He had not planned to land on the island of Sicily. Nor had he intended to take shelter on the former African coast the previous week. He’d originally planned to sail the fleet close to Blys—to Rome, as it was called on the old maps—but he was learning that weather outranked any general and could make a mockery of even the best-laid plans. If it did not improve, they would have to find some way across the strait and finish the journey on foot—over five hundred miles of hilly terrain in enemy territory.
And this weather showed no sign of improving. It was not merely the cold—a cold that sheathed the ships in ice—but the wind and snow as well. The former came screaming at all hours and from all directions, bending and even snapping masts with the fury of a hurricane. While the snow was less ferocious, it was a constant, unyielding nuisance. Visibility was nonexistent, the entire world a billowing wall of white beneath a dull red pall of sky. Early August in the Mediterranean and they might have been in Antarctica.
At least the tent was warm, thought David. There were braziers and carpets and, while the roof sagged from the snow, it served to insulate it from the cold and wind. Reaching for his coffee, David glanced at a particular sheet of spypaper he kept close by. To his immense delight, ink spots blossomed on the page to form words written in a strong, familiar hand.
Aboard Ormenheid. Fomorian won’t come. Bound for Enlyll. Send operation details when you can. Very sorry to hear about Ms. Richter, but happy they chose you to replace her. You’ll do great. Don’t get a big head.
Max
p.s. The Fomorian told me your “secret.”
If it’s true, I don’t care.
The news about the Fomorian was disappointing but hardly a surprise. Smoothing the parchment, David erased its contents and prepared to compose a reply. As he dipped the pen, a voice sounded from behind him.
“Are you writing in your diary again?”
The amused English accent belonged to one Cynthia Gilley, David’s girlfriend and former classmate. Setting down his pen, he turned to see her round, cheerful face looking deceptively innocent at the table where she was sorting mounds of reports and correspondence.
“I don’t keep a diary,” he insisted. “I keep a journal. The Director is required to. And I’m not writing in my journal but replying to Max. He and Scathach have set sail.”
“To rendezvous with Sarah and Lucia?”
“That’s classified. You’re not even supposed to know what Sarah and Lucia are doing.”
“But I do know what they’re doing. Incidentally, they’re having a lot of fun.”
“Shhh!” said David, eyeing the tent’s entrance. “Wait, how would you know they’re having a lot of fun?”
Cynthia shrugged. “Lucia stole some spypaper before they left. We send each other notes.”
David pursed his lips. “She shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t be doing that. Tell her to destroy it.”
“When has anyone been able to tell Lucia anything?”
David paused. Cynthia had a point. Lucia Cavallo was notoriously strong-willed. Besides, he doubted real harm would come of it. From Sarah’s official reports, it sounded as if the time they’d spent in Enlyll had been predominately social. They’d heard rumors of Elder vyes and potentially seen one leaving Connor’s castle, but there hadn’t been anything resembling an introduction, much less discussions. But if such talks could take place—if Ms. Richter’s files had been accurate—what allies they might be!
While Lucia’s notes to Cynthia were probably harmless, one couldn’t be too careful. The last thing David needed was to be accused of lax security when so many were already critical of his appointment as Director. Some were skeptical that one so young could handle the office. Others found it highly suspicious that he had emerged from Prusias’s attack with the Director’s title and a mysteriously restored hand. Whispers had started and many made their way to him. David Menlo had orchestrated the attack. David Menlo is in league with Prusias. David Menlo is in league with Astaroth!
There would always be critics and conspiracy theorists, he reminded himself. Still, he needed to win people over and manage things intelligently. Now was certainly not the time to reveal he was a cambion. Such news might trigger an outright coup. The Fomorian’s reaction to David’s secret had been a painful, albeit valuable reminder that not everyone would be as accepting as Miss Awolowo, Max, and Cynthia. Someday, David would reveal his true lineage. But first he had a war to win.
“Tell Lucia to tear up the paper,” he sighed. “I hope you haven’t shared anything about the army’s movements or situation.”
“Oh no. We really just talk about Connor.”
“Oh?” said David. “How are he and Lucia getting along?”
