Twenty-One

“Come on,” Mars said, grabbing Fura’s hand. “We need to get out of here.”

“Go with them, Askalon,” Elìn said. “Make sure my daughter stays safe.”

Mars bit back a curse, despising these complications. Fura said nothing, merely hurried along beside him, her eyes downcast. When they arrived at her quarters, Mars went in first, checking it was safe. Then he motioned for Fura to enter. When Askalon tried to come with her, Mars held up his hand.

“I’ve got this. She will be safe. You should see to the dòttra. There’s no telling who the killer will target next.”

A torn look crossed the man’s face, and for a moment, Mars worried he would stay. But concern for Elìn won out, and Askalon turned on his heel, heading into the hallway. “Lock the door until I return,” he said, before disappearing around a corner.

Mars did as the truss bid, taking his time in the effort, trying to clear his thoughts. But they remained clouded as he turned and faced Fura.

She had sat down on the settee next to the fireplace, her face buried in her hands. “I can’t believe he’s dead. I can’t—” She choked on a breath that might’ve been a sob.

Crossing the room, Mars kneeled before her, taking hold of her wrists and gently pulling her hands away so he could look into her eyes, which were clouded with tears. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do this.”

But I know who did, he silently added, aware that if he’d only given warning, this might not have happened. Only, that wasn’t his place. It wasn’t who he was, no matter if it might’ve spared Fura this pain. Spared Ivar as well.

Fura shook her head. “You’ve no idea. That message . . . those ravens . . . it was for me.”

End the Tyranny of Ice, the birds had chanted. “The Primer,” Mars said, making the connection.

“Yes.”

“But who would want the Ice destroyed?” Mars said, then stopped himself as his mind made another connection, recalling the attack back at the Torvald estate. “The Wake.”

“Yes,” she said again.

He frowned, dismayed to realize there was a lot more to this story than he’d been told. Letting go of her wrists, he stood. “What aren’t you telling me, Fura?”

“It’s nothing,” she said at once, panic creeping into her voice. She stood as well, forcing him to retreat a step. “There’s no time. We need to go. It’s more important than ever that we make it to Skarfell.”

“No.” Mars blocked her path, arms crossed and feet planted. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

The debate raged in her expression, but only for a moment. He knew she needed him and his magic more than ever now. “My father . . . he was a part of the Wake. They helped fund some of his research. And those adepts that traveled with him to Skarfell were members as well.”

Given the rest of Henrik Torvald’s secrets, this one wasn’t as surprising as it might have been, considering that the Wake sought to destroy the kiths, including the one his wife headed. Then again, maybe that was the reason he had worked with them.

“But the closer my father got to completing the formula,” Fura continued, “the more he began to distrust some of the Wake’s members. He feared if given the formula, they would not use it to begin dismantling the ice mines, but rather to extort the kiths for all their wealth. He knew he couldn’t trust them with it. And once he realized his life was in danger, he destroyed all his research and sent the only copy of the formula to me.”

“And now they want it back.” Mars recalled the unknown assailants that night in the orrery and wondered if they had been members of the Wake.

“Yes.”

End the Tryanny of Ice, the ravens had chanted. “But I don’t understand. Do you believe killing the Fifth was part of the warning?”

Fura bit her lip. “Maybe. I don’t know. But we must get moving, Mars. Katrìn is out there alone, waiting for us on the March.”

She had a point. “Let’s leave through the mirror,” Mars said, heading for Katrìn’s room. “I know a shortcut to the stables.” They needed to be seen heading there to help solidify the tale. If the dòttra did come after them, she would look in the wrong direction.

Taking Fura’s hand, Mars opened the portal, and the two of them stepped into the corridors beyond. They brought a torch with them to spare Mars from wielding any more magic than he had to before entering the Mistgrave.

They emerged from a mirror in an abandoned sublevel of the Mid Court, but as they stepped onto the lawn, they heard distant shouts and the noise of conflict. There was no telling what ripple effect Patrek’s murder would have, although secretly Mars hoped some of the noise was the sound of the Fifth’s guards catching Bekka.

They made their way down to the stables quickly, making no effort to hide their furtive movements. To their relief, the place was quiet. Mars headed for the tack room, where he’d previously noted a relic mirror, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sound of a familiar voice calling out to them from behind.

“Where are you going?”

Silently cursing, Mars turned to face Askalon, Fura doing the same beside him.

“Askalon?” Fura said on a gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked you first, lìtja.” He answered with a dark look, as if he knew perfectly well what was happening.

Fura threw back her shoulders, her manner suddenly haughty. “I’m going home. I’ve left my mother a note. I’ve had enough of the Assembly.”

