Artemis climbed above the western peaks, a pale blue disc next to the warm yellow of Selene and the silver of Hecate. It was strange to see three moons, Nazafareen thought. When she’d first arrived in Nocturne, the Wanderer had been a tiny dot, hardly distinguishable from the surrounding stars.
But over the last months Artemis had drawn closer and now it dwarfed Selene, the second-biggest moon. When it reached its full glory in a few weeks’ time, Artemis would summon tides to cover the land for leagues.
A portent of the war to come? Or simply a celestial coincidence?
Nazafareen gripped the next outcropping of icy rock and hauled herself up. Even in a fur-lined glove, her fingers had gone numb. The thin air of the high passes made the moons look close enough to touch, but it also left her fighting for each breath.
At least the night was clear and calm. Despite her exhaustion, Nazafareen felt at peace in the mountains. She liked the clean smell of snow and the way it crunched beneath her boots. The sky spread out above, inky black and dense with stars. The Valkirin range had its own unforgiving beauty that seemed to suit the daēvas who lived there. Nazafareen had come to know both the Danai and the Marakai fairly well, but the Valkirins remained a mystery. The other clans considered them aggressive and bigoted. They’d tried to kill her several times, so she couldn’t really argue with this assessment. Still, she had to convince them to join forces against the Vatras—a task that Victor had made exceedingly difficult.
Behind her, the cloaked shapes of Herodotus, Megaera and Darius moved up the steep slope. After emerging from the gate, the four of them had roped themselves together for the climb over Langjökull glacier, with Nazafareen in the lead. Val Moraine should be close if Herodotus’s calculations were correct. She imagined Victor’s surprise when they turned up at the holdfast. She would be glad to see him, though Darius’s father was not the one she braved the mountains for.
She reached an icy ledge and stepped aside to make way for Darius. Like the rest of them, he wore a heavy cloak with a scarf wrapped around his face, leaving only his blue eyes visible. They waited together, breath steaming, for Megaera and Herodotus to inch their way up.
“I think Val Moraine is just over the ridge,” the scholar said through chattering teeth.
“I hope your father has sentries posted,” Megaera muttered to Darius, leaning heavily on her staff. “Because I’m not climbing another cursed mountain after this one. You say there’s tunnels?”
“Should be,” Darius replied, his voice muffled through the scarf. “That’s how Victor got inside.”
Megaera looked up with a grim expression. “Then let’s get this over with.”
The pass across the glacier lay a hundred paces above. Nazafareen studied the slope, finding a line of crevices, and started up again. They ascended the eastern face, which was exposed to the wind from the White Sea. It had scoured away most of the snow, but ice coated the rock beneath and she placed each step with care. More than once, the rope suddenly grew taut as someone below slipped. Darius took most of the weight—he seemed to have no trouble with his footing—and each time, Megaera or Herodotus was saved from plummeting back down the mountain.
At last she gained the saddle to the next valley. Moments later, Darius clambered over the rim and hauled their companions to relative safety. More peaks marched into the distance, jagged white teeth against the sky. Nazafareen searched for Val Moraine but saw only ice and snow. Surely such a mighty holdfast would be visible in the bright moonlight. Her heart sank. They had relied on Herodotus and the secret maps he studied before their departure, courtesy of the Emperor of Tjanjin, that showed the location of Gates in both the Dominion and the Valkirin range.
“It must be here,” Herodotus said faintly, scanning the mountains. “It must be.”
Nazafareen and Darius exchanged a look.
“Perhaps you misread the runes,” Megaera said. “Or chose the wrong gate.”
Herodotus gave her a level look. “Of course, it didn’t say Val Moraine, the markers of the Gates are far older than the holdfast, but I’m certain the one we came through corresponded to the maps. I have many faults, but my memory is not one of them!”
Megaera blinked. Herodotus was usually mild-mannered, but he looked nearly as angry as when Darius told him about the Oracle kidnapping daēvas.
“Then it must be close,” Nazafareen said soothingly. “Perhaps we should rest here for a few minutes and get our bearings.”
“Yes.” Herodotus sagged a bit. “I’m sorry. Let me think. Hecate always rises in the west, so I know we’ve been going in the right direction. How many leagues would you say we’ve covered?”
