The Last Descendant
Author: Megan Haskell
Date: 2015-02-16 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Young Adult; Magic; Romance; Paranormal; Fae; Fiction; Adventure; Mystery
Description: A woman torn between honor and survival… Rie is only human. The high elves have made that very clear. Even training as an elite fighter isn’t enough to earn the respect she craves. Her only allies are the fierce carnivorous pixies who travel by her side, yet still she clings to the hope of one day earning her place in the Upper Realm. When she's attacked by assassins from the enemy Shadow Realm, Rie's martial prowess keeps her alive...and frames her as a traitor. Facing execution at the hand of a merciless king, Rie must forsake her oaths and flee into enemy lands to prove her innocence. What
Publisher: Trabuco Ridge Press

CONTENTS

Copyright

Title Page

Blank Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

The End

Free Short Story

Review Request

Acknowledgments

Author Bio

Copyright © 2018 Megan Haskell

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations used in book reviews or certain other noncommercial uses as permitted by copyright law.

Cover Designed by Deranged Doctor Design (http://www.derangeddoctordesign.com/)

Edited by Katie McCoach and Kimberly Peticolas

Published by Trabuco Ridge Press

CHAPTER ONE

COFFEE. PERHAPS THE humans’ greatest invention. They had their faults, but the hot black drink was a vice she could appreciate.

Rie lifted the mug to her lips, cradling the warm mug between her hands. She savored the steaming aroma before carefully sipping the cooler liquid off the top of the cup. This one was a bit more exotic, top notes of dried dates and spice, with a subtle chocolate flavor that masked the bitterness of the underlying bean. She’d made a point of trying different roasts and brewing methodologies since she’d been placed under house arrest. Today’s choice had been an Ethiopian blend, hand ground and brewed in a simple pour-over method. It took time, but the ritual was soothing and significant. Almost like meditation. Especially when everything around her had come crashing down.

Rie clenched her teeth, exchanging the calm of the morning for the frustration of her situation. She should be celebrated as a hero. The Battle of the Arches had been a resounding success, the elves pushed back to their own territories, the humans safe from a war they couldn’t even comprehend. Yet she was kept as a criminal in her own home, closely watched by Lord Garamaen Sanyaro, the truthseeker and mediator of the nine faerie realms, the sword backed by the sun, her great-great-many-times-great-grandfather . . . her master.

The coffee turned sour in her mouth, the bitter thoughts drawing the deeper bitterness out of the bean. Apparently, using souls from the Daemon Realm to push back the upperworld invaders was ill-advised. The lost souls had claimed bodies and now wandered the realms, slowly but inevitably going insane. Their actions couldn’t be predicted, and when they cracked, chaos and destruction were sure to follow . . . or so she’d been told.

The Moirai had seen fit to leave her under Garamaen’s recognizance until such time as one of the lost souls was found. Then she would be released to do their bidding, little better than a dog fetching a bone.

So much for earning a little respect from the leadership of the nine realms.

While she waited for the lost to reveal themselves, Garamaen—or Greg, as he preferred to be called in the Human Realm—insisted she continue her studies. Only now, instead of practicing her skills in magic, she was studying the history of the nine realms. Chronologically. And in great detail.

According to Greg and the Moirai, she needed to understand the tactics of the past to make better decisions in the future. Greg had raided the stacks of the Upper Realm, Autumn Realm, and Shadow Realm for texts to better understand the many different perspectives of every major historical event and empathize with the biases of each culture . . . and the many ways in which the same truth could be heard and understood.

“I can hear your teeth grinding from the bedroom.” Daenor’s voice drew Rie out of her dark reverie. Wearing loose sweats and a t-shirt, he hardly looked like the son of the dark elf king and a princess of the fire sidhe. Disheveled white-blond hair stuck out from his head in messy spikes that pointed in every direction, while the natural red highlights added to the disarray. The imprint of a pillow wrinkle crossed the side of his face.

Rie couldn’t help but grin behind her mug. Seeing Rie’s hidden smile, Daenor quirked an eyebrow, but it only added to her internal amusement.

“I’m glad to entertain. It’s certainly better than that grimace you were wearing just now.”

“How is Faernodir doing?” Rie asked, changing the subject. She’d rather discuss his frustrations than her own, and his visit to the Shadow Realm had lasted far longer than anticipated. He hadn’t made his way to bed until near dawn.

Daenor wiped a hand across his face, exhaustion written in every line of his deep brown skin. As a half-breed, he didn’t have his father’s deep black complexion nor his mother’s olive tan. His was somewhere in the middle, a unique blend that few could boast, especially when combined with the blonde hair spiked with red.

“He’s learning. And Ragnar is picking up the slack.”

“Are you sure you’re making the right decision, resigning command of the Shadow Guard?”

Daenor’s lips pursed in a dissatisfied frown. “I have no other choice. I can’t willingly serve the man who lied and kept me from my heritage. Besides,” he wrapped his arms around Rie’s waist, careful not to jostle the hot coffee in her hands, “my job here is far more fun.”

Rie blushed, thinking of yesterday morning’s sparring session. Daenor had been put in charge of Rie’s physical training. Yesterday, they had practiced close combat maneuvers with the use of fire magic. Eventually some clothing got singed. Which required the removal of said clothing.

“What’s going on today?” he asked, releasing Rie to pour his own mug of coffee. He seemed to enjoy the beverage as much as Rie did, so long as he didn’t have to make it for himself.

But the question might as well have been a bucket of cold water emptied over Rie’s head, bringing her back to the reality of her enforced education. Thankfully, she didn’t have to respond.

“Today’s battle is particularly exciting,” Tiik chimed from the table. The pixie was reviewing the lesson plan, walking back and forth across the binder that held the chronological timeline of the Great War. “It’s the battle of Rómesse Gulch. I believe this is the same battle in which Curuthannor’s father was ultimately killed.”

Rie looked up from her mug, intrigued for the first time since being assigned the stack of ancient tomes. As her warden in the Upper Realm, Curuthannor and his lifemate Lhéwen had practically raised Rie from birth. All the same, he hadn’t shared much of his past with her.

“Really?” she asked.

“I don’t remember studying that battle. Was the general involved?” Daenor asked.

The pixie shook his head, zipping up to hover above the table. “No, but Rómesse Gulch was the village where Curuthannor was born and raised, and this was a relatively small battle. Curuthannor’s father was the greatest blacksmith in the area—arguably in the realm—at the time. At the start of the war, the king commissioned the weapons for the elite guard from him, and within a few years, Rómesse Gulch was a bustling center of commerce, with the majority of trade related to the smithies. Which, of course, made it a high-value target for the enemy.”