Askalon’s expression softened. “I understand, but you cannot travel alone with only him to protect you.” He pointed a finger at Mars.

Fura took Mars’s hand in hers. “There is no one I’m safer with than him.”

Mars blinked, surprised by how convincing she sounded, as if she really meant it. Only, it didn’t matter to Askalon.

“If you insist on leaving now, I will go with you,” Askalon said. “That way we can both keep you safe.” He shot Mars a murderous look as if he were to blame for all of this.

Drawing a deep breath, Fura let it out in an audible sigh. “Very well. Go and pack for the journey. We will wait for you here.”

“I will let your mother know as well.”

Fura nodded, and a moment later, Askalon left the stables.

“Well done,” Mars said, impressed yet again by her ability to deceive.

“Hurry, let’s get out of here before he gets back.” She motioned to the mirror.

Mars wasted no time, grasping her hand as they reached the mirror and pulling them into the labyrinth. He hurried down the corridor, unsettled by the brush with Askalon. How had he known they were heading for the stables? Was it mere chance? He didn’t think so.

A short time later, they exited a window into the great library of the Mid Court. Same as the stables, the place was deserted. That was good. From here on out, they needed to not be seen. Fortunately, the continued commotion of the Fifth’s death played in their favor, and the March was quiet as a graveyard as they ascended the stairs.

Reaching the top, they hurried toward the light of a torch in the distance, where Katrìn was waiting for them at the entrance to a hidden stairway leading down to the Mistgrave.

The closer they came to the light, the more Mars felt his pulse increase. Something was wrong. There were two people ahead, not one.

Mars called out to Fura to slow down. “We’ve got trouble.”

Fura didn’t question him, slowing her pace. Drawing nearer, Mars saw Katrìn frozen in place, pinioned to the chest of a man standing behind her with a knife pressed to her throat—Ivar Patreksvane.

“Ivar? What are you doing?” Fura came to a halt, her mouth making an O of surprise.

“It’s your fault he’s dead,” Ivar spat, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Fura. “If you’d just given us the formula, none of this would’ve happened.”

Fura flinched at his words, which so closely echoed her own earlier in the evening.

Mars stepped forward, aware of the shaky way Ivar held the knife, how one mistake would cost Katrìn her life. “Let her go, Ivar. We both know you don’t want to hurt her.”

“My father is dead.” Ivar’s hand grew steady, his eyes narrowed. “But it will not be in vain. Give me the Primer, Fura, or I will kill her.”

He meant it; Mars was certain. He’d seen enough killers to recognize one. The pain and grief of his father’s death might’ve pushed Ivar to the edge, but this young man had walked there before. Wanting to stall long enough to find a way out of this, Mars said, “You’re part of the Wake, aren’t you?”

Ivar’s eyes flashed to Mars. “And you’re a paid mercenary.” He turned back to Fura. “The Primer. Now.”

“I don’t have the formula, Ivar, but I know where it is.” Fura took another step forward, reaching out a hand toward him. “We’re on our way to get it now. If you’ll just let Katrìn go, I promise I will give it to you.”

“Your promises are as worthless as your father’s.” Ivar eased the knife a little closer to Katrìn’s throat. For the first time, fear flickered across her face. “If you’re on your way to get it, then you will take me with you.”

Mars had heard enough. They needed to be on their way before someone spotted them. He took a careful step forward, being sure to keep his hands at his sides, unthreatening.

As Fura continued pleading with Ivar, Mars edged closer, waiting for a chance to strike. When the moment came, Ivar’s attention fixed on Fura, Mars seized him by the wrist with one hand and shoved Katrìn free with the other.

As Katrìn stumbled out of the way, Mars moved in, reaching for Ivar’s other hand as he pressed his fingers into the man’s wrist, trying to force the knife free. But Ivar didn’t drop it. He barely seemed to feel the pressure. Before Mars could capture Ivar’s other hand, he pulled out a second knife. Mars saw the attack coming, but was too slow to block it, the other man quick as a cat. Mars could only jump back, avoiding the worst of it, the tip of the blade just catching him in the side.

Hissing at the sting, Mars shoved Ivar and let go. Ivar lurched backward but recovered at once and charged Mars again, both blades flashing with an unnatural light that Mars immediately recognized—the knives were infused with Ice. Mars shuffled backward, aware of the burn in his side, the itch of corruptive magic. He flicked his wrist, summoning the Rift with one hand while reaching for his own knife with the other. He was done with this.

“Don’t kill him!” Fura shouted, even as Ivar made another vicious swipe at Mars, nearly taking his head off.

