Gerda stared at the Valkirin who’d been unceremoniously dumped in her room. He didn’t look very clean. Some kind of collar ringed his muscular neck, secured by a heavy lock. His leathers fit awkwardly, the trousers too short and the coat too tight, as if borrowed from a smaller man. Gerda sensed immediately something was wrong with him. His eyes had a weird blankness.
“What the hell happened to you?” she asked after a long, uncomfortable silence.
He didn’t reply. Gerda scowled. She’d removed her bed years ago and slept in little catnaps sitting upright in her favorite hard chair. It faced the mountains so she could watch the moons drift across the sky and enjoy the beauty of the snow-clad peaks. On a clear night, she might see all the way to the White Sea. Now her view was obscured by a slab of ice. She hated it. But to be confined with a stranger? That was far worse.
“They can’t expect you to stay here,” she muttered. “It’s an outrage. The keep has a hundred empty rooms.” Then she understood. The idiot was punishing her. Stripping away her last vestige of privacy.
“Hey,” she snarled. “Whatever your name is. Sit down.”
He turned to her and Gerda shrank back from his empty gaze. It took a moment, but she recognized him now. Halldóra’s grandson. She hadn’t seen him in years. He’d come to the keep for a wedding between her great-nephew Hinrik and some woman from Val Tourmaline. Gerda danced with him in the Great Hall to the strains of a langspil, which was a kind of zither. Daníel was quick-footed and full of an easy, infectious happiness, though he’d seemed relieved when the festivities were over, probably because Halldóra had been eyeing potential wives for him.
Except for the basics—eyes, nose, mouth—the man standing before her bore little resemblance to the youth in the prime of his life that Gerda remembered.
“What’s that thing around your neck?” she demanded. “How did you come here?” She sniffed when this failed to garner a response. “Well, don’t expect me to share my wine. I’ve little enough left as it is.”
Daníel turned away and began prowling around the room like a caged beast. His eyes flicked over her chest of drawers and the tall cabinet in the corner where she kept her most precious possessions: a spinelstone and other gems, some gold jewelry, a small ivory carving of her late husband Albert, and of course, the talisman of seeking.
Gerda ground her teeth in frustration. How was she supposed to use the globe with Daníel there? She’d been speaking regularly with the charismatic Vatra. His name was Nicodemus. He said he was on an important mission in the Isles of the Marakai, but promised to liberate Val Moraine from the invaders as soon as he could. Gerda found their secret liaisons terribly exciting, even a bit romantic. She’d taken to doing up her hair and putting on her nicest earrings before calling him on the globe. The fact was, her life had grown tedious before the idiot invaded. No one ever came to visit. She’d taken to having long, one-sided conversations with Albert about days past, when they were both young and the keep was full of life.
Val Moraine might have withstood the long siege of the Iron Wars, but a pall had lingered over the holdfast that never went away. Near the end of the final year, Ygraine died birthing Culach and his sister Neblis, and Eirik wasn’t the same. He’d loved Ygraine fiercely and part of him blamed the mewling creatures she left behind, even if he’d never admit it.
But it was more than that. Gerda always suspected the change in him had something to do with the diamond. Eirik had discovered it in a trove of talismans sealed behind a wall in the lower section of the keep, near the oldest crypts. He’d been fortifying the tunnels and found a secret chamber. Of course, he’d ignored all the runes carved into the walls warning anyone who found it that the talismans were unpredictable and shouldn’t be used under any circumstances. Gerda snorted. No, they only encouraged Eirik, frost-brained fool that he was. He grew convinced the trove belonged to the founder of Val Moraine, an enigmatic man known as Magnus the Merciless (though rumor claimed his wife called him Magnus the Rather Unpleasant because he was more irritable than truly vicious), and whose body was conspicuously missing from the catacombs.
The diamond saved them from the other holdfasts, but Eirik became possessive of it long after the threat was vanquished, wearing it on a chain around his neck. His bitterness and isolation grew. Eirik was gentler with Neblis, but Culach had borne the worst of it. Gerda retreated to her tower. The last time she’d gone to see Eirik, he was sitting in his study, staring into the faceted depths of the diamond, and nearly tore her head off when she announced herself.