“You mean my father.”

“Actually, your grandfather was still alive at the time, so it was his rule. But your father did lead the army onto the field.”

“Tally one more on the Shadow King’s ledger.” Daenor’s voice had turned grim. He wasn’t a stranger to war, but Rie understood there were times when the actions of his forebears weighed heavy on his heart.

“No one is blameless in war. And no one can claim all the fault,” Rie said.

“Those might be the wisest words you’ve spoken,” a deep tenor spoke from the living room. Apparently Garamaen had been listening. Rie could only just see the back of his head above the cushioned back of his favorite reading chair.

Rie decided not to say any more, choosing instead to sit down at the table, Daenor at her shoulder. She had always wondered about Curuthannor’s family and his past. He’d never told her the story. Not in detail, anyway. The Upper Realm library had been off-limits to humans. Maybe now was a chance to finally learn more about her adopted family.

She lifted the cover of the leather-bound and engraved manuscript for today’s lesson, admiring the beauty of the illuminated pages while Daenor squeezed her shoulder in a gentle massage. She leaned into the strong fingers as she turned another page. Gold foil swirls delineated the margins and inset illustrations highlighted the major players’ house crests and portraits.

“What have I said about the books?” Tiik reprimanded, dashing over to give Rie the white cotton gloves she was supposed to use when touching the pages. The three-inch pixie clucked his tongue in a chitter of Pixl, a sign of his agitation. He was a historian, perhaps the only pixie who valued information more than physical treasure. He had been thrilled at Garamaen’s new idea for training.

He was the only one.

“They’re magically enchanted not to fade or disintegrate. I don’t think the gloves are necessary,” Rie replied.

“They’re a necessary precaution. At some point, the magic needs to be replenished. Not knowing when these particular books are scheduled for maintenance, we can’t be sure you won’t poke a hole in a precious page.”

“Just wear the gloves,” Niinka, the self-appointed leader of the five-pixie swarm, groaned from her perch on Rie’s shoulder. “He won’t let up until you do.”

The pixies were Rie’s constant companions, with one or more of them hiding in plain sight somewhere on her person, or nearby, at all times. Hairless and naked, with translucent dragonfly wings, they could change the color and texture of their skin to exactly match their surroundings. If it weren’t for their incessant chatter, no one would ever know they were there.

Rie sighed, holding out her hands. “Fine, I’ll wear the gloves. But I state again, I think this is ridiculous.”

She slipped on the soft cotton, wiggling her fingers to pull the gloves as tight as possible then sat down to read.

A bell later, she was still sitting in the same chair, reading the same text. So far, nothing had been mentioned about the blacksmith or his son, and though visually beautiful, the content of the book was about to bore Rie to tears.

A pounding on the house’s back door drew her attention away from the dry historical text. Daenor had changed position to sit across from her and eat his breakfast in silence, but he looked up at the seemingly urgent knock.

Rie stood from her seat at the kitchen table and stretched. Garamaen had offered her the use of his study, but Rie was afraid anything more comfortable and she’d simply nap all day.

“I better go check on that,” she said.

Daenor rose from his own chair. “I’ll come with you.”

“You still have a lot of reading to do. We haven’t even gotten to the main battle yet!” Tiik sounded more disappointed than he had any right to be, though he had been sitting on Rie’s shoulder to read while she did.

“Why don’t you read the text and give me a summary?” Rie teased. She knew that option wasn’t truly viable—she really did need to learn the histories in depth and detail—but it was worth a shot. Besides, with the old heavy parchment and his insistence on gloves, Tiik would have a hard time turning the pages.

She didn’t wait for an answer, striding out through the kitchen and into the sunken living area that overlooked the long expanse of beach and a distant ocean horizon.

“Hmph. With your pace of reading, I probably should,” Tiik mumbled, darting out in front of her.

Rie quirked a corner of her lip at her friend. No matter his complaint, information was information, and eavesdropping on a new visitor was just as enticing as the dusty old book to the pixie who craved knowledge.

The smile didn’t last long.

A small man with a long, white beard and white fur cloak stood at the back door. Framed by the beach and blue rolling waves in the background, the man was obviously fae, and obviously out of place. Rie didn’t recognize his species. No taller than Garamaen’s waist, tension radiated off his body, giving him a larger presence than his physical form. A deep crease formed between the man’s bushy white eyebrows as he spoke with Sanyaro in low urgent tones.

Garamaen nodded, his lips pulled down in a grim frown. “I’ve been expecting your visit.”

“You knew?” the little man asked.

“I suspected, but I couldn’t be sure. My Sight has grown hazy. Only once before has the future been obscured.”

Rie was getting better at reading her mentor’s moods and expressions, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking now. His face had smoothed into a neutral mask. All she knew was that if his precognition was failing, something was terribly wrong.

“Then you’ll come?”

“We’ll leave immediately.”

A grunt was the little man’s only response.

As soon as Garamaen shut the door behind the visitor, his facade fell. His shoulders slumped in weary exhaustion and he rested his forehead on the solid oak.

“What is it?” Rie asked. Whatever the little man had wanted, Garamaen had taken it harder than usual. Though he’d been severely injured with a knife wound to the gut just weeks before, he rarely showed any sign of the physical toll his recovery was taking on his body.

“Fenrir.”

“What?”

“Not what, who. Fenrir. The great wolf of the Winter Realm. Chained for nearly six thousand human years, he’s finally escaped.”

Rie ran the calculations in her head. All the realms ran on slightly different time scales, but that still meant the wolf had been imprisoned for more than two thousand years. A life-span not unheard of amongst the fae, but certainly a harsh punishment.

Garamaen’s haunted gaze turned toward Rie. “Pack your bags for the cold.”

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU CAN’T BE serious,” Rie argued, following Garamaen down the hall toward the stairs that led to his bedroom, Daenor on her heels. “You’re still healing. Éostre will never allow it.”

“Then it’s a good thing Éostre is no longer here.”

“Greg, be realistic. You’ve recovered some strength, but you still have to pause walking up the stairs from the beach.”

There were fifty-two uneven stairs up a steep cliff from the beach to the back door of the house. Every morning, after reading her first assigned text of the day, Rie and Garamaen would walk down that beach, each day a little farther. But each day, on their return from the sand, they had to tackle the stairs. And each day, Garamaen had to pause at least once to make it back up to the house.

He was in no shape to take a quest to the frozen Winter Realm.

