Nineteen

This is what it feels like to die.

The furtive thought slid through Mars’s mind as he came back to consciousness, going from an empty, black void to the brightness of life in an instant. He felt as if he’d been erased only to be redrawn. Opening his eyes, he drew a shallow breath that took a monumental amount of effort, like scaling a cliff made of sand.

He was lying in a bed in an unfamiliar room, shirtless, his arms bare. The absence of his cuffs sent a shock through him, and he sat up. His head lurched at the sudden movement, his vision blurring as an ache surged through his body. He collapsed back onto the pillows with a groan.

“I would advise not moving. You were basically dead a few hours ago.”

Carefully Mars turned his head toward the speaker, his gaze falling on Katrìn seated in a chair in the corner of the room, an embroidery wheel in her lap. This was Katrìn’s room, he realized, recognizing the mirror across the way.

Her gaze fixed on his, her expression inscrutable. “I don’t suppose anyone’s ever told you it’s unwise to give the Rift so much blood.”

“Where is Fura?” All at once the memory had come to him—Fura, with blood on her lips and death in her eyes.

Katrìn’s expression softened. “She’s fine. Thanks to you.”

Mars swallowed and shifted on the bed, turning his wrists down to hide the scars. But there was no hiding the truth. A thick bandage covered half his arm, the wounds beneath a dull throb. Any relief he felt at hearing that Fura had survived vanished at the realization that his secret was well and truly exposed. There was no lying his way out of it now.

“You, however,” Katrìn continued, “are only fine because of me. That makes us even now. Two adepts, both with much to lose if anyone else discovers our secret.”

Mars closed his eyes, an unfamiliar flush of shame washing over him. He would’ve betrayed her to save himself. And yet she had saved him.

He heard the sound of footsteps and opened his eyes to see that Katrìn had risen from her chair and crossed the room to the bed. She stood peering down at him with hands on hips. “Would you really have done it?”

Mars stared back at her, hearing all the unspoken questions that came with it—How could you? You, who were also a hidden adept, who knew what it would mean, what it would cost?

He answered as truthfully as he could. “I didn’t want to. But you must understand that I have my reasons for wanting the formula—for needing it—and they have nothing to do with money.”

“And what are those reasons?” Katrìn folded her arms, waiting for his explanation.

Mars turned his head, trying to avoid her gaze. He couldn’t tell her. He didn’t want to tell her. Not when doing so might require him to speak of Orri. Besides, his reasons no longer mattered, now that his secret had been exposed. There was no taking it back, not without killing both of them. The thought turned his stomach.

“Has Fura gone to tell her mother about me, then?” he said, barely able to get the words out.

“Not yet.”

Mars considered this, wondering if maybe this wasn’t the end. He still knew Katrìn’s secret, after all. That was a currency that could be spent in this game. That is, if Elìn or one of the other kiths even believed him. He couldn’t be certain anymore. It was one thing to be a mercenary, low in the social hierarchy, but quite another to be an adept, lowest of all—and yet most highly coveted as well.

Only, even as he thought it, he understood the truth. No one would believe him over Fura. If he played that card, the game was over.

Accepting defeat, Mars eased his way into a sitting position, managing to hold in a groan at the pain. He felt like one of Una’s once dead ravens. “What’s she waiting for, then?”

Katrìn dropped her arms to her sides, smoothing out her skirts. “That depends on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Fura will want to know you’re awake.”

Mars sat motionless on the bed after she departed. His instincts told him to flee. That was his only option. He could do it, too. He knew the way through the mirror. But even as he considered it, his stomach flipped over. He wasn’t ready to channel more magic now, not even the trickle needed to pass through the portal. Even if he was willing to attempt it, he wasn’t sure he could make it across the room under his own power. He truly had almost died. The magic had almost taken everything from him. For the first time in his life, he fully understood what was meant by lifeblood, by what was known as kull. The terror of it made his stomach churn. Yet it was nothing compared to the fear that had gone through him as he watched Fura slipping away.

Despite his perilous position, a swell of relief came over him when Fura appeared in the doorway. She looked pale, dulled around the edges, but alive. He wondered if she knew just how lucky she’d been to survive a hoar poisoning.

Fura stepped toward the bed, her cold expression sending gooseflesh prickling down his arms. She cleared her throat, the sound rough as a mill grinder. “Katrìn tells me you’re lucky to have survived the magic you worked on me.”

Mars cringed at the rasp in her voice, hoping it wouldn’t be permanent. He nodded.

