Galen raised the pick and slammed it into the wall of ice ahead. A few splinters flew off. He raised it again, muscles trembling with fatigue. Another dull crack, followed by tinkling shards. It was like hacking through granite. But if he stopped to rest, he’d have to turn around—and Galen didn’t want to do that.
“Why don’t you just kill yourself?” Ellard asked softly over his right shoulder.
Galen raised the pick.
He’d hoped digging the tunnel would offer a distraction, but the punishment proved to be a constant reminder of what he’d done. And now Ellard had grown vengeful again. The specter followed him everywhere—awake or asleep. He raged about the fact that Galen had abandoned his body inside Darius’s house. By now, Tethys would have arranged for Ellard to be buried in the woods, a tree planted in his name. He was a hero, after all. But Valkirins were supposed to be laid to rest in the crypts beneath their holdfast.
Ellard had told Galen about them. Except for those who’d died during Culach’s Folly, every one of Ellard’s ancestors was preserved in the chill heart of the mountain. He’d gone down there on a dare when he was young—a common rite of passage among Valkirin children. Ellard said some of the corpses had ghastly wounds from the fighting during the Iron Wars, before Eirik sealed the keep.
“You failed once, but there are other ways,” Ellard whispered, his warm breath lifting the hairs on Galen’s neck. “That pick, for example. Duller than a knife, but I’m sure it could open a vein.”
Galen surveyed the tunnel. It was about fifteen paces deep now and six wide, just enough for an abbadax to creep through with its wings folded. He had no idea how much farther the ice extended. Ten paces? Fifty? He was starting to wonder if it had any end.
“Or you could throw yourself into one of the wells. Drowning’s still better than I had it.” A low, mirthless laugh. “Getting gutted by a chimera is a messy way to die. It’s ridiculous, really. Me, a Kafsnjór, dying to save your miserable house, while you betrayed them all to Eirik. And now he’s dead too. I can’t say I miss him, but—”
“I told you I was sorry. A thousand times.”
Galen stamped his feet to get the blood going. He didn’t want to lose any more body parts to frostbite. Ellard didn’t reply, but Galen could feel him there, so close.
“I loved you,” he muttered. “That’s what I regret the most. That I never told you.”
The specter fell silent for a moment. “I loved you, too.”
Tears froze on Galen’s cheeks. Ellard always knew where to land the blow. The precise weak point.
Because he’s not real. Because he’s you.
Galen felt himself fracturing into jagged splinters.
“If I die…would we be together?” he managed, turning around at last. “I’d do it in a heartbeat then—”
His words trailed away and a flush of embarrassment crept up his face.
“Who are you talking to?” Rafel asked.
Galen hadn’t heard the Danai come into the stables. He was quiet as a cat.
“No one.” Galen tried to lift the pick again, but it slipped from his numb fingers. “Damn,” he mumbled.
Rafel bent down and picked it up, but made no move to return it. The hood of his coat had fallen back and frost rimed the iron collar around his neck, glittering in the dim light of the tunnel.
Rafel studied Galen with a worried frown. “How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth. Galen had no idea.
“Did you even rest at all? Did you eat?”
Galen reached for the pick. “I’m fine.”
“Well, you look like shit.” He paused. “Don’t let Victor get under your skin. We’ve all made mistakes.”
So Rafel knew everything. Well, of course he did. To his relief, Galen found he lacked the energy to care.
“I doubt yours compare to mine,” he replied.
A shadow crossed Rafel’s face. “You don’t know what mine are.”
“Fair enough. I just wanted my mother back. That’s all.” He gestured to the tunnel. “And now none of us can leave until I break through this fucking thing.”
Rafel nodded slowly. “So you’re doing it for her?”
“I’m doing it so I don’t have to think.” He studied the Danai with open curiosity. They’d spent most of the last week together and Galen still barely knew him. “Why are you here?”
“Same reason.”