Garamaen paused at the base of the small flight of ten steps that led to his bedroom. He braced his arm against the wall. His voice was deeply pained.

“Tell me, Rie, what do you See?”

Rie shook her head, not understanding.

“Look to the future. What are you doing next week?”

Rie huffed an annoyed breath but closed her eyes. She sought the center of her energy, the place where her Sight lived. She dove into the pinpoint of light, looking for the multitude of futures that could be, given the choices of the present.

They would travel by portal to the Winter Realm and meet with the barbegazi leader, she could See that much, and it seemed there was no alternative. This was predetermined. But the rest was a foggy scattershot of disconnected images: snow and ice, stone and darkness, a sparkling city in ruins. Nothing so solid as a path to follow, but plenty of destruction and fear.

She opened her eyes to find Garamaen’s knowing gaze locked on her face. He gave a sad laugh at her anxious confusion.

“Six thousand years ago, before I came here to the Human Realm, I made a choice. I chose to save Fenrir’s life at the expense of his freedom. I sacrificed my hand to make sure that the barbegazi would live without fear.”

Rie’s gaze traveled to the stump where it pressed against the wall. Too often she forgot about his handicap, since he never seemed to let it stop him from anything.

Garamaen’s blue eyes glowed with intense emotion.

“That choice made me who I am today, but every choice has consequences. Sometimes those consequences aren’t realized until years, decades, centuries later. My consequence has arrived.”

Rie examined her master’s face, looking for any hint of indecision. Fine lines of pain branched out from the corners of his eyes. His typical teasing twinkle was gone.

“What’s happened?” Rie finally asked.

“A barbegazi village has been attacked. Slaughtered might be the better word. And it has all the signs of Fenrir. They don’t know how or why he escaped, but they’re sure it’s him. So am I.”

“Why?” Daenor asked, his tone skeptical.

Garamaen met his gaze, solemn and unflinching. “Because the great wolves of the Winter Realm cannot be Seen. They are immune to our magic. And I no longer See the future.”

“Why can’t the frost sidhe help? Shouldn’t this be their task?” Rie asked.

“I was the one who chained the wolf. It’s my responsibility.” Garamaen began the short trek up the stairs to his rooms. “Be ready to leave in an hour. Both of you.”

He paused one more time, hand on the stair railing. “And leave the mechanical weapons behind. They’ll mark us out as intruders.”

***

“Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m excited!” Niinka chirped, zipping from her seat on Rie’s shoulder to the pixie’s nest in the wrought-iron chandelier above the bed.

“About the Winter Realm? The most inhospitable of the nine faerie realms?” Hiinto replied. Niinka’s little brother generally preferred warm beds and soft cushions over any kind of challenge or hardship.

“Only inhospitable to pixies. The frost sidhe find it quite comfortable,” Tiik replied. “In fact, did you know that in the last six thousand years, the frost sidhe population has boomed? Prior to settling the Winter Realm, women with ice abilities had the lowest live birth rate. The year-round cold seems to have boosted their rate of conception and successful delivery.”

“Only you would find that interesting,” Niinka said, voice muffled. Her head and arms were buried in the feathers and fluff of the nest.

Daenor shook his head. “It’s just as inhospitable for fire sidhe. Who, in their right mind, would want to live in a place that snows year round?”

“Actually, that brings up a good point.” Rie sat on the overstuffed chair in the corner and rubbed her hands across her face. How was she supposed to plan for a journey to the coldest region of all the realms? “I don’t think you guys can come. Your wings will freeze. It’ll be worse even than the Northern Province of the Upper Realm.”

“You’re not including me in that statement, are you? ‘Cause I strongly protest if you are.” Daenor winked, the upward quirk of his lip a giveaway that he wasn’t being serious.

“Nah, you’re stuck with me and the snow,” Rie replied. “Sanyaro’s orders.”

Possn—the shyest of the pixies and typically the hardest to find—shivered so violently, she shook the bedside lamp she hid in. “Not fun.”

“Pfft,” Niinka dismissed the argument with a buzz of her wings. “I’m not missing an adventure just because of a little cold.”

“You don’t wear clothes, Niinka. You could literally freeze to death.”

“I could make traveling garments for them,” Plink offered, stepping out of the closet where she spent much of her time. The imp stood about a foot high and looked like a cross between a giant rat and a tiny goat, which was made even more comical by the frilly apron covered in pins.

Niinka flew out of the nest so fast, she trailed feathers behind her. Eyes bright and hopeful, she hovered in front of the imp. “Fur-lined and cozy?”

“If you like. I’ve already prepared your winter cloak, Apprentice Sanyare.”

“Thank you,” Rie replied with a smile. “But you should call me Rie.” Plink had attached herself to Rie in the Shadow Realm, declaring her intent to be Rie’s lady-in-waiting after Plink’s former master was murdered right in front of her. Now she made it a personal priority to predict Rie’s every need.

Plink ignored the comment. “I hope you don’t mind, but I modified the long traveling cloak Lhéwen made for you. I didn’t change any of the outer wrapping, just added a removable inner fur for cold weather. You’ll still need to wear layers underneath, but the fur should be enough insulation to keep your body heat contained when it’s buttoned.”

“I’m sure you’ve done a wonderful job, and I doubt Lhéwen will mind the modifications.”

“Would you like to try it on?” Hope and eager anticipation shone bright in Plink’s eyes.

“Of course.”

Popping back into the closet with a puff of displaced air, Plink returned within seconds translocating herself and the cloak directly onto the bed. Not for the first time, Rie admired the imp’s ability to go anywhere with a thought.

Plink spread the amethyst fabric so that it lay flat, showcasing the design touches she’d added to the cloak. The entire inside had been lined with a dense layer of black fur, and the hood had been transformed with a bushy cowl. Within seconds, the pixies were rolling around in the soft material.

“Plink, you’ve outdone yourself,” Daenor murmured, running a hand across the black interior. He seemed nearly as enamored with the fur as the pixies.

“I chose shorn beaver fur for its extreme warmth and durability but relative light weight. The hood is done in fox fur, so that your breath won’t freeze on the strands. The buttons for the lining are small and hidden throughout the cloak, so if you want to wear the spider silk alone, you can easily remove the fur. But the silk is water repellant and wind resistant. It will help retain your heat even in the worst weather.”

“How did you know I was going to need this?” Rie asked.