“Why did you do it?”

He considered his response carefully, wondering what she was after and what might give him the best advantage in whatever she was planning next. “The poison you were given is known as hoar. Have you ever heard of it?”

Fura raised a hand to her throat. “Yes.”

“Then you know that it is completely merciless. It acts quickly, and there is no antidote. The Rift was the only way to save you.”

Fura lowered her head. “That is not an answer to my question. Why bother saving me at all?”

Resisting the urge to squirm beneath her gaze, Mars rolled his eyes. “Keeping you safe—and alive—is what I’m getting paid for.”

“No, it’s not.” A glare heated Fura’s gaze. “You made it perfectly clear that your true purpose in being here is the Primer. So why do it? Why risk your own life just to save mine?”

Mars searched for an answer that would satisfy her, but was unable to find one. An old Rivna proverb sounded in his mind: The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves. His temper snapped at the impossible position he found himself in.

“I did it because I had to, all right? I . . . I couldn’t let you die when I could stop it. I—” Mars broke off, sinking deeper into the pillows. In truth, he didn’t know why he’d done it. He hadn’t given it any thought. There’d been no hesitation. It was simply something he’d had to do.

Fura said nothing. She only stared down at him, as if she could see something she was choosing not to speak of.

Mars shifted once more on the bed, wishing he had the strength to stand. He didn’t like facing her like this—weakened and on his back. “So,” he said, unable to take her silence any longer. “What happens now? Do you turn me in to your mother?’

Fura folded her hands in front of her. “It’s what I should do. What my instinct at first told me to do, but . . . you saved my life. And according to Rivna, a life saved is a life earned. I will not turn you in.”

Mars hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until the sweet burst of air suddenly filled his lungs at her words. Never before had he been so thankful for Rivna.

“But at the same turn, you must promise not to reveal the truth about Katrìn, either.”

“I understand.” Mars touched a hand to his wounded arm. Katrìn had saved his life. He wouldn’t repay her with such a betrayal. “Well, what happens now?” He still needed the Primer, needed a way out. Nothing had changed that.

Fura knew it, too. “We are at an impasse there as well, I’m afraid. You still want the Primer formula, but I can’t just give it to you.”

Mars had expected no less. “Again, what happens now?”

“You could give up.” She smiled as she said it, as if knowing the suggestion was absurd. “Except you’re a mercenary and the code you follow means you must do what you’re paid to do until the end.”

Her words surprised him. Not because they were true, but because she seemed so accepting of them, accepting of him. She knows what you are and yet here she is, treating you like a person, not some monster to run away from, the old voice said.

“You’re not wrong.”

Fura cocked her head, her gaze penetrating once more, seeing deep inside him. “Katrìn told me you want the formula for something other than money.”

Mars slowly nodded, but as with Katrìn, he couldn’t bring himself to say more.

Fura reached out a hand to touch the bandages on his arm, her fingers warm and gentle through the gauze. “Tell me why you need it so badly. Maybe I can help.”

A bitter laugh escaped his throat. “You won’t understand. It’s dishonorable business, after all.” A bitter memory of their first meeting rose in his mind, how she had regarded him as something less than human.

Frowning, Fura withdrew her hand. “That may be, but since meeting you, I’ve come to realize I can’t just ignore such business, either. I must learn to face it, maybe even work within its rules.”

His jaw slid open. “Never in a million years would I have thought you’d say such a thing.”

“I know.” She grimaced. “Only, it’s not just about your life as a mercenary. I may not understand that very much, but I know what it’s like to live as a secret adept. I’ve lived it with Katrìn. I’ve watched adepts beaten and tortured and treated like chattel. And I’ve known the fear of how just one mistake, one careless moment, would seal Katrìn’s fate, too.”

Maybe she would understand, Mars realized. He weighed his options, feeling something break apart inside him, like a wall standing on a compromised foundation. He still needed a way free from Una, but maybe there was more than one way to get there. Maybe there was some alternative to the formula. He would never know unless he was brave enough to try.

“Very well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I need the formula because it is the only way I can get free of my employer.”

“You no longer wish to be a mercenary?” Fura raised a hand to her mouth as if she found the notion incredulous.

“For some time now I’ve been trying to escape her, to escape Riven. As you said, I live in constant fear of discovery. But getting free of a life like mine is not so easily done.” Drawing a breath, he told Fura of the ten months he’d spent working the docks, only to have Una reel him back, forcing him into taking this contract.