Now Victor Dessarian had it.
She smiled grimly.
Let it destroy him as it did my grandson.
Her thoughts turned to Nicodemus. She’d told him about Culach and his dreams, though Nicodemus didn’t seem to know what they meant either. He said the Gale had to be brought down so the rest of his clan could gain their freedom.
But when Halldóra came, Gerda felt sure she could make her see reason. The Vatras weren’t their enemies. Fire and air were kindred elements. Fire fed on air, just as earth and water stood in opposition. The Valkirins and the Vatras were clearly destined to rule together. Gerda held no special grudge against the Marakai—they had their uses—but the Danai? Who needed them? She despised wood, as all proper Valkirins did. And how wonderful it would be to have the makers of talismans back! A return to the glory days.
Gerda fingered the emeralds on her dress. Albert had died in a mining cave-in nearly a hundred years before. He had a special talent for finding emeralds. The ones sewn into her collar and sleeves were all gifts from him. Gerda felt certain Albert would agree with her. A new age would dawn of peace and harmony—and the utter annihilation of the Danai.
Lost in her happy reverie, Gerda nearly forgot about the Valkirin wandering around her chamber.
“Hey!” she barked, as Daníel opened the ornate brass wardrobe and stuck his head inside. “Get out of there!”
To her surprise, he obeyed at once.
“Sit down,” she ordered, pointing imperiously at the chair Culach had vacated. “Where’s Halldóra? What happened to the rest of you? Go on, boy. Speak!”
He settled into the chair and seemed to truly see her for the first time.
“I don’t know,” he replied mildly.
“How can you not know? Those Danai dogs caught you, didn’t they?”
He frowned in apparent confusion. “No, no.”
He must have taken a blow to the head, she decided. She didn’t recall Daníel as dim-witted, quite the opposite. Yes, that must be it. Though it didn’t explain the ill-fitting clothes.
“You’ll have to sleep on the floor,” she said tartly. “And I don’t have any blankets. Don’t believe in ‘em.” She thumped her chest. “It’s the cold makes us strong.”
She looked him over. He was weird, all right. Daníel put a crimp in her plans, but it might not be so bad having company. He could fetch her things.
“My old bones are aching,” she said pensively. “You see that bottle over there? The green one? Pour me a glass of it.”
He did as ordered, which pleased her.
“When are the others coming?” she asked.
His hand went to the collar and an unfathomable look crossed his face. Something close to longing.
“Others?”
“The other holdfasts! Blind me with the blazing sun, you did come from Val Tourmaline. Tell me what’s happening!”
“You misunderstand. I came from Delphi.”
She choked on her wine. “Delphi?”
His green eyes flickered uncertainly. “They didn’t tell you?”
“They tell me nothing, boy. Now, what madness is this?”
Gerda listened in mounting disbelief as Daníel related his tale.
“Never trust a mortal,” she spat. “We should have wiped them out years ago.”
“But she saved me,” he replied dreamily.
“Who? This girl from the Temple? Pah! You said she had you for a year. Why didn’t she help you before?”
He had no reply for this.
“Well, you’re with me now,” she said soothingly, feeling a pang in her chest. Gerda feared she might be having a heart attack, but then she realized it was merely an unfamiliar emotion: Pity. It’s the ill-fitting clothes, she thought. They made him look like a neglected, overgrown child.
“I have some things of Albert’s you could wear,” she said. “You’re about the same size.”
She set her goblet aside and went to a silver chest, where she dug out a coat and trousers. They were a bit musty and out of fashion, but otherwise serviceable.
“Put these on,” she said, thrusting the bundle into his hands. “Go on, don’t be shy. I’ve seen plenty of naked men, believe me.”
Daníel nodded his thanks and donned the new outfit. She looked him over with a critical eye. He was a bit broader in the shoulders than Albert, but at least the pants didn’t stop short of his ankles.