“I didn’t,” Plink grinned. “I was just so cold myself in the Northern Province, taking care of those kids in that drafty old manse, I thought we should all have some warmer clothes. I made yours first, but I have a prototype for the pixies to try on. Theirs were trickier because of the wings. I also wasn’t sure they would wear clothes, given their need to hide.”

“Ooh, let me see!” Niinka chimed, sitting up in the longer fur of the hood.

Plink’s grin grew wider. “Of course!”

She popped back into the closet and returned with the tiny garment in hand. Plink helped Niinka slide it on while the other pixies watched. Made of strips of the same black beaver fur as the lining of Rie’s cloak, the pixies’ new garment wrapped over their shoulders and draped between their wings. Ingenious threads could then be attached above and below the wing joint to hold the cloak together in a tight wrap.

“Can you move your wings around?” Plink asked, circling around Niinka as she examined her work.

Niinka slowly flapped her wings, picking up speed until she was hovering just a quarter-inch off the surface of the bed. “It’s heavy, and I’ll be slow, but I can fly!”

“Good.” Plink ran a hand along Niinka’s shoulder, smoothing out the cloak. “Now, if your wings get too cold and you don’t need to fly, you can just tuck them down under these flaps here,” Plink explained, flipping down a shoulder piece that draped over the entire garment. “But if you need to fly, you just pull it up and wrap it around your neck like a scarf. It’ll also add a bit of extra wind protection around your face if you pull it over your head like a hood, so the only exposed skin will be around your eyes.”

“My turn!” Hiinto shouted.

“Can I get it in a different color?” Niinka asked.

Rie couldn’t help chuckling.

“What?” Niinka demanded, hands on hips. “If I’m going to wear clothes for the first time, I want them to be fashionable.”

“Yes, but it’s not very practical. If you choose some bright yellow or orange, you might as well announce to the world where you are,” Rie replied. “At least the black will blend with the shadows at night.”

“You’ll blend with the lining of Rie’s cloak too, since it’s the exact same fur from the same tanner.” Plink added. “But it doesn’t much matter. I only have the black beaver fur.”

Niinka huffed and pouted but seemed to accept the explanation.

“Are you going to try yours on?” Plink asked Rie hopefully.

“Of course. I was just waiting for the pixies to clear out of the fur.”

Standing next to the bed, Rie lifted the cloak off the covers and swung it around her shoulders. The beaver pelt was perhaps the softest material she’d ever felt in a garment, and surprisingly lightweight. She drew the hood over her face and clasped the buttons down the front of the cloak.

Peering into the full-length mirror attached to her closet door, Rie was amazed at the image. The amethyst spider silk gleamed in the light of the chandelier, a near-match to the color of her eyes, while the black fur of the lining blended with the messy bob of hair that framed her face. Though it no longer had the loose freedom of movement as Lhéwen originally intended, the weight of the fur inside didn’t damage the draping or pull against the outer shell. Meanwhile, the hood obscured most of her face without limiting her ability to breathe properly.

“You look amazing . . . -ly warm,” Daenor teased from his perch on the bed. “Though I can hardly see you in there.”

“Thanks. That’s probably a good thing.” Rie’s lips twisted into a scowl. “The frost sidhe won’t be too thrilled to find us wandering their realm.”

Daenor tipped his head in acknowledgment. “If we’re hidden well enough, they won’t know we’re there.”

“Here’s hoping.” Rie looked in the mirror once more, carefully examining Plink’s handiwork. Daenor was right, only her eyes and a bit of her nose were visible when she pulled up the hood. She smiled, grateful for the imp’s ingenuity.

“You certainly learned a few things from your former master,” Rie said lightly to Plink, knowing the memory was still difficult to bear.

Plink’s face fell in a sad frown. “Yes. Garran always gave me opportunities and scraps to practice with, though I never had the chance to create a full garment for a client.”

“Well, you’re about to get a lot of work,” Rie nodded toward the pixies who were arguing over who got to wear the cloak next.

“It won’t take me long to sew them. I already cut most of the pieces out.”

“Good!” Niinka chimed. “Then I don’t have to share mine!”

“Better hurry,” Rie mock whispered with a wink.

“Yes, less than a bell to prepare,” Plink replied, serious and determined. “I’ll have you ready to go.”

“What about me?” Daenor asked. “Do I get a matching coat?”

Plink’s face scrunched into an embarrassed frown. “I didn’t acquire enough fur. I hadn’t really considered that you would need one, since you hadn’t been through the Northern Province with us. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Plink. I can make do.”

“I bet Greg has extras,” Rie replied. Her mentor seemed to live by the mantra ‘always be prepared’. And for a man with highly developed foresight, preparation was subconscious. Rie tried to channel some of that aptitude. “What else do we need? We’ll have to pack carefully for a hike through the cold.”

“Lots of blades, extra clothes, gloves and hats, extra rations,” Daenor said, counting the items off on his fingers.

“But no guns. I wonder at the prohibition,” Rie said. She’d been practicing with a small .45 caliber pistol. She’d grown fond of the weapon, though the enchanted khukuri knives would remain her first choice.

“Of all the races, the frost sidhe are the most insular and isolated,” Tiik said.

Rie mentally groaned. The pixie’s voice had dropped into the smooth monotone he used when lecturing on a new topic. This could take awhile.

“Perhaps because of the harsh realm in which they live,” Tiik continued, “the masters of the cold keep to their own. As such, they haven’t kept up with the rapid growth and development in the human race. They feel mechanical weapons are vulgar creations, inferior to the blade and bow, and have banned them from the realm.”

“So they hated humans before the Battle of the Arches,” Rie interrupted, trying to cut off the speech before it got going too far. “Good to know we’re headed into friendly territory.”

“Don’t forget, you just sent them scurrying home with their tails between their legs, afraid for their mortal souls,” Daenor replied. “If they spot us, we’re dead.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE SENSATION OF being simultaneously stretched and squeezed never failed to twist Rie’s stomach into a knot, though she hid it well. After decades traveling the portals of the Upper Realm, her composure was solid. But she needed half a heartbeat to truly throw off the disorientation, especially when the weather changed from breezy summer beach to blizzard in an instant.

Rie tugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders, making sure there were no gaps where the frigid air could needle its way inside. She had taken Plink’s advice and worn multiple layers underneath, including the amlug hide armor and a long-sleeved human-made thermal shirt, but she knew even a tiny gap would lose too much body heat too fast to keep up.

Daenor stepped up beside her. “People really choose to live here?” he asked, wrapping his arms tight against his chest, gloved hands tucked under his armpits.