Connor Lynch’s obsession with Lucia had been an open secret since their very first year at Rowan. In many ways, they were a perfect match: Lucia enjoyed dismissing her many suitors while Connor relished the chase.
“Mixed,” Cynthia replied. “I think Lucia was expecting to find the same old Connor from Third Year. But he isn’t anymore, is he? He’s a young man, the ruler of a barony, and—if Lucia’s to be believed—a bit of a playboy.”
“Connor’s always been kind of wild,” David reflected. “He mooned a café when we were First Years. Most playboys probably start out mooning cafés.”
Cynthia filed a stack of papers. “Well, he’s moved on from mooning cafés. Now he hosts big parties and spends his days hunting. There are lots of humans on his lands and apparently quite a few girls. Pretty girls. Girls who are more than a little interested in ‘his lordship.’ ”
“Maybe Lucia doesn’t like having competition.”
“Maybe,” said Cynthia, pulling her red hair back in a ponytail. “But Connor certainly led her on in that letter, didn’t he? He made it sound like he’s been pining away for her—and only her. Maybe the letter was just to sneak us a message about the Elder vyes. He didn’t mention he’d found other shoulders to cry on.”
“Is he dating these other girls?”
“Define ‘dating,’ ” said Cynthia dryly.
As a shy and introverted newcomer to these topics, David was quietly amazed by Connor’s life. Dating multiple girls? Did people do such things? Could people do such things? While it was tempting to let his imagination wander, David realized he was on dangerous ground. He affected a look of polite indifference.
“Sounds complicated.”
“Ha!” Cynthia laughed. “You can say that twice. Lucia says if she gets another dirty look from one of Connor’s admirers, she’ll curse the lot into swine. Him too.”
David frowned. “Sarah hasn’t mentioned any of this in her reports.”
“Sarah’s too busy snogging with Markus.”
David put down his pen, inwardly amazed. Sarah Amankwe was a Nigerian classmate whose intelligence, athleticism, and reliability had her on track to be a top Agent. While he knew Lucia would be distracted with Connor, David assumed Sarah would be spending every minute trying to make contact with Elder vyes. Apparently, he’d been wrong. “Who’s Markus?”
“One of the captains in Connor’s trading fleet,” said Cynthia. “But it sounds to me like he spends more time raiding than trading.”
“Sounds like he’s a pirate.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think she’s just having fun. They’re two girls off on an adventure. Right now they’re all excited to attend a médim Connor is hosting in a few weeks. Sounds a little scary to me.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Especially if Connor’s hosting. There are strict rules around médim that govern what’s permitted and what’s not. Violence involving anything except certain rituals is strictly forbidden. It’ll be more like attending a ball where the guests are mostly spirits.”
“Well, now I’m a little jealous,” said Cynthia. “They’ll get to wear fancy dresses and dance with pirates and braymas and spirits. Lucia will wear green, you know. She looks amazing in green. I kind of hate her when she wears green …”
“Me too,” said David, only half listening. He was staring at his spypaper, considering whether to insist that Max and Scathach should travel overland. Ormenheid was a wondrous vessel—an artifact of the true Old Magic—but even she might not be a match for this weather. The image of that small, open craft navigating thirty-foot seas made David queasy. He sent a brief message to that effect, promising more details on their mission but recommending that they seek shelter and travel by land if the weather did not relent.
It was certainly not relenting where he was. Each day, David walked out to stare at the stretch of water separating their impromptu settlement from the mainland. It was not far, a mere afternoon sail in pleasant weather. But the unnatural fury of those seas and wind was shocking. It was everything the aeromancers and Mystics could do to shield the coves where the ships were moored. Rowan had one more stretch of water to cross before they could make landfall and march on Blys. But to protect the fleet during its final dash across this murderous strait would be beyond the aeromancers’ powers. It would be beyond his powers, too. The Archmage might be able to manage it, but he had vanished since destroying Prusias’s monsters. David presumed his grandfather was recovering at Rowan or some other refuge, but his status and whereabouts remained a mystery. No, Elias Bram could not bail them out of this. David reflected on Lord Salisbury’s tale of the Spanish Armada and how it was weather, not Sir Francis Drake, that ultimately proved its doom.
David cursed.