“If it’s just about the money,” Fura said, “I can help with that. Once the Primer—”

“It’s not just the money. If I try to leave, if I betray her in any way, she’ll kill me. She has a vial of my blood stored in an ampoule made into an artifact. All she need do is break it, and that’ll be the end of me.”

Fura picked up the end of her braid and began fiddling with it, looking lost in thought. Mars left her to it, content to lie still and quiet. He felt as if he’d aged a hundred years in a single night.

Finally, she dropped the braid, coming back to the present from whatever path her thoughts had taken her down. “There might be a way we can help each other. Katrìn and I need to get to Skarfell.”

Mars gaped. “Why would you ever want to go there?”

“Have you learned yet what the Primer does?”

“No.” He leaned forward, tense at the possibility that he might finally learn that now.

Fura hesitated, still uncertain of him. But at the same time, he was fully in it, now that he knew the truth about Katrìn.

“The Primer destroys Ice.”

Mars rolled his eyes at the preposterous notion. Ice couldn’t be destroyed—it could only be used and used, the resource forever renewing. “There’s no point in lying to me this deep into the game.”

Fura placed her hands on her hips. “I’m not lying. It destroys Ice permanently. Used directly on a mine, it even keeps Ice from growing back.”

He gaped at her again, making no effort to hide his disbelief.

“Do you recall the sabotage in the Skorris’ Ice well my mother told you about?”

“Yes, of course.” But even as he said it, he made the connection. “That was the Primer?”

Fura nodded. “Like any good scientist, my father needed to test his experiment. But he knew better than to try it on our mine, for fear of my mother finding out. Needless to say, she would not have approved of an invention capable of destroying Ice.”

“No kidding.” Despite how droll he sounded, Mars was reeling inside at this news. He’d known the Primer was valuable. But this? The kiths would do anything to possess such power—both to wield it themselves and to keep others from wielding it against them. There was no price too high to possess the Primer. And it wasn’t just the kiths, either. Una, too, would do anything to have such a weapon. With it, she could control all the kiths—keeping their power in check with the knowledge that she alone could ruin them. For the first time, it occurred to Mars that maybe there wasn’t a second client on this contract at all. Maybe it had been Una all along. If indeed she knew what it did.

His pulse quickened. Either way, it didn’t matter. His freedom would be a small price for her to pay. He fixed his gaze on Fura, the one obstacle that remained in his way. “What does this have to do with going to Skarfell?”

“The Primer requires a final ingredient that can only be found there. The version my father used in the Skorri mine was unstable. Dangerous. This ingredient should resolve that.”

“Should?”

She shrugged. “There’s always a measure of uncertainty in experimentation.”

Mars shifted his weight on the bed, his neck starting to ache from the press of the pillows behind his head. “All right, but why do you need to make the Primer?”

Fura hesitated half a moment, her gaze flitting about the room. “I need to prove that it works. If I can convince the Helm that Ice can be eradicated completely—and safely—we can end the suffering of thousands.”

Mars sighed, dismayed by her continued naivete. “They will never agree to it, Fura, no matter what you show them. The kiths fill the helmsmen’s purses with money made from the very Ice you wish to destroy.”

Her expression hardened, and she folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not interested in your political opinions, Halfur. Only in your magic.”

Mars flinched, stung by her words. I am only ever as good as what I can do, he thought—then banished the notion. There was no time for self-pity. Not with so much on the line. “So what do you want from me, then?”

If she noticed the resentment in his tone, it didn’t show on her face, which remained as hardened as before. “The Primer requires an ingredient that can only be found at Skarfell, as I said. My father had a secret laboratory there. It’s where he did most of his work.”

“How, though, when the way there is impassable?” Mars said, even though he had already guessed the answer. But to admit it now would be to admit what he’d done and jeopardize his chances of getting the formula.

“Like you and Katrìn, my father was also a secret adept.”

Mars closed his eyes, taking a moment to clear his head of the memories that had come rushing in at speaking of her father so openly. “Did your mother know?” he asked a moment later.

Fura surprised him with a nod. “She knew about his ability to channel Rift magic, a fact she used to her advantage for years. She had no knowledge of the Primer, though. By the time my father started working on that, their marriage had gone cold. To put it mildly. They loved each other, but neither could see past the other’s politics.”

Mars tried to wrap his mind around this, but failed. “How could your mother have married a secret adept and yet still keep enthralled adepts in her household?”

