The sudden explosion of power in Gerda’s chamber caught the Valkirins waiting outside by surprise. Katrin had been listening to their muffled voices, soft at first but increasingly heated. She couldn’t make out what was being said, only that they were arguing about something.
“Gerda must be ripping Victor up one side and down the other,” she’d observed.
“Good for her,” Sofia said. She reached up and rewound her tight bun, holding the silver pins between her teeth. “They say Gerda Kafsnjór could skin an armored cockindrill with her tongue. I’m not surprised the Dessarians failed to kill her. The woman’s bloody immortal.”
Katrin hadn’t realized Gerda was alive either—not until a Danai youth had intercepted them outside the stables and pulled Victor aside. He’d hesitated, then told Halldóra the matriarch of Val Moraine wished to see her, although that wasn’t the word he’d used.
Now something had gone terribly wrong. Katrin kicked the door open and froze in horror. Daníel drew a sharp breath beside her.
Halldóra lay on her side against the far wall, head twisted around. The quantity of blood pooled beneath her left no doubt she was dead. Victor stood over Gerda, gore-stained sword in hand. He looked up at Katrin with panicked eyes.
“It’s not what you—” he began.
“Treachery!” Katrin cried. “Murder in the keep!”
She lunged forward, intending to take the wretched Dessarian’s head from his shoulders, but Frida grabbed her arm.
“The heir,” she hissed. “We must get him out before they seal us in again. There’s no time!”
Daníel still stood in the doorway, rigid and aghast, staring at his grandmother.
Katrin swore and the three of them swarmed down the corridor with Daníel in the middle, cutting straight through the startled Danai who stood in their path.
“Follow me!” she yelled. “I know the shortest way to the tunnel.”
They pounded down corridors, the lumen crystals embedded in the walls flickering fitfully in the darkness, and finally reached the door to the stables. Katrin yanked it open and stopped as she realized one of their party was missing.
“Where the fuck is Daníel?” she demanded.
“He was next to me a moment ago,” Frida panted.
Sofia cursed. “He must have slipped away at that last crossing.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “We have to go back—”
“Damn him.” Katrin heard shouts, growing louder. A dozen Danai rushed down the corridor, murder on their faces. She ducked as a rain of arrows whooshed past. The stone beneath their feet began to tremble and crack.
“Those bastards,” Frida muttered. “They must have planned it from the start.”
“Shit,” Katrin said. “Shit.”
“Go,” Frida urged. “We’ll get Daníel later.”
There was no time to mount the abbadax, which were tethered in the farthest pens. So Katrin sheathed her bloody sword and ran full tilt into the ice tunnel. The exit loomed ahead, a circle of starry sky, and without breaking stride she threw herself into the void. The valley rushed up to meet her, a thousand paces of air, five hundred, two, the wind flaying every inch of exposed skin, and then she felt a wrenching shock as a rider swooped down and caught her arm. Katrin grabbed a fistful of leather and hauled herself up behind him.
Two more riders dove for Frida and Sofia. The abbadax screamed, wings beating hard, as they banked sharply and flew into the night.
Galen crept through the deserted corridors of the keep, darkness pressing hungrily at the edges of the light cast by the lumen crystals. Some kind of ruckus had erupted on the levels above. He’d heard distant shouts and the ring of swords, but they’d faded away and now an ominous silence hung over Val Moraine. Galen didn’t know what had happened, nor did he intend to find out.
He reached the kitchens and cautiously peered inside. They were dark and empty. He found a crate of apples and threw some into his leather satchel, along with potatoes and turnips. Enough to keep him alive until he got out of the mountains.
He wished he could bring Mina, but it had become obvious she loved Culach and wouldn’t leave him. Galen wished them whatever happiness they could find. He was a grown man. It was past time to face the truth. To take charge of his life and whatever he could salvage of it.
Perhaps he’d go to the Isles of the Marakai. That’s where people went when they didn’t want to be found. And then…who knew?
Galen turned to leave when a shadow detached itself from the doorway.
“I was afraid you’d gone.”
He peered into the gloom. “Rafel?”
The Danai had slipped away in the commotion that ensued after they broke through to the outside. Galen considered looking for him, but in the end he decided he’d embarrassed himself enough already. Better to leave quietly and spare him another awkward refusal. Now Rafel moved closer. He looked shaken.