Cynthia looked up from her papers. It was not like David to voice his frustrations, much less with vulgarity. She said nothing, but watched silently as he rose to contemplate a large map of Blys.
“We’re still far from Prusias’s city,” he mused. “If this weather doesn’t ease up, we may have to march five hundred miles up the peninsula. With this weather, we’d be lucky to make two or three miles a day. Very lucky. What’s the latest on food?”
Cynthia consulted a logbook. “According to the original estimate, we have almost a year’s worth on hand, but we’re going through it faster than they’d projected. The weather’s making people sick and some of the livestock have died.”
“How much livestock?”
Cynthia found the latest report from the grooms, hands, and swineherds. Her eyes traveled swiftly down the list.
“Fifty-seven cows, nineteen bulls, one hundred and three sheep, three hundred and forty-one chickens, forty-seven goats …”
“Is that cumulative?” asked David, aghast.
“This week.”
David drummed his fingers on the map while the wind screamed outside. “Napoleon said an army travels on its stomach. We can’t sit here while our supplies dwindle away. This weather will have ruined any crops planted between here and Blys. We could exhaust our stores before we get within sight of Prusias’s city.”
“We do have a lifeline,” Cynthia reminded him. She gestured at a large traveling chest sitting by several boxes.
Despite its humble and even battered appearance, the trunk was David’s most prized creation. While Bram and Mina could teleport, David could not. And while David had created wormholes between his bedroom in Rowan’s Manse and locations around the world, those locations were fixed. The trunk represented his first successful attempt to create a moving wormhole—a portable conduit that connected his bedroom to wherever the trunk happened to be. It was the only reason Cynthia was in this pavilion and not at Rowan, where she had remained to tutor apprentices.
“We could bring food through it,” Cynthia suggested. “We might even bring smaller livestock. The Sanctuary hasn’t been affected by this weather. Crops are growing and—”
She stopped as an Agent from the Bloodstone Circle, an elite cadre of bodyguards, rang a small chime and entered the tent. The man stared at Cynthia.
“I wasn’t aware the Director had company,” he said.
“Agent James, this is Cynthia Gilley, my particular friend,” said David. “You may be seeing her from time to time.”
“Sir, it’s imperative that we screen everyone for your safety.”
David gave a noncommittal grunt and asked what he could do for Agent James. The man glanced uneasily at Cynthia as if the information was highly confidential.
“A visitor has arrived,” he said significantly.
David raised his eyebrows. “A royal visitor?”
“Yes, Director.”
David sat up and assessed his appearance in a mirror. There was only one person this could be. “Give me five minutes,” he said. “Is the visitor corporeal?”
“No, sir. Shadow walking.”
David nodded, his mind racing. He glanced about the tent, wishing that it looked more like a command center and less like the office of an overworked teenager. Demons were painfully hierarchical; it was important to make a good impression.
“Five minutes, and you are not to mention this visitor to anyone, Agent James.”
“The Bloodstone Circle takes confidentiality very seriously,” said the man stiffly. “We even take vows. Perhaps the Director was unaware.”
“Sorry,” said David. “I don’t mean to doubt you, but this meeting is a little delicate. More than a little delicate. Five minutes and please send the visitor in.”
With a bow, the Agent departed. David swiftly escorted Cynthia to the trunk.
“You have to go,” he said, opening its heavy lid. “I’m sorry to kick you out, but this meeting is extremely important.”
“Who is it?” hissed Cynthia, stepping inside the trunk but peering at the tent’s entrance.
“I can’t say. I’m sorry, but I can’t. If things go well, you’ll find out soon enough.”
“All right, all right,” she grumbled. As Cynthia was much taller than David, she bent down to kiss him. “Good luck. Write me!”
She disappeared into the trunk as though descending a flight of steep wooden steps. When David closed and locked it, a sliver of golden light peeped through the keyhole. Cynthia would already be back at Rowan, sitting on David’s sleigh bed and battling the nausea that usually followed teleportation.
With an absent wave of his hand, David straightened up the tent—covering maps and papers, rearranging furniture, and dimming several lamps in deference to a guest who might prefer darkness. Dipping his hands in a basin, David quickly washed his face, smoothed his hair, and glanced at himself in the mirror.