Rafel looked as though he might say something else, but then his expression turned inward. Galen had seen it before, in the handful of terse exchanges they’d shared. As if he was there but not there. As if part of him had gone somewhere else.
“Better get back to it,” Galen said. He grabbed the pick and the scabs on his palm broke open. A trickle of blood ran down the handle.
“Wait,” Rafel said.
He used a knife to cut a strip from his own shirt and wound the makeshift bandage around Galen’s hand.
“Sure you don’t want to take a break?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”
Galen shook his head. Rafel still held his hand and suddenly, Galen didn’t want him to let go.
“One of the daēvas killed by the chimera was a Valkirin,” Galen blurted out. “His name was Ellard.”
Rafel looked at him for a long moment. “You cared for him.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I see him sometimes.” Galen could hardly get the words out, but when he did, it felt like a great burden had been lifted.
“Is that who you were talking to?”
Galen nodded. “You think I’m mad, I suppose.”
“I think you’re lonely.”
Galen’s breath hitched as Rafel stepped closer. They were almost exactly the same height. Their eyes met and Galen saw sorrow, but not pity.
“I think you’ve done terrible things for love.” He pressed Galen’s bandaged hand to his cheek. “But I have too.”
And then Rafel’s lips were on his, the radiant heat of his body like a furnace through their heavy layers of clothing. Galen smelled leather and the clean scent of his skin. He grabbed Rafel’s coat and dragged him closer, inflamed with despair and desire both.
In truth, Galen had wanted him from the moment he laid eyes on him, but he’d refused to acknowledge it. He’d been afraid of what Ellard would say. It seemed like a final betrayal. And part of him believed no one would ever want him again.
Now Rafel’s fingers twined in his hair and Galen felt himself grow painfully aroused.
“What do you want me to do?” he whispered, unsure.
Rafel pushed him against the tunnel wall. “I’ll show you,” he said raggedly.
A small noise made Galen turn. He cursed.
They broke apart as the door flew open and Victor strode into the stables. Galen grabbed his pick with a shaking hand. His mouth felt swollen and bruised.
“How’s it progressing?” Victor demanded.
Rafel had already returned to his end of the tunnel. Galen could hear him chipping away.
“See for yourself,” he snapped, in no mood to grovel.
Victor gave the tunnel a cursory glance. Galen hadn’t seen him in days and was shocked at the change. His father looked thin and wan, with streaks of white at his temples.
“You have two more days to break through. Two days. Or I’ll do what I should have done in the first place.” He turned toward Rafel. “You’re free to go. This is his problem.”
Galen heard the pick fall. Rafel stalked back out of the tunnel and walked up to Victor.
“I’ll stay until it’s finished,” he said coldly. “And you don’t have to be such a bastard about it.”
Victor’s black eyes flared in anger. Then he laughed. “My son doesn’t deserve you. But you’ll discover that eventually.”
Rafel shook his head and went back to work. Galen did the same, though he was acutely aware of the other Danai. He wanted to kiss him again, but he sensed Rafel’s mood had soured. Two days, Victor said. And what then? Would they ever see each other again?
A reckless impulse seized him. He didn’t care what Rafel had done. It couldn’t possibly be worse than Galen’s crimes. But he didn’t want to lose him. And he was done keeping secrets. Galen laid a hand on Rafel’s shoulder.
“There’s another way out,” he said quietly. “One no one knows about.”
Rafel lowered his pick. “What?”
“It’s below the keep, in the tunnels. We were supposed to collapse them all, but I…I couldn’t. I’m too weak in earth. So I left one open.” He paused, heart racing. “Maybe we could go together.”
Rafel just stared at him. He looked stricken. Galen turned away, cursing his own stupidity.
“Never mind. I’m sorry I said anything.”
“No, it’s not—”
“Just forget it,” Galen said savagely, bringing the pick forward in a mighty blow. He stumbled as it caught. Galen yanked it back and stared at the ice. A ray of pale moonlight illuminated the tunnel floor.