Fura sighed. “My mother is . . . a complicated woman. She has many flaws.”

“That’s an understatement. She keeps your house adepts addicted to dust. From where I stand, that makes her a power-hungry monster.”

“Perhaps. But she was born into this way of life same as I was. Same as you were born into the life you lead.” Fura uncrossed her arms, holding them rigid against her sides. “She has done terrible things, things I can never forgive. But I believe she can change. With the right motivation.”

Mars opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. What did he know of mothers, or the complicated love between them and their children? “Very well. You need to get to Skarfell. Where do I come in?”

“My father created an artifact designed to allow him to cross the Mistgrave unharmed. But it requires a constant sacrifice, and the journey is three days on foot. One adept cannot do it alone. We need two, minimum.”

“How did your father manage it, then?” Mars paused, then sucked in a breath. “Did he know about Katrìn?”

“Yes, although she never went to Skarfell with him. He had two friends, colleagues, really, who often accompanied him.”

Mars wondered where in the nine Henrik had found two other secret adepts, but he was too tired to ponder the question just now. “I see the dilemma, but what about your father’s friends? Couldn’t they have helped you?”

“They’re dead. Same as him.” A pained look crossed her face, as it always did when she spoke of her father’s demise.

Mars’s stomach twisted into a knot, and he drew a deep breath into his belly trying to get it to release. “Were they killed because of the formula?”

Fura nodded. “All of them. I’m sure.”

Mars was, too. Again, the tremendous threat the Primer posed struck him. It wasn’t just the kith and what they might lose, but all of Riven itself. Ice was everywhere, used in every machine and convenience, from the lights in the Den to the power that ran the trains. To destroy it all would cripple the nation.

“But why go after it, then? Why risk your life when so many others have already died? Why not give it to me? I’ll make sure the threat against you vanishes.”

“No.” Fura planted her feet. “For as long as I can remember, my father wanted only one thing—to free Riven from the tyranny of Ice. It rules our lives, governs who has power and who does not. And those who do not will always suffer. He wanted to level the field and end that suffering.”

“You mean suffering like Natasja’s?”

Fura flinched at the name. “Yes, just like hers. It was my father’s dream. And I mean to see it fulfilled.”

Mars recognized that tone in her voice, the one that said she wouldn’t back down from this, not for anything. He sighed. “All right, let’s say we make it to Skarfell and you get this ingredient. What happens then?”

“I don’t know. Not for sure.” Fura sat down on the edge of the bed, as if she’d lost the strength to stand. “But I will make you a deal. If you help us cross the Mistgrave, if you help me make the Primer, I will pay you the full price of your employer’s contract.”

Mars opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with an upraised hand.

“And Katrìn and I will devote our full effort to finding a way to steal this blood ampoule and destroy it.” Fura hesitated, biting her lip. “I can see your doubt, Halfur, but believe me when I say that Katrìn’s knowledge of artifacts is vast. She was trained by my father, after all. If we can steal the blood ampoule, she can undo the magic. I’m certain of it.”

Holding his breath, Mars let the possibility roll through his mind, testing it for all the weaknesses and risks. There were many. But . . . it didn’t matter, not now, at least. She was offering him a deal, yes, but that didn’t mean he had to honor it. He wasn’t bound by the laws of Rivna. But if he agreed to help her now, he would surely earn her trust. The formula would be within his reach.

Or he could honor the deal and take his chances that he might win himself free another way.

“What say you, Halfur? Do we have a deal?” Fura held out her hand to him.

Mars stared at her, a strange feeling spreading through his limbs. Something like elation or dread. Maybe both. But whatever it was, he welcomed it. No matter what he ultimately decided, there was no changing the fact that Fura knew the truth about him, as did Katrìn, and yet neither had treated him like something evil, something to be feared. They’d treated him much the same as they always had, as a hired mercenary, albeit one with greater usefulness than before.

Mars accepted her proffered hand, a thrill shooting through him. “Yes, we do.” He hesitated, his stomach fluttering with nerves at this unknown position he found himself in, his deepest secret willingly laid bare for the very first time. Remembering their conversation from the night before, which seemed nearly a lifetime ago, he added, “Only, if we’re going to be in business together, I suppose it’s time you call me by my real name.”

“Really? And what is that?”

“Mars Darksvane.”

“Mars.” She said his name slowly, as if it were a nibble of food she wanted to taste before taking a true bite. “It’s nice to meet you at last.”