“Your father killed Gerda. Halldóra too. It’s madness. The holdfasts will destroy him utterly now.”
So that was the fighting he’d heard.
“I don’t care,” Galen said. “I’m leaving. Now.”
“Then I’m coming with you.” Rafel’s voice sounded strange.
Galen wanted his company, wanted it desperately. But he needed to be sure Rafel knew what he was getting into. “It will be a hard journey. And that’s assuming we even find our way out of the tunnels. They could still be blocked deeper into the mountain. I’m not sure.”
Rafel stepped closer.
“I know a better way,” he said softly.
Galen slung the satchel over one shoulder. “What way?”
“A Talisman of Folding. The mortal woman called Thena claimed she lost it, but she lied. I’m certain she hid it somewhere close by the well. We just have to find it. It will take us a thousand leagues in an instant.”
“I thought she helped you escape.”
“She’s not what she seems.” He paused, a naked plea in his eyes. “I’ll tell you all of it, I swear. But we don’t have long before they notice we’re missing.”
Galen didn’t move. “Where would we go?”
“I’ll take you somewhere safe first. Anywhere you want. Then I’ll use it myself.”
Understanding dawned. “You’re going after Ysabel.”
Rafel nodded.
“And she’s in Delphi?”
“A captive of the Pythia. She… She tortures us.” He touched the collar. “With this. But it doesn’t work in the darklands. If I can get Ysabel to Nocturne, they can’t hurt her anymore. They can’t hurt either of us.”
Galen didn’t hesitate. “I’ll help you.”
“No,” Rafel said immediately, his face darkening. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Because I can’t work earth? I can still fight!”
“That’s not it.”
“What then?” Galen demanded.
“I can’t tell you now—”
“Then I’m coming,” Galen said firmly. “Please. I’m a better man than you think.” He swallowed. “Or I want to be.”
“You’re already better than I am,” Rafel said hoarsely.
Galen smiled. “I wasn’t looking forward to climbing the mountains again anyway.” He glanced at his foot. “They took a bite out of me last time.”
Galen held out his hand. After a moment, Rafel took it.
No, that wasn’t right, Thena thought to herself.
She wound a strand of Korinna’s flaxen hair around one finger so it made a curl, then arranged it against her pale cheek. The girl’s features had begun to harden in death, but Thena could still try to make her look pretty for the afterlife. She studied her work with a critical gaze. She’d decided to leave Korinna’s eyes open since they were her best feature. Blue, with flecks of hazel. The whites had turned red, but there was nothing Thena could do about that.
“You ought to have listened,” she said, her lip quivering. “You really ought have.”
Korinna said nothing. Of course she didn’t. Thena rested her aching head in her hands.
Oh, but it was all a distraction, wasn’t it? Rafel had abandoned her, that much was clear. He wasn’t coming back. He intended to take the talisman for himself.
Thena had called and banged and wept, but no one came, not a single guard. They were going to leave her to die here in this lonely chamber.
“I told you he wasn’t broken,” she said to Korinna. “In fact, he hated you. He only kept his mouth shut for his sister’s sake.”
I’ve done my duty, she thought as a worm of despair wriggled into her heart. I’ve been steadfast. What more can Apollo ask of me? Perhaps this was Tartarus. A chill, lightless abyss where the worst sinners were cast. Apollo himself had nearly been imprisoned there when he killed the Cyclops who forged Zeus’s thunderbolt, though Zeus had relented in the end.
After Rafel came, she had imagined their return to the temple in triumph with the Danai talisman. The Pythia would praise her bravery for saving their fair city from the witches. Her redemption would be almost complete.
Almost.
For what Thena wanted more than anything was to take some Shields of Apollo and hunt the one who had gotten away. To hunt Darius. His treachery still haunted her.
Surely, the Pythia would grant her that.
But only if Thena brought her the talisman.
Feeling listless and drained, she curled up next to Korinna, pulling the blanket over them both. She began to sing softly, a hymn as old as the bones of the earth.
O, Delian king, whose light-producing eye
Views all within, and all beneath the sky
Whose locks are gold, whose oracles are sure,
Who, omens good reveal'st, and precepts pure:
Hear me entreating for humankind,
Hear, and be present with benignant mind;
For thou survey'st this boundless Æther all,
And every part of this terrestrial ball.