You’ll be fine.
A second later, Agent James announced his visitor.
“Queen Lilith, ruler of Zenuvia.”
The demoness glided in, a translucent ghostlike lady in a long gown of deep red silk. She was one of the oldest demons on Earth with roots that went back farther than Babylon. Rumors and myth clung to her like cobwebs. Some insisted she had been the wife of Adam. Others claimed she was a fallen goddess, a mother of demons and vampires that dined on lost or naughty children. David paid little heed to such rumors—the older a spirit was, the more their name was intertwined with history and legends, real or imagined. In any case, the rumors associated with Lilith had little bearing on this meeting. For David’s purposes, she was simply an important chess piece—a ruler who had once served Astaroth, had no wish to serve Prusias, and controlled most of what had been Asia.
Even while in Nether, the Queen of Zenuvia exuded a regal and formidable presence. She was far taller than David and exquisitely beautiful. Her face had a languorous, ageless quality with large, almond eyes and lips that were as dark as wine against an olive complexion. Her black hair twined and curled like garden creepers, tumbling down from a slender golden tiara marked with her sigil—a crescent moon entwined with a sprig of hemlock. She stopped to stare at David, her gaze lingering on his restored right hand. David bowed deeply.
“Greetings, Queen Lilith,” he said. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
She gave an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. Her voice was soft and measured, its accent Middle Eastern. “I have not seen you since Walpurgisnacht. You are changed, David Menlo.”
“I am,” he said. “So is the world.”
“You are whole,” she observed wryly. “Only Astaroth could have restored your hand to you. You have seen him, then.”
David nodded. There was no point denying it.
“Where is he?” she asked, a malicious gleam in her dark eyes.
“I don’t know. I encountered him unexpectedly in Nether. If anything, the Demon is unpredictable.”
The queen’s lip curled. “That one is no true demon. He fooled us.”
“He’s fooled everyone.”
Lilith nodded and walked slowly about the pavilion. “So, what is it Rowan wishes to offer me?”
“An alliance against Prusias, naturally.”
A smile played about the corners of Lilith’s mouth. “Rowan wishes to make pacts with daemona? The world has changed indeed.”
“War makes strange bedfellows.”
“That it does,” she replied. “But my lands are not at war.”
“Not yet,” said David. “But if Rowan is defeated, it’s only a matter of time before Prusias turns his attention to Zenuvia.”
Lilith shrugged. “Zenuvia is far and Zenuvia is strong. And the more Prusias comes to rely upon the Workshop, the more he disgusts his own braymas. If he declares war on my kingdom, many of his followers will abandon him. Prusias does not worry me.”
“If Prusias does not worry you, why have you come?”
The demoness studied David as though he were a noteworthy painting. “Curiosity. Not many mortals could fool Astaroth. And I knew your grandfather of old. He summoned me once upon a time. I wished to see what his kin was like—particularly as he now speaks for Rowan. And I have missed seeing the Old Magic among humans. They were always the most interesting.”
“And I thought only Prusias was interested in humans.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Lilith, resuming her perusal of the pavilion. “Most daemona are interested in humans. After all, mankind can summon us. It is the price we pay for lingering in this world. Humans may only be mortal, but they hold great power over us. If goldfish could summon you, would you be interested in them?”
David ignored the barb. “What if you could have a lasting peace with humans? No more summoning. No more war. You have your realm and humans have theirs.”
“I already have my realm.”
“For now.”
“Is that a threat, David Menlo?” she asked coolly.
“No,” said David firmly. “Rowan wants a sustainable peace. But peace will be impossible while Prusias rules Blys. If he’s defeated, we have an opportunity to negotiate new rules to govern the relationship between humans, daemona, and other beings.”
The demoness looked bored. “Rowan already signed a treaty with Astaroth. A treaty Rowan violated.”
“That was entirely my doing,” said David plainly. “That treaty’s provisions were intended solely to isolate and humiliate Rowan. What I’m talking about is different. The agreement I envision is to lay the foundation for a new age. It’s to be a partnership among equals.”