Mars ducked the blow. “No problem. Shall I just stand here and let him skewer me like a fish?” The magic was flowing into him now, but it was sluggish, slowed by the weakness lingering in his body.

Ivar attacked with the ferocity of a wounded animal, his swings wild and all the more dangerous for it. Mars could barely follow them, barely stay ahead. He willed the magic for help, but it didn’t answer. It wouldn’t obey such a paltry sacrifice. Growing desperate, Mars raised the dagger, prepared to deliver a killing blow.

But before he could deliver it, Ivar suddenly rose into the air like a straw man on a hoist. Then he dropped, hitting the stone floor hard enough that both knives fell from his hands. Ivar tried to reach for them, but an invisible force held him back. With a jerk, it pulled his arms to his sides, holding them firmly in place. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Mars understood—Katrìn was standing there, both hands held in front of her as she channeled Rift magic.

He turned back to Ivar’s peals of wild laughter, the sound of someone on the verge of breaking.

“So,” Ivar said around his cackles, “that’s how you’ve managed all this time—with a secret adept at your disposal.”

“Shut him up.” Fura waved at Katrìn. “Before he draws the guards.”

Ivar’s mouth closed with a loud clack as Katrìn forced it shut with her magic.

“What do we do now?” Katrìn said, biting her lip in concentration.

The answer was simple, of course—kill him—but one glance at Fura’s torn expression told Mars that she would never allow it. Mars even found that he was reluctant to take that option. Ivar had been a friendly port-of-call in the hostile sea of the Assembly. And his father had just been murdered in front of him.

Letting out another curse, Mars met Fura’s eyes. “We take him with us. If we let him go now, there’s no telling who he might tell.”

Fura nodded, then faced Ivar. “Do you understand? If you want the secrets of the Primer, you must do everything I tell you to from here until we return.”

“And if you attempt to betray us, I will kill you, Ivar,” Mars added. “Do not doubt it.”

Ivar tried to respond but failed, until Katrìn released her hold on his mouth—though she didn’t release the rest of him. “I will do as you say until we return.”

“Very well.” Fura motioned to Mars. “The notch to reveal the ladder is just there, if you would.”

Turning, Mars spotted the familiar relic symbol carved into the wall. Making a fresh sacrifice, he pressed his palm to it, the magic soon revealing a crudely made ladder that led straight down the wall into the mist.

“I’ll go first.” Fura stepped toward the ladder, only to freeze at the sound of Askalon calling out to them.

“Wait!”

Mars swore again, louder this time. Could nothing go right this night?

Reaching them, Askalon stumbled to a halt as his gaze took in the impossible scene of Katrìn standing there, holding a man prisoner with magic.

No one spoke. Fura stared at Askalon, speechless. Mars felt the same, wondering how in the nine the truss had found them again.

Askalon came out of his stupor first. “What are you doing?”

“Something I have to do,” Fura said. “You wouldn’t understand. But I’m begging you to leave, and let us go in peace.”

“I can’t do that, Fura. You know I can’t.” Askalon shook his head, as if he truly regretted it. “I must look out for you. And this”—he motioned to the exposed ladder, the undeniable truth of their destination—“is madness.”

“I’m leaving, and nothing will stop me.” Fura took a defiant step toward the ladder.

Askalon made to stop her, but Mars stepped in front of him, knife at the ready. “You will not beat me, Askalon. I promise.” Even wounded as he was, Mars was certain of it.

The truss halted, wise enough not to try. He turned a pleading gaze onto Fura. “Then let me go with you. All I want is to make sure you are safe.”

“Not this time. You are my mother’s truss. Not mine.”

“Then I pledge my loyalty to you, Fura.” Askalon placed a palm over his heart. “I give you my bond.”

Mars held back another curse as he saw Fura’s resolve soften. He felt the trap closing in around him. If they were going to Skarfell, it had to be now, and the only way for their plan to move forward was for Askalon to come with them. But if Mars allowed it, there would be no hiding his secret, and Askalon would certainly use the knowledge against him the first chance he had. But it was too late to stop it now.

“Very well.” Fura held out her hand. “I accept your bond.”

Askalon reached into his pocket, but Mars waved him off. “We don’t have time for this. If you’re going, then let’s go. Before someone else sees.”

“I go first.” Katrìn patted the knapsack at her side, the orb safely stowed inside.

Ivar followed next, then Fura, and then Askalon. Mars climbed over last. For a moment, he thought he saw a shadow moving through the mist in the distance. With any luck, maybe that riftworm would get the two interlopers in their group. Mars doubted it, though. Considering how things had been going for him of late, the riftworms were more likely to get him. Exhaling a resigned sigh, he climbed down into the darkness below.