“Go ahead, have a glass if you want,” she said expansively, pointing to the bottle. “I guess you’ve been through hell. A little drink won’t hurt.”
Again, he did as he was told. Gerda warmed to him even more.
“A toast,” she said. “To the Huntress moon. The Conqueror and the Redeemer! May her cold fires burn bright.”
They clinked their goblets together.
Thena couldn’t stop thinking about the black-eyed witch. In particular, how much he looked like Andros, although the resemblance was subtle. Andros had wavy brown hair and blue eyes. He wasn’t nearly as tall. But there was something in the way they both moved. In fleeting expressions.
It intrigued her.
Despite her constant reassurances to Korinna, they weren’t making any progress in finding the Danai talisman. The Pythia said they’d be given a hero’s welcome, but these witches weren’t so trusting. Rafel might have learned something, but she hadn’t seen him or Daníel since they first arrived.
It was time to take matters in hand, Thena decided.
She glanced at Korinna, who lay curled on the bed, staring at the wall. The stupid girl had given up. She reminded Thena of poor, vacant Maia. Thena wondered how Maia was faring back at the Temple. It would be a mercy if she’d died. Whatever the witch had done in the yard that awful day with the Archon Basileus, it left her an empty husk. Hardly human anymore. Thena stared at Korinna’s long blonde hair. It streamed across the smelly furs in a tangled mess. A mercy, really....
Time seemed to stretch and stand still at the same time. She felt a blankness come over her, heavy and languid. Disjointed images tumbled through her mind. The crash of waves on a shore. Coming and braiding Maia’s hair. A pillow in her hands….
Thena returned to herself uncertain how long she’d been standing there. She was closer to the bed but couldn’t remember walking over. Korinna had fallen asleep. She snored softly, one slender arm thrown over her face.
Thena clenched her fists and felt the blood rush back to limbs grown stiff and cold.
Andros. That’s who she’d been thinking of.
Where are you now? she wondered. Where did you run to? Do you still think of me?
Thena had a feeling he did. They’d shared a great deal, after all, even if he’d never given up his name. But she had come to know him intimately in other ways. Someday, she would have him back. And he would beg to do her bidding.
She banged her fist against the door. Korinna rolled over sleepily, her expression turning to alarm when she saw Thena.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Just stay here and keep your mouth shut,” Thena snapped.
Korinna started to reply, then changed her mind. She’d learned the hard way what happened when she argued.
Thena told the witch who opened the door—a different one—that she’d remembered some important information they might wish to hear. He told her to wait and returned a few minutes later.
“Come,” he said.
The black-eyed witch was waiting in the usual dark, high-ceilinged room, a diamond in his fist. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself. He looked gaunt and she saw lines of bitterness along his mouth that seemed new.
“What is it?” he asked brusquely.
“I was talking with Korinna, trying hard to remember anything that could help,” she said. “I think the Pythia has another one of your clan, though I only caught a quick glimpse of him.”
His cool stare bored into her.
“I wasn’t sure, you see, because he looks different from the others,” she said. “The Shields had him. They were dragging across him a courtyard.”
“Different how?”
She pretended to think on it. “Well, he looked like he could be a Danai, but with blue eyes. That’s a rarity among your people, isn’t it?”
The witch’s gaze hardened. “Blue eyes?”
“Yes. Very blue. I noticed them from a distance.” She paused. “Come to think of it, he had your build, although he was shorter.”
Thena’s heart beat faster at the witch’s reaction. He leaned forward, gripping the armrests of his chair.
“When did you see him?” he asked hoarsely.
“Only a month or so gone, I suppose. I never saw him again except for the one time.” She kept her face smooth. “Do you know him?”
The witch ignored this question, to her intense frustration. He seemed to be working through something in his mind, eyes moving restlessly but without seeing.
“If you told me his name, I may have heard someone mention it.” She tried to mimic the sultry smile she’d seen Korinna bestow on the handsomest Shield of Apollo, a lithe young man named Agytus. Thena knew she was beautiful, the cook always said so, though the witch didn’t seem to be paying her the least bit of attention.
