make the words vanish: “Változz át üres lappá!”
I had not yet grown familiar with the way the words disappeared from the page, as though they had never existed, as though whatever history they hinted at was only as substantial as a dream. The blank page staring back at me seemed suddenly a terrible omen, and I slid the paper into my bag, where I could not look at it.
Then I waited.
My time in society had not made me any more patient with long hours and little to do, and I paced in frustration. Bahadır slipped away once, then twice, to make his prayers in private. Mátyás fingered a small cross at his neck and tossed a pair of dice on the ground, and then
he too disappeared: a crow shaking inky wings against the sky.
The sun scoured along the valley, heat rising from the rocks in waves.
Then Mátyás-as-crow fluttered down before us, and Mátyás-as-human scrambled back into his clothes, exclaiming, “They’re coming!” When I looked back at the mountain, I could see them: two spots clambering over the rocks, growing rapidly larger.
Zhivka struggled for breath as they approached; the lidérc seemed unmoved by the climb up and down the mountain, a fact that clearly annoyed Zhivka, as she would not look at the lidérc.
“The praetheria are here,” Zhivka said, then drew a deep breath.
“And Noémi?” Mátyás asked.
“Patience, my child,” the lidérc said, her pointed teeth showing through her grin. “Can’t you see Zhivka is winded?”
“I am not”—Zhivka took another breath—“winded. Your sister is there. In a small opening off the main branch of the cavern. There is a guard by her room, but only one.”
“Did anyone mark your searching?” Bahadır asked.
“A few creatures saw us, but no one paid us particular attention.” Zhivka waved her hand dismissively, her breath evening out. “There were other praetheria coming and going as we approached the entrance, and it seemed clear they are used to newcomers seeking refuge.”
A slight frown creased the lidérc’s forehead as she said, “There were glamours across the cave.”
“They’re nothing,” Zhivka said. “Only glamours to hide the cave from climbers. You needn’t mind them.”
“Did you see anything of Hunger or Vasilisa?” I asked.
“No,” the lidérc said.
I let out a slow breath, the worst of my fears alleviated. Now we had only to retrieve Noémi.
“Good.” Mátyás squinted up the mountain, thinking. “Can you climb again, or do you need rest?”
The lidérc shrugged, but Zhivka insisted on both food and drink before she was willing to brave the mountain again. I fretted at the delay. Now that I knew for certain where Noémi was, my body itched with inaction. But it was not long before Zhivka finished.
As we began walking toward the mountain, Zhivka turned to Bahadır. “Are you not coming? How convenient—to always stay behind when there might be danger. I thought you said you were not afraid.”
“Zhivka…,” Mátyás warned.
Bahadır’s eyes flashed. “I am not frightened. My faith forbids the practice of magic, and as I will not be shifted or glamoured through magic, I should only endanger your mission. I offered to stay with the horses, to be ready when you return with Noémi.”
“I’m sorry,” Zhivka said, threading a bit of fire across her knuckles, then collecting the flame in a ball on her palm and holding it toward Bahadır as a peace offering. “I didn’t know, or I would not have teased you so. It can be lonely to live a faith not shared by those around you.”
Bahadır nodded at her, accepting the apology, and we set off. Mátyás shifted once more into his crow form and launched into the air, swooping lazy circles over our heads while Zhivka cursed him halfheartedly. I stayed close to the lidérc, whose glamour covered both of us with shadows that would turn away unwanted attention. Mátyás offered to shift me as well, but I thought he might need to conserve the extra power, and I had no desire to emerge, naked, in the caverns after he shifted me back. Once in the caves, Zhivka would set a small fire to distract the guard while the lidérc and I freed Noémi, with Mátyás keeping watch overhead. Then we’d flee, Noémi and I beneath the lidérc’s glamour and Mátyás on wing.
I had not done much climbing—certainly not anything of this magnitude, at this height. For some time, I focused only on my footing, searching out flat ground and stable rocks. Even as my legs burned with the unaccustomed exercise and the air seared my lungs, I refused to stop and rest, to avoid slowing the others. As it was, I sensed the lidérc restraining her pace, for my sake. The faint prickle of her glamour on my skin set my shoulders twitching, but I tried to ignore it. This was not a spell I wanted to break.
Before long, sweat was running down my face and wetting the back of my shirt and the waistband of my trousers. Thank heavens Gábor could not see me like this—and thank God for boys’ clothing. A dress would have made the miserable climb unbearable.
We stopped a couple hours into our climb to finish a loaf of bread, and Zhivka passed around a water jug. I drank deep, the brackish water somehow sweet after my exertion. The landscape spread out in a panorama I had only seen in paintings. The mountains stretched as far as I could see in a bluish haze across the horizon, the nearer peaks crisp and grey-green, the valleys full of shadow and mystery.