Now Lilith looked amused. “But you’re not our equals. We’re immortal; you are not. Even the greatest mehrùn die within a few centuries. Humans will never again rule this world as they once did.”
David nodded. “I’m aware of that. But the pendulum is not going to swing as far as you might believe. Don’t underestimate mankind. While it’s true that humans live and die, they also evolve and adapt. We’ve entered a new age, one in which Old Magic has reawakened. There will be more mehrùn than ever before, and they will be more powerful than those that exist today.”
“Perhaps we should hunt all mehrùn down before they become a threat.”
“Over half are born to nonmagical parents,” said David. “Killing mehrùn won’t stamp out magic among humans.”
“All humans, then. We can simply exterminate you.”
David shrugged. “Then there will be war. But let’s be honest. If that’s what demons wanted and it was easy to accomplish, it would have been done. Astaroth thought he was invincible and was exposed before his entire court. Prusias thought Rowan was ripe for conquest and learned a painful lesson. Humans are stronger than daemona likes to pretend.”
“That may be true,” said Lilith. “But mankind’s greatest army is huddled on a frozen shore. I have doubts you will even reach Prusias much less defeat him. If I support Rowan, I will anger many demons only to join the side most likely to lose. An alliance with Prusias would make more sense.”
“And what would that gain you?” asked David. “You know perfectly well Prusias will turn upon you when it’s convenient. In the meantime, he’ll make outlandish promises. I’m sure he already has. I’ll even venture a guess … the Americas?”
Lilith said nothing.
“Of course he did,” David chuckled. “The Americas have a thousand independent rulers that bow to no one. Prusias is more than happy to offer you a theoretical title to something he doesn’t control. What he really wants is for you to stay out of his war and consolidate those territories on his behalf. Once you have, he’ll secretly sponsor uprisings against you, force you to exhaust your resources suppressing them, and snap up everything once you’re spread too thin. You’ll have done his dirty work in the Americas and given him the keys to Zenuvia, too.”
The queen frowned as though David’s analysis echoed her own misgivings. Still, she remained unmoved.
“Neutrality also has its benefits,” she observed. “One can see how things unfold while the value of one’s allegiance increases. What will Rowan give Zenuvia for its aid at the decisive moment? What will Prusias? Yes, I think perhaps neutrality is best.”
David looked hard at the demoness, her ghostly form shimmering in the dim pavilion. “You don’t have to join with us, but can you promise Zenuvia won’t sign a pact with Prusias?”
“No,” said Lilith. “But I will say that I have not yet done so. I will wait and watch. If the time comes when an alliance with Rowan might serve my interests, you will hear from me. As a token of good faith, I leave you with something to ponder.”
“And what is that?” asked David.
The queen bent to study an onyx rook on an antique chessboard. “Why has Yuga never attacked Prusias’s capital? It’s curious, is it not? Yuga is supposed to be a mindless terror, a monster that hungers for all life, but she’s never approached the world’s most populous city when it’s practically on her doorstep.”
The observation’s implications floored David, who was privately furious for not making it himself. Why hadn’t Yuga gravitated toward Prusias’s capital? Was she truly mindless? Did Prusias have some means of controlling her?
“Interesting question,” he confessed. “I don’t suppose you know the answer?”
“If I did, I certainly wouldn’t give it away,” she replied. With a bow, the demoness glided toward the door. “Farewell, Director. If you don’t freeze to death on this little island, perhaps we’ll meet again.”
Lilith departed, slipping through the tent. Would she go directly to Blys and bargain with Prusias? Probably. Lilith would always do what was best for Lilith. Still, her thoughts about Yuga were profoundly interesting. Would Prusias’s imp help them? He had before—Mr. Bonn had warned David when Prusias intended to attack Mina and the other children at Max’s farmhouse. David couldn’t summon Mr. Bonn against his will, of course (an imp’s bond to his master precluded outside interference), but perhaps they could get a message to him.
A tiny grasshopper landed on David’s desk and began rubbing its forelegs together. David glanced at it, curious how it could survive in such cold. He brushed it off the paper so that it hopped onto a lamp and then onto the enchanted trunk. It peered inside the keyhole as though it sensed something unusual about it. David cocked his head.
“Hello, Grandfather. How long have you been listening?”