“But Darius went to Samarqand,” he murmured. “It can’t be.”
Darius.
Thena clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. How many times had she asked for his name and received a mocking reply? A hundred? A thousand? She’d nearly killed him for it. And always, always, he had won.
Darius.
She pictured him saying it. Pictured his lips forming the word.
Mine now. I have your true name.
“Well?”
Thena came back with a start. The black-eyed witch had been speaking to her, though she hadn’t heard a word of it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was….trying to….”
He slammed a hand down on the table with sudden violence.
“How could you not remember this before?” he demanded, livid with rage.
Thena took a step back. “I…I thought….”
But she couldn’t get the words out. He rose from the chair and she thought he might kill her then and there, except that the other witch, the long-haired one, laid a hand on his arm.
“Peace, Victor,” he said sternly. “It might not be him.”
Victor. Thena registered this second piece of information even as her legs felt like they might buckle at any moment.
Poke a tiger with a stick, her mother used to say, and don’t be surprised when it bites.
Victor drew a slow breath. “What was he wearing? What did he carry?”
“I…I think he was unarmed,” she said quickly. “He wore a plain tunic and trousers.”
“This Pythia will pay dearly if she’s interfered with my son,” he grated.
They kept her for a while after that, but she had little more to say. When the long-haired witch walked her back, she asked him if she might be able to see Daníel, just for a little while. He seemed to feel a bit sorry that Victor had taken his anger out on her and said he’d see what he could do.
As soon as Thena was safely back in her room, she impulsively rushed over to Korinna and gave her a hug. Korinna pulled back, staring at her like she’d grown a second head.
“What are you so happy about?” she demanded.
“I learned Andros’s true name,” Thena confided. “It’s Darius.”
“So?”
Thena’s face fell. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
Korinna pushed her away. “What good does it do us? We’ll never get out of here!” Her mouth turned down and she looked as if she might cry. “You’re putting us all at risk with your stupid games.”
Thena felt a blind rage come over her. “I will tell the Pythia all about you when we get back,” she snarled. “And she’ll burn you up in the bull.”
Korinna gave a mocking laugh. “When we get back? We’re never getting back. You’re out of your mind.” Her voice rose a notch. “I know what you did. Everyone does! You let Andros go. You—”
She didn’t get any further because Thena leapt at her. They tumbled to the bed, clawing and tearing at each other’s hair. Korinna was taller but Thena had grown up with older sisters and knew how to fight dirty. In the end, Thena sat atop her, pinning Korinna’s arms beneath her knees. Korinna struggled uselessly, trying to buck her off, until she ran out of energy and fell quiet.
“She’ll burn you to a crisp,” Thena whispered. “The first thing that happens is your eyes start to bubble and turn to liquid. They’ll run right down those pretty cheeks like tears. You’ll smell your own hair burning. Then your skin will turn black and start peeling off—”
“Shut up!”
“Say you’re happy.”
Korinna gave a last half-hearted buck. “I hate you.”
“Say it.”
Venom twisted her mouth. “I’m happy for you,” she muttered.
“That’s all I wanted.” Thena stood up, pushing the hair from her eyes. She smiled, showing her dimples. “And now we’ll be friends again, won’t we?”
And so it happened that later the same day, a witch brought Thena to a part of the keep she had never seen before. It was high up and reached by many long, winding staircases, some of them wide and sweeping and others cramped and narrow. She found she actually missed Daníel and wondered if he would be changed. She felt a bit afraid, though he must still be loyal to her or she would be dead. Unlike Rafel, whose obedience was purchased with the threat of his sister’s torture, nothing prevented Daníel from exposing the truth except for the fact that he loved her. She had brought him to the light.
Her Danai escort opened the door to a frigid chamber flanked by two other witches. An old woman sat erect in a chair. She wore a high-necked gown studded with emeralds at the collar. Rings glittered on her fingers. There was something rather frightening about her, Thena thought.
“Knock when you’re ready to leave,” her escort said, departing with some haste and closing the door behind him.
Daníel leapt to his feet when he saw her.