It was late afternoon when we reached the rounded mouth of the cave. I could not see the opening at first; it was only when I followed Zhivka and the lidérc through what appeared to be sheer rock that my vision shifted and the dim entrance of the cave materialized. The glamour. I could feel the faint spell prickling across my skin, an almost imperceptible weight laid across the lidérc’s own glamour. If it made me uncomfortable, well, I had borne worse. I followed the praetherian women into the gloom.
It was much cooler inside the mountain than it had been on the trail outside, and at first I welcomed the bracing air. But as we walked farther into the darkness, the sweat cooled on my skin and I began to wish I had brought something warmer than my light dolman. Zhivka kindled a small flame in her hand—enough light that we would not stumble. I swayed toward her, craving the warmth of the flame, before remembering I needed to stay close to the lidérc for her glamour to work.
The path dipped at a steep angle, and we scrambled downward, sometimes sliding on our backsides. A sharp rock scraped against me, and I winced, both at the unexpected pain and at the suspicion that I might have torn my trousers. Rocks clattered down the chamber before us, heralding our arrival, and I could only pray that the dull roar of voices from the cavern ahead covered the noise. Mátyás was a muted flutter in the darkness above us.
I accidentally dislodged a large rock and sent it tumbling down the path before me, making me jump. The lidérc huffed a laugh.
“You’re in no danger, nyuszikám.”
“I am not your little rabbit.”
“But you jump like one.” She smiled sweetly at me.
As the long, snaking chamber flattened out, Zhivka let her light fade. This new space had its own light: small glowing globes hung at intervals along the walls. A few figures moved about, their voices echoing across the cavern.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the rock-and-water scent of the caves, bracing for the moment when someone would see us. But no one did: the lidérc’s glamour held.
We edged into the larger room, Zhivka and the lidérc walking casually along one wall. There was nothing about them or their movements to raise suspicion. Mátyás flew near the roof overhead, dodging stalactites and hiding in the shadows. I trailed as close as I dared to the lidérc.
This room was colder than the opening, and I rubbed at the gooseflesh on my arms. There was something off about the room, something that set my skin puckering beyond the chill. It’s just nerves, I told myself.
Zhivka had said Noémi was being kept in a small chamber branching off the left side of this main room, and now she led us toward the branch. I tried to keep alert, to sweep my eyes across the entire room, but as we drew closer, my eyes fixed, magnetlike, on the spot where I should soon see my cousin.
I thought I caught a glimmer of gold—her hair?—when a short, stout creature with knobbled skin and a long, pointed sword broke away from the rock wall. He had not seen us yet, but I drew in my breath. This was Zhivka’s cue to light her fire and our cue to dart around the guard and rescue Noémi.
But Zhivka froze, her hands at her side, and I realized—too late—what had bothered me about the room. The pressed-down weight of the lidérc’s glam
our had grown inside the cavern, and when I focused my chimera sense on it, I felt not just the prickle of her glamour but the bone-deep buzz of a massive spell. This was not a simple glamour to hide the entrance of the cave from uncaring eyes.
“Lidérc,” I whispered. “There’s a spell here. Can you see it?”
Zhivka must have heard me, because she shook her head, pressing her finger against her lips to signal silence. “It’s nothing. Only the spells to power the lights around the room.”
But the lidérc was frowning now. “An illusion—too dense for me to see through, but cunningly crafted to deflect attention from its existence, or I’d have marked it before.”
Misgiving roiled my stomach. My second chimera soul was agitated now, swirling inside me. It would take only a small gesture to reach out and grasp the spell, to pull it to me and twist it. But we had not been noticed yet: if I broke a massive illusion, we’d surely be spotted.
The guard turned and raised his sword toward Zhivka in challenge. He said something in a language I did not know, and Zhivka answered.
“Anna,” the lidérc said, her voice fierce and low, “break the spell.”
Alarm bells jangled in my head, and I reacted, plucking a thread of the illusion and snapping it. I did not see, at first, what had happened, but the lidérc hissed in shock, and I stumbled back, catching myself against the stone wall with my hand.
I snatched my hand away, gasping with pain. My fingers were burning, but not with heat—with ice. The cavern around us had transformed, ice carpeting the floor, great thick swells of it swooping from floor to ceiling, a giant wave turned perpetually still. As the illusion dropped, so did the temperature of the cave, bitter air singing through me.
Why would the praetheria bother to hide the icy nature of the cave?
A spell still buzzed about me—there was more to this illusion. The guard had spotted the lidérc now. He sprang forward, neatly evading the flame Zhivka had finally kindled in her hands. I reached for the spell again, shearing through its heart.