“Yep.” Garamaen leaned in to wrap his arms over their shoulders and insert his head between. “Welcome to the home of the frost sidhe and the barbegazi, the most inhospitable realm in all of the nine.”

He pushed his way between them and strode forward into the snow.

“Let’s go, before we freeze in place,” Deanor urged. He reached out for Rie’s hand, then realized it was buried beneath her cloak. “Agh,” he grunted.

“Sorry, I’m not doing anything to compromise the heat retention of this fur. Just stay close.”

Daenor chuckled. “Fair enough. I just wish I had a big fur blanket to huddle under with you, too.”

Garamaen had lent Daenor a full-length bear-hide duster with a deep hood. He claimed it dated back to the early nineteenth century, when he’d lived in the pioneer west as an eccentric mountain man. With tanned leather on the outside and thick brown, un-dyed fur on the inside, Rie could believe him. Like Rie’s own cloak, the duster almost completely hid Daenor from view. A good thing, since his darker skin and black leather armor would have certainly identified him as a member of the Shadow Guard.

“He certainly looks the part of a mountain man, doesn’t he?” Niinka chirped. “Too bad that backside is covered.”

“Mmm,” Rie replied noncommittally. Her lips twitched in a suppressed smile, but she didn’t want to encourage the pixie’s speculation about Daenor, or his backside. Only she was allowed to do that.

Niinka huddled next to Rie’s neck, within the hood of the cloak, her wings tucked tight behind her and beneath her own tiny winter coat. Plink had done well, completing winter garments for each of the pixies. But knowing how cold it would be, they had chosen to hide within the hoods of their greater fae companions until they absolutely needed to fly. Or something shiny grabbed their attention.

Niinka and Hiinto stayed with Rie, Gikl—who had already bonded with Daenor and rarely stayed with Rie anymore anyway—and Possn traveled with Daenor, and Tiik caught a ride with Garamaen.

Rie hoped Greg didn’t regret allowing the pixie professor into his hood. Now that he had an outlet for his intellectual curiosity, she imagined he would incessantly discuss history and Rie’s training.

In any case, all five pixies had chosen to make the journey, despite the cold. Only Plink stayed home to help Hilgor maintain the house and continue her work with the human refugees who had survived the Battle of the Arches. She said she’d had enough of frozen wastelands for the foreseeable future.

Like most elvish colonies, the Winter Realm portal was kept on the outskirts of the city, with an easy means of guarding the entrance into the realm. In this case, the stone archway had been imbedded inside what appeared to be a glacier. When the veil was closed, the arch looked like it led into a solid wall of ice at least ten stories tall.

Rie and Daenor followed Greg down an icy blue tunnel, just a sliver of sky above their heads to light the way. Cold radiated down toward them from all sides, but at least there was no wind to beat at them or snow to needle at their faces. Wide enough to allow ten men abreast, the tunnel didn’t quite feel claustrophobic, but Rie still hoped they found the end quickly.

A pair of elves dressed in similar cold weather attire to Rie’s group pushed past with a cart full of what looked like bags of grain. She couldn’t tell what realm they were from, but given the way they shuddered and clutched their cloaks around their bodies, she figured they must not be frost sidhe.

Another group passed, carrying bundles of furs strapped to their backs.

“Ah, good,” Greg said, turning to gesture them forward more quickly. “The market is open. Easier for us to get into and out of the city unnoticed.”

Rie grimaced at the reminder that they entered inhospitable territory and gave another tug on her cloak.

The tunnel exit was guarded on either side by carved ice sculptures of frost sidhe warriors in full regalia at least fifty feet tall, and their matching, living counterparts. Silver plate over white fur, and tall pointed helms reminded Rie of the damage the frost sidhe could do. Ice was their specialty, and they could bring it to bear as quickly as Daenor could throw fire.

Rie dropped her chin to allow the cloak’s hood to better cover her face, while Daenor gave his a tug to pull the fur forward, as if preparing for the wind that howled across the glacier opening. Greg didn’t seem to worry about being noticed, though he didn’t reveal his identity to the guards, either. He simply walked past, as if he had all the time and not a care in the world. Nor did he seem to react to the blast of icy wind that assaulted them as soon as they stepped out of the buffer of the glacier.

Rie, on the other hand, had to brace herself against the storm. But the guards didn’t stop them. They kept their eyes forward, standing at attention against the ice wall. Not a muscle twitched. Two more guards were positioned outside the glacier, standing at attention as if they didn’t feel the blizzard blasting them from three sides. They faced the city, its defensive ice wall just a few hundred yards from the portal tunnel. However, the gap between natural glacier and sculpted fortification was filled to bursting with market stalls and tents, merchants hawking their wares.

Tent flaps beat a staccato rhythm against their support poles, wind howled through the gaps. Anything not tied down was liable to blow away. Yet somehow, everything remained standing against the gale winds, whether by a feat of engineering or magical influence, Rie didn’t know. But the two groups that had pushed past Rie and Daenor had already disappeared into the crowd of people bargaining for goods.

If Rie hadn’t felt claustrophobic in the tunnel, she did now. Too many people filled the space, too many voices, and too many goods on display. Fur and grain and vegetables, a stand of carved wooden furnishings, a table covered in cooking utensils, pots and pans . . . everything and anything you could possible want was available for the right price.

Greg pushed through the crowd, only rarely looking back to make sure Rie and Daenor stayed close. Rie was glad he knew where he was going, because she would quickly be lost without his guidance.

Guards were stationed throughout the market, watching the proceedings with cautious eyes. More guards stood at attention on the wall, their swords unsheathed but resting on their shoulders.

“Pretty,” Niinka chimed in Rie’s ear as they passed beneath a flawless ice arch and into the city proper. She had to agree. It looked like it had been formed of a single block of ice, not a seam or crack to be seen. Yet the ice had been carved into a decorative series of curved patterns, interspersed with diamond and star shapes that seemed reminiscent of abstract snowflakes.

Wanting to run her hand along the carvings and admire their artistry, Rie nearly missed seeing Garamaen turn down an alley between two single-story buildings. She and Daenor rushed to catch up.

“Don’t let the facade fool you,” Garamaen commented as they came up beside him. “The ice has a dark core of iron supporting the delicate crystal at the surface. The mountain can do its worst, and the walls will not crumble. An army could march on the city, and the buildings will not fall. It’s pretty to look at, but the frost sidhe aren’t delicate flowers.”

“Perhaps not, but they have some artists in their ranks,” Rie replied.

“Just don’t assume the artists aren’t also warriors. In the meantime, we’re being watched.”

“Followed is more like it,” Daenor said.