“Mistress,” he murmured, his green eyes lighting up.
The old woman raised an eyebrow and Thena gave a quick shake of her head. Not here.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Who the hell are you?” the old woman snapped. “This is my room.”
Thena squared her shoulders. “I am Thena. An initiate of the Temple of Apollo.”
The old woman bared her teeth in a ghastly smile. “A mortal. The final insult.”
She was a Valkirin, Thena realized. And her door was guarded. So she had no authority in this place.
“Be quiet, hag,” Thena replied calmly. “I’m here to see Daníel, not you.”
“Hag?” The woman rose from her chair with surprising agility. “I’ll make you choke on your own tongue, you little chit.”
Heat flooded Thena’s face. She’d like to see this creature with a collar on. That would teach her some manners.
“Stop.”
They both turned and glared at Daníel.
“If you make a scene, the guards will come. And I wish to speak with her privately.”
“I don’t give a damn what you—”
Daníel stared at Gerda and the iciness of his gaze seemed to give her pause.
“Fine.” The woman scowled deeply and slurped from a goblet. “But go into the corner. I don’t wish to hear it.”
Thena swallowed her annoyance and marched away, as far as she could get from the horrid old woman. The wall of ice followed the gentle curve of the tower itself. Gerda’s chamber was large, and they managed to retreat far enough that she couldn’t eavesdrop on their conversation.
Daníel waited for her to speak first, as was proper.
“Why did they put you up here?” Thena whispered. “Do they suspect?”
He gave a brief shake of his head. “They don’t trust me because I’m a Valkirin. That’s all. Victor Dessarian would have accused me otherwise. He’s not a subtle man.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Good. Have you seen Rafel?”
“Twice. He told me a tunnel is being bored through the ice. They will seek a parley with the other holdfasts.”
The politics of the witches was all new to Thena, but she knew it was critical to understand what the Danai intended.
“What exactly happened here?”
“House Dessarian of the Avas Danai managed to take Val Moraine from Eirik Kafsnjór. Eirik’s son is alive but he was blinded in some kind of accident.” His brow furrowed. “I don’t know why he’s free, but Gerda is a prisoner. The ice is a result of talismanic magic. A defense mechanism. The other holdfasts will be coming. There’s an ancient hatred between our clans.”
Thena thought on all this. “We have another problem,” she said. “Andros. He knows who I am. Where do you think he would go?”
“Back to the forest, most likely.”
“So we have to assume his people know. Would the Danai come here?”
“They might. But they wouldn’t expect you to be here. Most likely they will attack Delphi directly.”
She bit her lip. “We’re running out of time. How long before the tunnel is finished?”
“Rafel said a week.” His green eyes searched her face. “We could run, Mistress. You know where the Talisman of Folding is. Leave the guards to me.”
“What about Korinna?”
“Leave her,” he said without hesitation.
Thena had no qualms about that. But she very much feared returning to the Pythia empty-handed. They had been tasked with bringing back one of the daēva talismans. And there was a chance one of the Danai in this keep was the one they sought. She had to be sure.
“Not yet. Do you think Rafel is following his orders?”
“He hasn’t betrayed us yet.”
That wasn’t quite the same thing.
“Do they trust him?”
“They seem to.”
“Then we stay until the tunnel is complete. As long as no word from outside comes in, we’re safe.” She glanced at Gerda. “She might know something too. Be nice to her. See what you can find out.”
“I miss you, Mistress,” he murmured, and the heat of his gaze conjured a warm flush to her neck.
“I know, Demetrios,” she whispered, showing her dimples. “When we return to Solis, we will be together again.”
“You swear it?”
Anger deepened the heat in her face. How dare he ask her to swear! But it wouldn’t do to upset him. She glanced at the old witch, who stared at them with glacial eyes. If Gerda weren’t here, Demetrios might demand more. Desire and loathing made her shiver.
“I swear it,” she said, touching his fingertips. “Walk in the light, Demetrios. And do not forget me when the time comes.”
A muscle in his jaw feathered. “I couldn’t if I tried, mistress,” he said with despair.