“Not as many as you might expect,” Darius answered wryly. “With the elevation gain—” He cut off, gaze lifting to the skies above the glacier. He held himself still for a long moment, like an animal sniffing the wind. Then his shoulders stiffened. “Get down,” he hissed.
Nazafareen sensed nothing but dropped to a crouch immediately, pressing into the shadowed recesses of the rock wall. Herodotus and Megaera were a beat slower to react and Darius launched himself across the narrow shelf, dragging them both flat just as four winged shapes soared overhead.
Nazafareen watched them pass, the dark silhouettes of hooded riders clear against the moons.
“What were they?” she whispered once the party had passed out of sight.
“Abbadax,” Darius replied in a sober voice.
“What in the name of Dionysus are abbadax?” Megaera demanded.
“It’s said they originated in the Dominion,” Herodotus replied, squirming a bit under Darius’s bulk. “Some intrepid Valkirin must have brought some eggs back a very long time ago. The clan uses them for transport, military actions, hunting and simply for sport. They’re an integral aspect of the culture—”
“That’s all fascinating,” Megaera grumbled, shoving Darius away and pushing up to sit. “But why are they here? Aren’t the other holdfasts hundreds of leagues away?”
Darius and Nazafareen exchanged a look.
“I don’t suppose they could be Victor’s scouts?” she asked hopefully. “Maybe they managed to tame some.”
He shook his head. “It’s possible but unlikely. We have to assume Val Moraine is under siege.”
Nazafareen blew out an unhappy breath. “It suppose it was inevitable. Your father really is a fool.”
“That’s a kind way of putting it,” Darius replied. “I only hope he still lives. How long can he defend the keep against an army? They might already have taken it back.”
She looked at her companions. Frost rimed Herodotus’s beard. Megaera was blowing on her hands and shivering. Darius simply looked weary. They’d come all this way on her whim. She could hardly ask them to continue now, when there was no hope of getting inside Val Moraine. Nazafareen swallowed her disappointment.
“We’ll turn back,” she said firmly, rising to her feet. “If we’re careful, we can make it to the gate undetected.”
To her surprise, no one moved.
“What if Kallisto and Rhea are here?” Herodotus said.
Megaera nodded. “They were flying on those things…the abbadax, when we saw them in the globe.”
“If so, they’re either prisoners or they’ve made friends with the Valkirins,” Herodotus said. “If it’s the former, we cannot leave them. If it’s the latter, then we still might have a chance of accomplishing our goal.” He turned to Darius. “But I leave the final choice to you. Of all of us, you have the most to lose.”
Darius thought for a moment. “They’ve never seen my face. Nor yours, Nazafareen.”
“It’s a terrible risk,” she said quietly. “I would never ask you to take it.”
“I know.” He peered up at the glacier. “Here’s what I propose. We gain a decent vantage point and assess the situation.”
“And if we’re caught?”
“My name is Daraya, a mortal from Delphi. You’re my wife, Ashraf. We are loyal followers of Dionysus, aiding Herodotus and Megaera in their search for the talismans.”
“Won’t they know you’re a daēva?”
“Blue eyes are exceedingly rare among the Danai. As long as I stay away from the Nexus, there’s no reason they should suspect.” He fingered his plain wool cloak. “The forest garb of the Danai is well known to the Valkirins. These clothes were bought in Susa.”
Nazafareen pulled her glove off with her teeth and rubbed the smooth skin of her stump, thinking. “But they’d still never let us inside Val Moraine.”
He smiled. “One thing at a time, North Star.”
“We’ll, if you’re willing, I say let’s go. We have to face the Valkirins eventually. And here they are, conveniently in one place.”
They started ascending the glacier as fast as possible, but it was an arduous climb and utterly exposed. Nazafareen tried not to think about the long fall below, or what would transpire if scouts happened by. Pace by pace, they followed the winding crevice. Her legs and arm burned by the time they neared the top. When the slope leveled out, she dropped to her belly and peered over the edge, Darius at her side.