They’d broken through.
In her remote tower two stories up, Gerda watched Daníel sleep. He curled up on the bare stone floor and didn’t seem to mind in the least. Like he was used to it.
Her lips thinned. She could still scarcely believe the heir to Val Tourmaline had been chained like an animal by the Oracle of Delphi. The world truly was hurtling toward the Pit. Well, her new friends would take care of them all. If Culach behaved himself, she’d see to it that they let him live. And Lord Idiot? Gerda smiled. Her holdfast might be gone, but at least she could have the satisfaction of watching the invaders burned alive. When the other Valkirins got here, it was crucial they understood the situation. She eyed Daníel speculatively. Perhaps he could be of some use to her cause.
He gave a faint snore and she crept over to the place she stashed her globe. She’d been dying to contact Nicodemus for days, but Daníel’s presence complicated matters. Now that he was sleeping….
She fed air and water into the talisman and breathed softly on the runes.
“Find me the Gambler,” she whispered.
The leaden skies inside the globe faded and she saw him, stalking through some dimly lit chamber. The last they spoke, he said he’d found one of the talismans. Soon, he would free the others from the Kiln. They would sear a path through the Great Forest straight to Val Moraine.
She moved closer until his face filled the globe. He looked angry. And he didn’t see her. He must have left his globe somewhere else. Gerda gritted her teeth in frustration. She wanted to tell him about Daníel.
She reluctantly released the flows. If she couldn’t talk to the Vatra, she could at least collect information for the next time he contacted her. Gerda pursed her lips in thought, then directed the globe to move from room to room in the keep. There was Victor Dessarian, sitting in Eirik’s chair with a broody look on his dumb face. And her great-great-grandson Culach, tossing and turning as if in the throes of a nightmare. Her eyes narrowed. Was that the Danai hostage in bed next to him?
“What are you doing?”
Gerda gave a little shriek and clutched her chest.
“Blind me!” she snapped. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Daníel regarded her with cool green eyes. They didn’t seem so vague anymore.
“You’re spying,” he said. “With a talisman.”
“Spying?” She snorted. “It’s just a little bauble. And mind your business.”
His features softened with longing. “I want to see someone.”
“No.”
Daníel jerked his head toward the door. “Or I’ll tell them you have it.”
“You ungrateful little shit,” Gerda murmured. “I give you my dead husband’s clothes and this is the thanks I get?”
He stared at her, unmoved.
“Oh, all right,” she grumbled. “Who do you want to see? Halldóra, I suppose.”
“The mortal girl I came with.”
“The one that called me a hag?”
“She didn’t mean it.”
“Like hell she didn’t!” Gerda fingered the globe. “You’re as bad as the rest of them. Fine. But no touching.”
She blew on the runes and the globe entered a small chamber.
“I learned a new trick,” she admitted, activating another set of runes on the bottom. “We should be able to hear as well as see now. Ah yes…”
Daníel leaned forward.
Thena knelt on the cold stone, her lips moving silently in prayer. Days had passed since her encounter with Daníel and the nasty old witch woman. She hadn’t seen him again, nor had she or Korinna been summoned for questioning. They had simply been left to rot.
In the long, dark hours, she occasionally thought of her family and the farm she’d left behind. If Apollo had not called her to a life of devotion, she would be a wife and mother by now. Would she have been happy? It was a baffling question and one she didn’t dwell on. There could be no looking back now. She had chosen a higher purpose—or been chosen. Yes, she liked to think of it that way. The three Fates, the Moirai, had marked out her thread at birth and woven it into a greater pattern Thena could only guess at. The betrayal of Andros and her imprisonment in this cruel fortress were simply part of the tapestry.
It was through such trials that one discovered one’s true character. Thena’s faith had only strengthened. She felt the weight of destiny on her shoulders. The god had named her as his instrument on earth and she would not fail him.