“I suggest we lose our tails, then,” Garamaen replied. “Stay close.”

Greg turned a corner, and another. Dashed across a street. Rie and Daenor hurried behind him. Though the city wasn’t massive, Rie had only visited it once, long ago, when she was still a high court messenger. Back then, she’d been able to follow the most direct path to the general’s residence, avoiding these back alleys and narrow winding streets. Now, they used the twisting pathways to hide their movements from the spies that followed.

As they traveled away from the main thoroughfare, the architecture began to change. Instead of the smooth and pristine ice halls with elegant archways and sparkling latticework, the buildings grew plain but functional, their decoration limited. The ice gave way to stone blocks, the smooth pavers to rough cobbles and then slush-covered dirt.

“This is the barbegazi district,” Garamaen explained, pausing in front of a squat gray stone building with wide front doors and a steep angled roof. Based on the window placement, the building appeared to be two stories tall, and yet it only rose as tall as the single-story building next to it. The front doors were barely big enough to let Rie through, let alone Daenor who stood another head taller. None of them would be able to stand upright.

Two half-sized men guarded the building on either side of the door, looking like the younger brothers of the visitor to Garamaen’s estate. They had the same white beards trimmed short and neat, and white wool hats and cloaks, though their most notable feature was the wide feet that had to be nearly as long as the men were tall.

Rie gaped. They were also barefoot. In the snow.

“What is this place?” Rie asked.

“We’ve arrived at the home of the barbegazi in the city, the representatives of the native mountain dwellers.”

Greg squared his shoulders, revealing nothing of his emotions except the momentary hesitation, then stepped forward into the street.

Immediately, the barbegazi turned their attention to the group. Unlike the frost sidhe guards at the portal, these men made their scrutiny obvious. Arrows notched in bows, points aimed at Greg’s toes.

Greg held up his hands in a show of peace. “I am Garamaen Sanyaro. Felman is expecting us.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE RIGHT-HAND guard opened the wooden doors and spoke to someone inside. After a moment, both doors were pulled open, and the guards returned their arrows to their quivers.

“Welcome, Sanyaro. You’re expected.”

“Thank you.”

The closer Rie got to the building, the smaller it felt. “How are we supposed to fit in there?” she whispered.

“You kneel if you have to.” Greg’s tone turned grim. “We meet them on their terms. They have every right to demand justice, and I have a responsibility to give it.”

Rie’s eyebrows lifted, and she shot a worried glance at Daenor.

At the threshold of the building, Garamaen bent at the waist in what looked like a low bow. He pushed back his hood and duck-walked through the door. Rie followed, with Daenor close behind her.

Luckily, the room inside was larger than it appeared. Though they couldn’t stand completely upright, they didn’t have to crawl. Designed as a front parlor for receiving guests, the room was long and narrow, with two closed doors at the rear. The scent of meat stew wafted in from behind the door, a clatter of dishes signaling that it must be near time for a meal. Yet the long dining table had been pushed to one side of the room, and cushions set out around the hearth, where a small fire burned merrily on fresh wood.

A barbegazi woman, wearing basically the same outfit as the men outside but without the beard, offered to take their cloaks. Weighted down with the furs, she staggered over to a series of hooks next to the doors and hung them carefully on the wall. Longer than the barbegazi garments, the bottoms of the cloaks pooled on the floor, but at least they were out of the way.

Rie and Daenor settled into the cushions as Garamaen paced the room. Forced to keep his neck bent and head lowered to avoid hitting the exposed wood beams holding up the floor above, the movement didn’t look comfortable. Yet he strode purposefully from one end of the hall to the other, his expression troubled.

“Garamaen,” Rie hissed, using his formal name instead of his chosen Human Realm sobriquet since they were in the public eye, “sit down.”

It probably wasn’t the best idea to order her master to do something, but the pacing was distracting and quickly irritating her nerves. The fire was a warm relief from the blizzard outside. Couldn’t they just enjoy it, for a moment?

Garamaen glanced up at her. “Have you looked into the future since we arrived?”

Rie shook her head, then closed her eyes.

Nothing.

Rie gasped. Her gaze met Greg’s troubled eyes.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Am I right?”

Rie nodded as Daenor’s hand came to rest on her knee. “What is it?”

“I can’t See anything anymore,” Rie replied, not taking her eyes off her mentor. “It’s as if the future is gone.”

Greg pursed his lips. “The wolves have hidden the future.”

A deep crease formed between Daenor’s brows. “Intentionally?”

Garamaen shook his head. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But whatever they’re involved in, our futures intersect. I can’t See any way around it.”

“You’re not alone, though. Not this time.”

The corner of Greg’s eye twitched, a hint of pain. “No. I’m not.”

Just then, one of the back doors opened. An elderly man shuffled through, leaning heavily on an intricately carved cane made out of what looked like bone or horn. He was flanked on either side by two younger warriors armed with staffs tipped with long knives. Rie would have called them spears, except the blades at the top were too long and heavy for aerodynamic flight.

“Garamaen, you came.” The old man held out his right hand to grasp Greg’s fingers.

“As soon as we could gather our supplies. I need to hear it from you. What’s happened? How did he escape?”

The man shook his head, ignoring the questions as he found a seat on one of the smaller cushions, leaving the largest for Greg. He patted the wool, forcing Greg to sit or risk being impolite.

“My great-grandfather always said this would happen. He was never happy with your choice.”

“No, I gathered that, considering every time I checked in he would demand the location of the lair.”

“He would have killed Fenrir without hesitation, if he could have.”

“Given the wolf’s actions, I don’t entirely blame him, but I was unwilling to commit genocide.”

The old man waved his hand in the air weakly, shooing away the conversation. “Let’s not rehash the past. Let’s focus on the present, and the future. But first, would you mind introducing me to your companions?”

“Apologies. Of course. Felman, this is my heir and apprentice, Rie Lhethannien, and her chosen partner, Prince Daenor of the Shadow Realm.”

Bushy white eyebrows lifted above crystal blue eyes that yet retained their sharp perception. “Hmm, yes, a dark elf . . . but is there fire in his blood as well?”

“I am the grandson of Thanûr, King of the Summer Realm, as well as son of King Aradae,” Daenor replied.

“Ah. That must make family gatherings interesting.” Felman shifted on his seat, as if trying to mold the cushion to his old bones. “Then again, I heard of the Battle of the Arches. We barbegazi refused to follow the frost sidhe through the portal, but we would have just been in the way, regardless.”