Dozens of abbadax wheeled and dove across the valley below, black dots against the snow. After watching them for a minute, Nazafareen noticed that the activity centered around a tall, sheer-sided peak. Unlike the surrounding mountains, it had no veins of darker rock. The summit was shrouded in a thick layer of ice.
“Val Moraine,” Herodotus whispered raggedly, still fighting to catch his breath. “You can still see the circular shape of it, if you look closely. The Maiden Keep.”
There seemed to be three distinct camps surrounding the mountain. Riders took off and landed at regular intervals in formations of four or five together. The main force was hidden, but Nazafareen noticed tiny figures moving in and out of tunnels dug into the opposite slopes.
“So that’s how Victor’s been holding out,” Darius said in a soft voice. “They can’t break through the ice.”
“What do we do now?” Megaera asked. “I’m not sure I fancy going down there. Look at their numbers.” She shifted, pointing with her staff. “Once we’re in their frosty clutches, there’s no going—”
Her weight must have unbalanced the delicate shell of ice and snow capping the glacier because a small chunk of it broke off. They watched as it bounced down the slope, gaining speed as it went and triggering small rivulets of loose snow. Megaera gave an apologetic cringe.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Get back,” Darius snapped.
They wiggled away from the edge. Nazafareen tried to steady her pulse. It was only a small bit of ice. She looked around, but the summit offered no cover.
“Dig down,” Darius urged. “Camouflage yourselves.”
They scrabbled like badgers, burrowing into the dry, crumbly snow. No sounds of alarm came from the other side. No shrill cries or rush of wingbeats. Nazafareen wished she could see what was happening.
She had just managed to nestle into her hole when something large exploded overhead. It swept past, followed by three more. Through a gap in her hood, she watched them soar over the valley behind…. And circle back around, silent as wraiths. Each carried a hooded rider.
“I think they’ve seen us,” she hissed to the lump of snow next her, which she assumed was Darius.
“I do, too,” his muffled voice replied.
“Don’t you dare try to work earth,” she muttered. “I’ll do the talking.”
“Somehow that’s not reassuring.”
Megaera seemed to have forgotten the plan completely. She sat up, her eyes wild. “Herodotus! Since you’re the expert on these vile creatures, tell me one thing. How do I kill one?”
The riders drew closer, arrowing straight for the huddled group.
He brushed snow from his face. “Yes, well, it’s not easy. They have razor-sharp wing feathers and hooked beaks capable of tearing—”
A ferocious gale howled across the glacier, drowning out the rest of his words. It snatched Nazafareen into the air, her roped companions trailing behind like a tail. Megaera shouted as they plunged over the edge. Serrated outcroppings sped past only inches away. Just before the bone-crunching impact at the bottom, the wind tightened, slowing their descent. Nazafareen landed hard in a drift of snow so deep it enveloped her completely. She was trying to free herself when the rope went taut again and yanked them into the air.
The world streaked past in a dizzying blur that ended abruptly in yet another deep snowbank. She lay there for a moment, disoriented and shivering with cold. Snow packed every crevice of her body—including her undergarments. Nazafareen gingerly tested her limbs and found nothing broken, though her head still spun. She clawed her way out and blinked snow from her eyes.
They were on a wide ledge opposite Val Moraine. The drift hugged the rock wall, but most of the rocky ground was clear, the inch or so of snow remaining trampled with boot and claw prints. The riders landed as her companions emerged, dazed and spluttering. A moment later, they unbuckled harnesses and leapt from their saddles. Air pinioned her arms as rough hands stripped off her sword and hurled it into the deep ravine that plunged down only a few paces away. The tip of a blade lifted her chin. She stared into a pair of light green eyes.
“Mortal spies,” her captor declared, contempt in his voice. “Did you truly think to creep up on us?”
Nazafareen bit her tongue against a defiant retort. “Not spies,” she said, making her voice waver in fear. “We are friends of Kallisto. She went to Val Altair to warn the holdfasts of a great danger. Do you know her?”
Something flickered across the Valkirin’s face. “How did you get this far on foot?”
Nazafareen saw no way around the truth, but it fit the rest of their story. “We traveled by gate.”
“That is forbidden,” the Valkirin snarled. He had sharp cheekbones and a nose that had clearly been broken more than once.