But Korinna was made of weaker clay.
“We have to get out of here,” the yellow-haired girl muttered for the thousandth time. “We’ve achieved nothing. Nothing!”
Thena looked up but didn’t reply. Korinna pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She refused to bathe in cold water and Thena could smell the sour odor of her body.
“Please,” Korinna said softly, fever-bright eyes fixed on Thena’s face. “I want to see the sun. This endless night is like death. I want to be warm. To feel the light on my face, to see the blue sky again.”
The pain of her half-healed blisters helped Thena stay awake. She hadn’t slept in a long time. She was waiting. Waiting for a sign.
“Apollo’s light shines on us no matter where we are.”
“The old Pythia used to say that.” Korinna looked wistful. “I wish…. I wish she were still with us.”
The previous Oracle of Delphi had been a stout, middle-aged woman with the soft hands of a wealthy noble’s wife—which is precisely who she’d been. Both Thena and Korinna learned their duties as novices under her tutelage, which was strict but kind-hearted. She had begun the tradition of feeding the poor on feastdays. Thena had loved and feared her, though not nearly to the same extent as the current Pythia.
“Do not presume,” Thena snapped. “If your heart is no longer loyal, at least have the decency to keep it hidden.”
Korinna scowled. “I know you have the Talisman of Folding,” she said bitterly. “You concealed it somewhere near the well.”
Thena rose to her feet, her legs stiff from kneeling. “Our work is not done here.”
“Our work?” Korinna sneered. “You’re obsessed with that blue-eyed witch you freed. Well, you have his name now. Go hunt him down if you wish. Or seduce his father. Perhaps that will cure you.”
“Watch your tongue.”
“No.” Korinna lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m leaving, with or without you. And you’re going to tell me where you hid the talisman.”
Thena’s head ached, a dull throbbing behind her temples. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll tell them everything.” Korinna’s eyes were wild. “I’m going to die either way. At least it will be on my own terms. I’ll throw myself on their mercy—”
Korinna’s voice muted to a toneless buzz. Thena saw her mouth forming words but they no longer held any meaning. Poor thing. Her mind had gone, just like Maia.
“Of course,” she said soothingly. “Of course, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
She walked toward Korinna, slowly, as one might approach a timid animal. Her head ached terribly, but she kept her face smooth.
“I have an idea. We’ll tell them we wish to look for the talisman again so they bring us down below. I’ll sneak away and fetch it and we can go home. How does that sound?”
Korinna backed into the corner. She didn’t seem to believe it. Thena felt betrayed that Korinna had so little trust, but then her mind was gone, wasn’t it? She couldn’t be blamed.
“It will all be over soon,” Thena murmured. “I promise.”
She felt the righteous power of the sun god as the pain in her head suddenly vanished. But my, all that yammering and buzzing! If Korinna wasn’t quiet, the guards might hear.
I must show mercy, she thought. Just like I gave Maia.
“Hush,” she said. “Hush, now.”
And then the pillow was in her hands and that blankness came over her, and Thena went away for a time. When she returned, Korinna lay on the bed and her face was soft but her eyes were bloodshot and the buzzing had stopped. Thena fixed her hair—it had gotten awfully mussed—and drew the cover up to her chin. She gently touched Korinna’s mouth, forming her lips into a smile, though it wouldn’t stay put.
“Fevers are terrible things,” she said aloud. “And poor Korinna was already weak from the cold and damp. She succumbed so quickly. I had no idea she was even ill.” Tears formed in her eyes. “She was my dearest friend. If only she’d told me!”
She thought for a moment and nodded. Yes, that sounded right.
Thena moved to the door and began to scream for help.
The globe darkened to a rainstorm as Gerda released the flows of power. It was so quiet, she fancied she could hear the ice shifting against the walls of the keep. She leaned back in her chair and looked at Daníel.
“Wow,” she said. “That’s your girlfriend?”