Felman narrowed his eyes at Rie with a bemused smile. “And I hear you orchestrated the entire rout. Good for you.”

Rie dipped her head with a smile, but said nothing. She was proud of what she had done, and yet everyone except Felman had castigated her for the choices she had made. Still, she couldn’t believe she had been wrong.

But it was good to know there was no love lost between the high king and the barbegazi. She wondered at the political relationships between the species on this realm. She didn’t know much about it.

“Well now, these two strapping men are my son and grandson, Calder and Vegard. They will take over leadership after I’m gone, just as you, my dear, are learning your place in Garamaen’s shadow.”

“Tell me what’s happened,” Garamaen urged.

Felman turned toward Sanyaro, a twitch of his lips suggesting amused irritation. “Very well. The first attack occurred just a week ago. The Buodalr outpost was attacked in the night. The entire herd was killed. Not eaten, just slaughtered and left to freeze in the snow. The village had bedded down for the night, secure in the caves. No one was out on night watch. We haven’t needed one in twenty-two hundred years.”

“I warned you not to let your guard down. Not ever.”

“Yes, well, time and the passage of generations dulls our vigilance.”

Garamaen grimaced, his face twisting into a deep frown.

“Regardless, it was lucky that the villagers weren’t out. They salvaged what they could from the carcasses of their prized goats—which wasn’t much—and came down the mountain.”

“Then how do you know it was Fenrir?”

“Because he appeared on the second night. Demanded your presence, or he’ll destroy a village each week.”

“What?” Rie couldn’t help the outburst. This was ransom. Or blackmail. Or something.

The old man quirked an eyebrow at Rie and rubbed his thumb across the carving of a goat head at the top of his cane. “Given that Garamaen betrayed him and chained him in his own lair for what should have been the remainder of his natural life, it doesn’t seem entirely unjustified that he would want revenge on your master.”

“Perhaps not, but he should know better than to attack the villages. It’s how he got himself into this situation in the first place,” Garamaen replied.

“Which was also a consequence of the elves settlement. Let’s keep that in mind. There were generations of peace with the wolves before the elves arrived and the prey fled.”

Garamaen rubbed a hand across his face. “Have any other villages been affected yet?”

“The second attack happened three nights ago. The entire village was lost, save one young girl. She was sent here as a message for us. The wolf pack is hunting.”

CHAPTER FIVE

FELMAN MOTIONED TO his grandson to open the door. A girl, not yet in her maturity, shuffled into the room, her back hunched beneath the weight of a heavy knit blanket. Her hair hung loose, hiding her face from view. An older woman walked at her side, her arms wrapped around the girl’s shoulders as if she needed extra emotional support.

“Garamaen, I’d like you to meet Solvi, one of the consequences of your misplaced compassion.” Felman’s heavy-lidded gaze watched Rie’s master with intensity.

The girl came forward, urged on by her female companion. One eye was visible between the strands of white hair, the rest of her face hidden from view.

She looked up. The older woman pulled back the girl’s lank tresses with gentle fingers. Rie gasped.

Four deep gauges cut through the entire left side of the girl’s face, from hairline to jaw. Angry, red, and swollen, the split skin had scabbed over, but looked dangerously infected. Her left eye was sealed shut.

Or Rie thought it was. The girl managed to open the lid, revealing an empty socket beneath.

Her eye had been plucked out.

Rie couldn’t help lifting a hand to cover her mouth. The girl’s face was utterly destroyed. Rie had seen plenty of death and physical destruction in the Battle of the Arches, even the underwater bombings in the Summer Realm, but somehow this was worse. Seeing young skin marred by violence, a life forever damaged, was like a kick in the stomach.

A chitter of Pixl—the pixies’ native tongue—erupted from somewhere on the ceiling. Rie couldn’t risk a verbal response to the swarm’s apparent interest, but she hissed a wordless rebuke. They had all agreed that since the pixies couldn’t escape with their usual speed if events went awry, they would stay silent and hidden. They were supposed to remain with the cloaks and coats.

Clearly, they’d forgotten the rule as soon as they’d moved inside where it was warm enough to remove their cloaks without freezing. The opportunity to snoop would be irresistible, even for sensible Possn.

“Who did this to you?” Garamaen asked, drawing Rie’s attention back to the girl and the situation at hand.

“Wolves,” the girl croaked, her voice barely heard above the crackle of the flames.

“They came at dusk,” Felman supplied. “The entire pack, at least eight of them, and Fenrir was at their head.”

“But he must be too old to lead the pack. Surely one of his sons or grandsons is now pack leader.”

The girl shook her head. “It was Fenrir. He told us so.”

“But just because he said that, doesn’t mean it’s true. This could be a copycat. Or one of the cubs was named Fenrir in his honor.”

“It’s a stretch . . . but, since you never told us the location of his lair, I suppose we can’t confirm that.”

Rie duck-walked forward to the girl. She flinched but allowed Rie to turn her chin to the side, to better see the wounds. Careful to keep her fingers gentle, and her voice soft, she addressed Solvi directly.

“You were the only survivor?”

Solvi swallowed and nodded. A thick tear slid out of the corner of her remaining eye. “He ordered me here, to tell everyone. He said it was time for Garamaen to pay his due.”

“Well, I’m here.” Garamaen’s voice was low and intense, fire leaching into his words.

Rie maintained eye contact with the girl. “You are brave. You are a survivor.”

Solvi dipped her chin, but her lips trembled, holding back the sobs that Rie was sure threatened to come out. This girl had lost everything. Her entire family. It was only right that she should want to wallow in her grief. She should be given that time. But while only time would heal the emotional scars, they could at least reduce her physical pain.

“Do you think Éostre would come to tend her wounds?” Rie asked. “She might even be able to prevent scarring on her cheek.”

It was a small thing, but no one wanted to be viewed with pity or shock for the rest of their lives. And the face was such a large visible area, there was no hope of hiding the damage.

“No,” Solvi replied, shaking her head and stepping away from Rie’s touch. A core of steel had straightened her spine. “I honor my family with these scars.”

Garamaen cocked his head to the side, examining the girl from a new angle. “Does your head feel fuzzy? Are you having a hard time concentrating, or using your magic?”

Solvi’s eyebrows angled downward. “How did you know?”

Garamaen took a deep breath, his expression grim. “Fenrir’s bite can strip you of your magic, perhaps even the will to live. I’ve experienced the effects first hand.” He held up the stub of his right wrist. “Luckily, my wife was able to cure my wounds, and she taught me much of her trade. I will need a few ingredients, though. They should be available from the spice merchant.”