“By who?” Megaera demanded. She squatted on the snow next to Herodotus and Darius.
One of the Valkirins yanked Megaera’s staff away and snapped it like kindling, tossing the broken pieces to the side. The look she gave him would have curled shoe leather, but he simply gazed back with icy condescension.
“By the masters of these mountains, mortal,” Broken Nose replied. “Which would be us.”
“Well, we didn’t know that,” Nazafareen said reasonably. She looked around, but still saw no sign of the holdfast. “Who’s in charge around here? I need to meet with her.”
“You will see Runar of Val Petros at his pleasure,” the Valkirin replied stiffly. “Until then, keep your mouth shut.”
After prodding everyone to their feet, the scouts led them into a rough-hewn tunnel that looked like an abandoned mineshaft. Smaller passages branched off at regular intervals, carrying a dank breeze. Broken Nose went on ahead, returning to escort them into a low-ceilinged chamber lit by a single lumen crystal.
An enormous man with a short, gold-flecked beard perched on an invisible ledge of air. He had white hair, shaved over one ear where an old scar bisected his temple. He wore a belted leather coat with rubies and sapphires gleaming on the high, stiff collar. An iron sword hung from his hip. He regarded them for a long moment without speaking.
“You make an odd party,” he said at last in a rich, rumbling voice.
“My name is Ashraf,” Nazafareen said. She pointed to Darius. “This is Daraya. And Herodotus and Megaera of Delphi. We’re friends of Kallisto of the Cult of the Maenads. Do you know her?”
“I might.” There was no warmth in his expression. “Why are you here, mortal? If there are more of you in these mountains, we’ll root you out.”
“There are no others. We came to warn you.”
Runar grinned. He was missing a few teeth, but the ones he had looked white and strong. “To warn us, eh? Of what?”
“The fire clan. The Avas Vatras. At least one has broken loose of the Kiln. He seeks the heirs to the power that destroyed the Vatras a thousand years ago. It passes on, you see. He could be coming here next.”
Runar’s smile died. “Go on.”
“His name is Nicodemus. He nearly found the Marakai heir, but she managed to escape him and return to her people. We just came from Tjanjin. Their talisman is a child of twelve from the Selk named Mebetimmunedjem. She’s a direct descendant of Sakhet-ra-katme.” Nazafareen paused. “Sakhet is dead. The Vatra burned her houseboat. Send an emissary to the Marakai and you will discover I speak truly.”
“I will do better than that.” He turned to Broken Nose. “Bring Stefán and Frida, as well as Stefán’s guest.”
Time crawled as they waited in silence. Then the door opened and Kallisto rushed in, followed by two Valkirins. The first had short silver hair that stood up like a brush. Her face looked young, but she gave off an aura of calm authority. Vivid emerald eyes assessed Nazafareen and the others with guarded curiosity. The other was male and clean-shaven, short for a Valkirin though solidly built. Where Runar’s face was bluff and broad, Stefán of Val Altair had a fine-boned, foxlike quality.
Nazafareen grinned as Kallisto ran to Herodotus, pulling her husband into a long embrace. It had only been a fortnight since she last saw Kallisto, but Nazafareen realized how much she’d missed her wisdom and calm counsel. If anyone could make the Valkirins see reason, it would be Kallisto. She looked the same as ever, dark hair streaked with grey and worn in a coil of elaborate braids. She held her pinecone-topped staff in one hand. With the other, she briefly touched Herodotus’s cheek, dark eyes shining with emotion. He smiled and bent to kiss her, then whispered something in her ear.
She gave no sign of having heard, but when she turned back to the assembled group, her face was composed. The Valkirins had been talking in low voices among themselves, discomfited by the display of affection, and Nazafareen didn’t think they saw it.
“Herodotus is my husband,” Kallisto said to Stefán. “He used to be the archivist at the Library of Delphi before the Pythia accused him of treason. Ashraf and Daraya helped me to free him. They are loyal followers of Dionysus.” Kallisto told this lie with perfect sincerity, though Nazafareen noticed that she’d propped her staff against the wall and no longer held it in her hand.