Abundant, blessed; and thy piercing sight,
Extends beneath the gloomy, silent night;
Beyond the darkness, starry-eyed, profound,
The stable roots, deep fixed by thee are found…
Thena’s head jerked around as she heard a creak.
“Rafel?” she cried, leaping to her feet.
The door swung open. It was not Rafel, but her heart soared just the same.
“Demetrios,” she whispered. “Oh, you’ve come for me!”
He regarded her for a long moment, his eyes gathering up the dim light. Silver hair fell unbound across broad shoulders that filled the doorframe. After all her suffering, Thena felt an upwelling of emotion. She knew Demetrios would never abandon her.
He strode into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. A second later, he loomed over her, gripping her arm. Thena winced in pain.
“You’re hurting me,” she hissed.
“Pain purifies the soul,” he replied. “Didn’t you used to tell me that?”
Sea green eyes regarded her with controlled fury. This was not the Demetrios she knew, Thena realized with an unpleasant jolt. This was someone else entirely.
“Demetrios—”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.
“Daníel, then,” she said quickly. “What’s happened? Oh, we must flee from this place! Rafel has taken the talisman—”
“I heard what Korinna said.”
“What?”
“You let the Danai go. You let him go.”
She shook her head. “No, Daníel. No, I never—”
“Why?” His fingers squeezed harder. “Do you love him?”
Tears sprang to Thena’s eyes. “I saved you, Daníel! Purged you of your wicked nature. Everything I did was for the good, for the light! Deep down, you know it’s true. Korinna was a liar—”
He put a large hand on her mouth, his jaw working. “Be quiet.”
Thena tried to speak, but his hand was clamped over her lips. With the other, he seized her throat.
“I am nothing to you.” A storm of emotions broke across his face. The hand tightened and she gasped for air. “A plaything.”
Her toes left the floor, kicking futilely. The edges of Thena’s vision began to blacken. She felt the scissors poised to snicker shut. To sever her thread from the pattern forever. Her fists pounded at his chest, but it was like hitting a stone wall.
And then he drew a shuddering breath. Thena tumbled to the floor.
“Get out,” he spat. “Before I change my mind.”
She clutched her throat. The pain was distant. More than anything, she felt bereft. “You are more than that,” Thena whispered hoarsely. “Much more. We belong together. Come with me, Demetrios. Please.”
He turned away, tears shining on his cheeks. “Just go!”
Thena fled.
There were no guards outside her room. She hoisted her skirts and made straight for the hidden door leading down to the enormous caverns in the heart of the mountain where the Valkirins grew their food. But as she passed the chamber where the black-eyed witch, the father of Andros/Darius, used to question her, Thena paused. The door sat ajar. She peeked inside.
There was the long table, covered in maps. There was the thronelike chair he would sit in, along with a dozen others. And there…. A gleam of gold.
Sol Invictus. The Conquering Sun.
The god spoke to her, telling her what to do, and Thena obeyed.
A minute later, she was racing down a series of cramped, winding staircases. The warp and weft of the pattern was clear now. Thena could hear the humming rattle of the great loom as it spun out her destiny.
Galen breathed deeply, seized by a sudden and unexpected yearning for the forests of his home. How long had it been since he smelled something living? Val Moraine was metal and stone and ice. But now the scent of loamy earth mingled with the spice of citrus and sweet tang of rotting apples. It reminded him of Tethys’s night garden where he used to play as a child, a sanctuary of exotic hybrids that thrived on moonlight. The garden was beautiful and complex, with hidden traps capable of drawing blood—just like his grandmother.
She’d caught him lingering at the gate once. He would sometimes sneak off and look at it, fantasizing about running away and searching for his father in the shadowlands, or imagining Victor stepping through it and sweeping him up in a hug. Tethys had scared him half to death, looming out of the darkness. She wasn’t angry—not precisely. But she told him the gates were locked and warded. He’d stopped going after that.
Then Nazafareen had blown them all wide open.
I’m sorry, he thought. So sorry….
“Nearly there,” Rafel whispered.
Galen blinked, scanning the dim interior of the cavern. Large open cisterns irrigated the crops via a clever system of stone channels. Rafel stopped at one draped in hart’s-tongue moss.
“This is where we came through from Delphi,” he said, pointing into the cistern’s inky depths. “Talismans of Folding use liquid as a passageway. Thena had it. She slipped away for a minute, but she couldn’t have gone far. She may have left a marker. Look for anything out of place.”