Daníel sat immobile, staring at the globe, his fists clenched.
Gerda poured herself a large cup of wine. She sipped it with relish. Her skin had crawled watching the flaxen-haired girl’s terrible end and the wooden expression of her killer, but Gerda welcomed chaos in the keep. The idiot’s pile of woes couldn’t be large enough.
“Well, I have to say, Daníel, she’s quite a piece of work. Who’s the dead one?”
“Korinna,” he mumbled.
“You poor boy. I think you’ve fallen in with some very bad company.”
Daníel said nothing, but emotions warred on his face.
“I wonder what Korinna was going to tell the Dessarians, eh?” Gerda said.
“You misunderstand,” he replied curtly. “Korinna is the unstable one. She was always jealous—”
“Spare me the bullshit. I’m almost six hundred years old.” She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Perhaps I should call for Victor.”
“Don’t do that!” He seized her sleeve in abject misery. “Please.”
Gerda pursed her lips. Something was wrong with him. Not just blind love of a cursed mortal. Something unnatural.
A long time ago, Gerda had been the most skilled healer at Val Moraine. It was a talent of all the Kafsnjór women. But when she’d failed to prevent Ygraine from dying in childbirth, she’d given it up. Culach’s mother was one of the few people Gerda truly liked. She blamed herself—and so did Eirik—though she had known from the start that it was a dangerous pregnancy. Twins, and tangled together in a fatal embrace. She’d barely managed to save the infants. Ygraine had died in her arms minutes after their delivery.
But looking at Daníel, she decided it was time to come out of retirement. He needed her help, and she needed an ally. She needed his loyalty. And she wouldn’t let that black-haired chit have it.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you let me examine the collar,” she said.
He shrank back. “No.”
“Oh, stop fussing. I just want to see it.”
Daníel tensed as her gnarled fingers brushed the iron. Oh yes, a very nasty ward. And behind it, a darkness clouding his mind.
Gerda wove delicate strands of air and water and cast a shimmering net around him. He resisted, every muscle contracting, his pupils dilating to black discs, and Gerda cinched the net tight. It wouldn’t harm him, just make him pliable and calm.
Now for the heart of the matter.
“You don’t really love this mortal girl, do you?” she asked gently.
“I do.”
Daníel stared at a fixed point over her shoulder, his voice a monotone.
“But why?”
“She freed me. Brought me to the light.”
“What light?”
“I am a witch. My soul is stained.”
Gerda snorted. “Bah! You’re a Valkirin prince. She should grovel at your feet. Did Thena tell you this nonsense?”
“She brought me to the light,” he repeated stubbornly.
“Heed me now,” Gerda said in a stern and commanding tone. “You are not a witch. You come from an ancient, noble race. Magic lives in your blood and marrow! We are Valkirins. Masters of the open sky! You will still be young and handsome when this little murderess is moldering in her grave.”
Daníel didn’t speak, but he gripped the arms of his chair with white fingers.
“Whatever foul spell she has cast on you, the cage is not locked, Daníel. If you stay, it is of your own accord.”
She let that sink in. Now to discover what sort of plot these mortals were hatching. She would have it out of him, one way or another.
“Thena spoke of our work. What did she mean by that?”
Sweat trickled down his brow despite the icy cold. His mouth twitched. “The talismans—”
Gerda leaned forward eagerly, just as the door flew open. With a muttered oath, she shoved the globe under her skirts.
“Wake,” she hissed at Daníel.
Green eyes blinked into full awareness as Mithre strode into the chamber. He wouldn’t remember any of it, not consciously. But Gerda hoped her words had penetrated to the place where that darkness lived.
“You’re wanted,” Mithre said to Daníel.
He stiffened. “What for?”
“A parley.” The Danai paused. “Your grandmother is here.”
“Halldóra?” Daníel sprang to his feet.
Gerda watched them leave with narrowed eyes. Parley?
The moment they were gone, she took out the globe again.