“Megaera is one of my parthenoi, warrior maidens who serve the talismans and oppose the Vatras. Their arrival is unexpected, but I’m glad to see them alive.” Her warm gaze took in Nazafareen and Darius. “I left them in the Isles of the Marakai to hunt for the heir.”
Stefán’s eyes narrowed. “That is all very well. But how did they know to find us here?”
“There was a globe of seeking in the emperor’s collection,” Herodotus said quickly. “He generously permitted us to use it.”
“Indeed.” His gaze took on a speculative light. “I don’t suppose you still have it?”
Herodotus gave a weak smile. “I’m afraid not.”
“Too bad. We could discover what those Dessarian dogs are up to. Ah well.”
The tension in the room dissipated, though Nazafareen noticed that Darius’s face had gone excessively smooth.
“Now,” Kallisto said briskly. “What’s happened? Where is the heir? You must tell us everything.”
Nazafareen left this task to Herodotus, who did a masterful job of weaving the truth with bald-faced lies. He picked up the tale just after Kallisto’s departure, relating the encounter at the Mer and how Nazafareen—Ashraf—realized the Vatra’s knife had belonged to Sakhet. The pursuit to Tjanjin and Meb’s abduction into the emperor’s palace. When Herodotus reached the part about the wave, he made it sound it as if her power had spontaneously manifested itself.
“And where is Meb now?” Kallisto asked softly, a dangerous glint in her eye.
Herodotus tugged at his beard. “With the Marakai, my dear. They were rather insistent.”
Kallisto did not seem appeased. “You were supposed to bring the girl to the Temple of the Moria Tree. She would have been safe there.”
“Yes, well, Meb preferred to go with her own people. And she is the talisman.”
“What about this Vatra?” Stefán interjected. “I’d say he’s our main concern at the moment. Where did he go?”
“He fled into the shadowlands,” Nazafareen replied. “But he will be searching for the other talismans. You must be ready.”
“We’re always ready,” Frida replied, her green eyes disdainful. “But if he works fire….” She shared a look with Runar and Stefán. “We will have to join forces and kill him quickly, before he can touch his power.”
Runar turned to Broken Nose. “Triple the sentries. Tell them to watch the gate.” He scowled. “They should have been anyway.”
The Valkirin nodded and hurried from the chamber.
“Where’s Rhea?” Megaera asked.
“She’s in Stefán’s camp,” Kallisto replied. “We arrived at Val Altair just as most of the holdfast was departing to meet Runar and the others at Val Moraine.” She glanced at Stefán. “He doubted my tale at first, but when I swore on this”—Kallisto picked up her staff—“he knew I spoke the truth. We have been his guests since.”
Stefán grimaced, though amusement laced his voice. “I tried it out myself first. I attempted to say I was heartbroken at the loss of Eirik Kafsnjór. The damned thing wouldn’t let me. Gave me a quite a jolt when I persisted.”
“And the Valkirin talisman?” Herodotus put in.
“Remains unknown,” Runar said, exchanging a look with Stefán.
“Are there no records from that time?” Herodotus persisted. “A secret library, perhaps?” His voice took on a wheedling tone. “I do read old Valkirin and I’d be more than happy to assist.”
“I wish there were,” Runar replied. “I can tell you who the original talisman was. A woman named Freydis Sigurdadottir. The power then passed down to her daughter Ranveig and to her daughter Torhild. The lineage was guarded closely. Only the heads of holdfasts knew about it. I imagine Erik Kafsnjór did.”
“But there was no telling which of the descendants would inherit the gift,” Stefán said, picking up Runar’s thread. “It could be the firstborn or the last. And some of those old Valkirins were quite fruitful. My mother said they tested children to determine who was weakest in air, but after a few hundred years, the practice waned.” He looked uncomfortable. “Being burned out was our greatest shame. No one wished to remember it anymore and it didn’t seem like the Vatras were coming back.”
“Can you narrow it down to one of the four holdfasts?” Nazafareen asked.
Runar shook his head. “There’s always been intermarrying. The bloodlines are all mingled.” He crossed his massive arms. “Stefán and I can both personally vouch for the riders we brought. They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t the strongest we had. There are a few back at the holdfasts, of course. It’s also possible the talisman died at Val Moraine.” He looked at Frida. “What about Val Tourmaline?”