Galen moved slowly through the trees, scanning the ground. The cavern had been designed to feed hundreds, and most of the crops sat decaying on the ground. He used his feet to shuffle through the layer of dead leaves and plant matter, uncovering worms and beetles that fled from the sudden light. They searched in concentric circles outward from the cistern. Galen plucked an apple but found he was too nervous to eat it. He slipped it into his pocket and frowned. The earth at the roots of the tree looked disturbed.
He crouched down and began to dig. A few inches beneath the soil, his fingers touched something hard.
“Rafel,” he hissed.
The Danai came running over. Galen pried a disc from the ground and brushed it off. One side depicted a tower, the other a man and woman in profile.
“That’s it,” Rafel breathed. “I have to be the one to use it.” He gave a shaky laugh. “I assume you’ve never been to Delphi.”
Galen shook his head. “I’ve never been anywhere outside the forest, except for here.”
Rafel glanced at him. “You’re not missing much.”
They clambered over the edge of the cistern.
“The talisman creates a shortcut,” Rafel explained. “Through some…nether plane. I’m not sure how to describe it. It feels likes water, but don’t worry, you’ll be able to breathe. Thankfully it’s brief.”
Galen’s stomach tightened. “Understood. So it will take us straight into the temple?”
“I know where they keep her. We get in and out. Kill anyone you see, especially if it’s a girl wearing a bracelet. You can’t hesitate.” He paused. “They have torches on the walls. Don’t look at them. Just stay well back. Can you do that?”
Fire.
“Yes,” Galen said. “I can do that.”
“The Pythia has some Valkirins too, but we can’t worry about them now.” He sounded sad. “But once the clans get word, they’ll go in force.” He touched Galen’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Galen kissed him to cover his embarrassment, a lovely lingering kiss that left him light-headed. “Ellard likes you,” he blurted, and instantly regretted it.
But Rafel just smiled. “I’m glad,” he said. “Ready?”
Galen nodded. They clasped hands again.
“Don’t let go,” Rafel said.
They leapt into the cistern. Chill water enveloped Galen as he sank down. But instead of growing colder in the depths, the substance warmed and thickened. Rafel drifted forward. It was hard to see because a reddish mist covered everything, but Galen had the sense of a vast space around him, of a dull, lifeless place beneath a yellow-grey sky. On and on they swam. His lungs screamed for air and he finally gave in, inhaling the reddish substance with panicky gasp. The pressure in his chest ceased, although it wasn’t an entirely pleasant sensation. It had a distinct taste, of dry bones and dusty riverbeds and charred wood. Galen jerked in alarm as something brushed his foot, but then it broke free and they were ascending again.
Light struck his face. A different kind of light than he’d ever seen before. Not the silver of Hecate nor the buttery yellow of Selene. Not the cool blue of a lumen crystal. This was orange and fierce. Galen blinked and crawled from a sticky pool covering the floor of a stone chamber that reeked of wine. He was still getting his bearings when a plump girl sitting in the corner squawked in surprise. Before she could make another sound, Rafel was on top of her, slamming her head into the wall until she went limp.
“This way,” he hissed, hauling Galen to his feet.
They ran into a hall and up a flight of stairs. Galen clenched his teeth against the dancing, flickering energy he sensed all around, but he kept his eyes on Rafel’s back. And then they stood before a wooden door and Rafel kicked it down and a girl looked up, his twin, Ysabel, her body so wasted Galen could hardly believe she wasn’t dead, and Rafel heaved a sob. Galen ran to the wall and tore her chains loose from the mortar. Rafel lifted her in his arms. They’d turned back to the door when he fell to his knees with a scream so terrible Galen’s heart literally stopped.
A woman stood there, her white gown stained red from hem to neckline, her hair plastered in snakelike tangles across her face. She wore a gold bracelet around her wrist.
“I followed you, Nikias,” she said, a hellish light in her eyes. “Deceitful little witch.”
Galen threw himself at the woman, Rafel’s screams filling his head, and he would’ve torn her apart, but a sparkling dust filled the air and he suddenly couldn’t see. Galen fought anyway, calling a whirlwind, punching and kicking and biting like a wild animal.
Until the iron closed around his throat, and he knew they’d failed.