Frida shook her head. “None of mine, I already told you.” She hesitated. “There is one I don’t know well. It’s unlikely though. She’s known for her ferocity and skill in battle.”
“Unlikely or not, I would speak with her, if you’ll permit it,” Kallisto said.
Frida considered this. “I don’t see the harm. I’ll go find her.”
When she was gone, Herodotus turned to Runar. “Does Frida lead Val Tourmaline? I thought Halldóra was mistress of that holdfast.”
“You know a great deal about us, mortal,” Runar replied suspiciously.
Herodotus spread his hands. “I’m a scholar, driven by simple curiosity about the world. I’ve studied the Danai and Marakai as well, of course, but I’ve always had a particular admiration for your people. You thrive in these harsh, inhospitable mountains, a feat no other clan could attempt. And you have tamed the abbadax, the fiercest creatures of any species.” He tugged absently at his beard. “I don’t mean to pry, but your customs and hierarchy are fascinating. I even wrote a little book about them, which was well-received among my peers.” Now he coughed in an embarrassed manner. “I wish I had a copy to make a gift to you, Runar of Val Petros, truly that would be the highlight of my career.”
Runar preened a bit at these words, no doubt as Herodotus intended. He had a way of buttering people up while seeming perfectly sincere, even a bit hapless, like a friendly dog you can’t resist patting on the head. By the end of their sea journey with the Marakai, Nazafareen felt sure he’d extracted every bit of information worth knowing about them, all without them quite realizing what he’d done.
“Yes, I see,” Runar grumbled. “Well, back to your original question.” His expression darkened. “Victor Dessarian, that cowardly cur, murdered Halldóra in cold blood after they’d reached agreement to unite against the Pythia.”
Nazafareen exchanged a quick, shocked look with Darius.
“He invoked a talisman that formed a shield of ice around Val Moraine,” Stefán said angrily. “We’re at a stalemate for the moment, but we’re not going anywhere until Halldóra is avenged and her heir restored to us.”
“Halldóra’s grandson, Daníel, was a prisoner of the Oracle but managed to escape to Val Moraine,” Kallisto explained. “He’s still inside the keep. They fear Victor will kill him.”
“That son of a pig,” Runar muttered. “He not only killed Halldóra, but also Eirik’s great-grandmother, Gerda. One of the oldest among us and he struck her down like she was nothing. He will not have a swift death when we get inside, that I can promise you.”
Nazafareen listened as they ranted on about Victor. She could strangle the man. At one point, Darius opened his mouth to say something and she stepped hard on his foot. He made a small noise and shot her a slit-eyed look, but remained silent.
As Darius had advised her, one thing at a time. It sounded as if Victor had been busy digging his own grave. Perhaps she could convince them to let her inside to talk to him….
The door swung wide and Frida entered, trailed by another woman. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with chiseled cheekbones and eyes like green glass. She exuded arrogance and barely restrained violence.
“This is Katrin Aigirsdottir,” Frida said to Kallisto. “The last survivor of Val Moraine, except for Culach. She found us over Mýrdalsjökull glacier and pledged herself to Val Tourmaline. She was in the hall when Halldóra and Gerda died.”
Kallisto swept forward. “I’m pleased to meet you Katrin,” she said warmly. “Thank you for coming.”
The woman nodded brusquely.
“What is it you want? I was in the middle of a patrol.”
She glanced over Kallisto’s shoulder, surveying Darius, Herodotus and Megaera with thinly veiled dislike. Then her gaze landed on Nazafareen and the blood drained from her face. Nazafareen looked back at her uncertainly. She didn’t know Katrin, she felt sure. But then she had those damn holes in her memory.
“You,” Katrin breathed, every muscle rigid.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop another ten degrees.
“What’s wrong?” Frida demanded, staring between Nazafareen and Katrin.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Katrin snarled, incandescent with rage. “We set chimera on you.”
Nazafareen reached for the hilt of her sword, but of course they’d taken it.
“You’re wrong,” she said with a calm she didn’t remotely feel. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
Katrin’s livid gaze fixed on her stump. “It is no mistake. You killed my sister!”