The girl looked uncertain, glancing at her leader for advice.

“The choice is yours,” Felman said. “Garamaen owes us much more than this, but if he can end your suffering, I would accept the healing.”

Solvi hesitated, her gaze darting from one face to another, but finally relented. Given how much heat had radiated off her skin, Rie knew her cheek had to be throbbing in pain. And if her magic was also affected . . . she must be feeling like a useless failure, a drain on her family and clan. Rie would.

Garamaen scooted forward, hovering a hand over Solvi’s face. He closed his eyes.

“Rie, it would be good for you to observe this.”

“Of course.” She was already planning on it. This was a skill that had been lost thousands of years ago, and Garamaen might be the only person in existence who still knew the old ways of the forest shaman. She would be a fool to ignore the opportunity.

Rie closed her eyes and let her senses open to the magical plane. Colors and lights bloomed behind her eyes. She could sense Garamaen next to her, his aura a golden sunrise, dimmed only slightly by the remaining weakness from his injuries. Daenor was at her back, an intense red and orange from the fire in his blood.

But the girl . . . the girl was being eaten from the inside out. Wicked tendrils of black slid beneath the white light of her aura, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. With each beat of her heart, the blackness grew larger and darker, consuming more of her essence, while the white dimmed and faded away. Her entire face and torso had already been smothered.

It reminded her a bit of how Othin had trapped Turant’s energy and forced him into an unnatural rest.

“Do you see it?” Greg asked.

“It can’t be missed.”

“I think the wolf is feeding off her energy, using her magic to fuel his own.”

“Othin did the same thing to Turant, helping the Summer Realm keep him contained and quiescent.”

“Interesting. And how did you solve it?”

“I denied the trap of its food, siphoning away the good energy and injecting it back into Turant’s aura elsewhere, forcing the infection to retreat to its origin. Then I severed the connection. But I don’t think that will work here.”

“Why not?” His voice wasn’t accusatory, but more professorial. He wanted to know how she thought.

“Because this darkness is too far advanced into her system, and the tentacles are absorbing the magic from all directions. It actually doesn’t even feel like tentacles, that’s not the right word . . . it’s more like she’s being smothered by a blanket.”

“Very good.” Garamaen pulled back from the girl. He turned to Felman. “Here’s what I need . . . .”

CHAPTER SIX

THE RUNNER RETURNED with the ingredients within a bell, including a mortar and pestle that Garamaen shoved into the fire to heat up. Meanwhile, he examined the pouches and containers in front of him, arranging them in a semi-circle around his crossed legs. Rie watched closely, memorizing every detail. This was old, ancient magic, and she was determined to master it along with everything else that was thrown at her.

After a few long moments, Garamaen pulled the mortar from the fire and set it on the stone floor in front of him. Selecting three bright red berries from a pouch, he combined them with three drops of water and began to mash them into a pulp. Then a white mushroom of some variety was added to the bowl. A few more drops of water with a handful of oats. The last liquid added was some kind of vinegar—the aroma was so pungent Rie sneezed.

Garamaen continued to circle the pestle around the bowl in a clockwise motion until the mash was little more than a thick syrup. A guttural rhythmic noise began to build, not quite humming, but not a mechanical sound, either. At first she couldn’t place it. Finally, she realized it was a throat murmur coming from Garamaen. Gradually, it got louder, and louder, until it became a wave of noise that crashed around the room. Rie hadn’t realized a single person could make that much sound. She would have to ask him how he did it.

Still humming, Garamaen scooped a handful of the syrup from the bowl and began rubbing the mixture on Solvi’s cheek.

The girl shrieked. She tried to move away. Calder stepped forward, but Rie lifted a hand to forestall him, even as Garamaen used the stump of his wrist to hold the girl’s head in place and keep her from squirming away.

“It’s working,” Rie reassured the other men. “Her magic is growing stronger.”

Even within the first few heartbeats, Rie could See the black struggling to find purchase in Solvi’s aura. A few more heartbeats and it was actively being pulled out of her system, revealing the underlying white light that was her essence. With every breath she grew brighter.

Garamaen continued the circular motion, making sure to cover every inch of the claw mark with the blackish goop. He never stopped the noise. Even when the girl whimpered, he didn’t break the rhythmic motion of his hand nor was there a hiccup in the sound.

Rie watched the magical spectrum with intense interest. With every circle of Garamaen’s hand, the black retreated from Solvi’s aura. Meanwhile, the poultice glowed red, like a furnace burning the infection to ashes. As the black retreated, the girl’s struggling abated, and the fire of the healing magic began to dim. When the embers burned away to blackened coals, Garamaen opened his eyes to examine his handiwork.

Tears streaked through the mess of goop on her cheek, but she sagged in visible relief.

“Thank you,” she said. “I feel almost whole again.”

The inflammation and redness already looked much better. Most of the bruising around her eye was even gone. Not entirely healed, but certainly better.

“I’ve burned out most of the infection, but there are a few tendrils still remaining. We will need to make a trip out to Fenrir’s lair, but before we leave this realm I will return to complete the healing. It should only take one or two more treatments, three at most.”

“What will happen to her in the meantime?” Felman asked.

“Use the remainder of this cream as a poultice. Pack it on top of the physical wounds and bind it. Fenrir’s poison will spread again, but more slowly, and the wound won’t fester.”

“And her lost eye?”

The girl gazed at Garamaen, her wide eyes brimming with unshed tears. She beamed up at him as she clenched the heavy wool of her cloak.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for that. As far as I know, no one alive can regrow lost organs—or limbs.” A wry twist of his lips gave away the irony.

Solvi’s face fell, disappointment laying waste to hope. Garamaen placed his fingers under her chin, forcing her face up to meet his gaze.

“But once the treatment is complete, you’ll have full use of your magic. Your eye may be gone, but remember, a handicap is only a handicap if you let it become one. At least you can wear a prosthesis and no one will even notice.”

Garamaen patted her shoulder with the stump of his wrist and a small smile lifted the corners of her lips.

“Now. About the barbegazi village. Is Bjergtopp open?”

“The mountain pass is, but spring has not yet fully arrived in the upper climes. More snow is likely, and the path is treacherous. The herds won’t be moved for another month or more. Is that where you’ll go?”

“It’s the closest village to Fenrir’s lair, or it was the last time I was here. If we move quickly, we might yet stop the wolves from their next attack.”

“Then you won’t simply present yourself as his prisoner?” Felman asked, a grim smile darkening his expression. “I’d hoped you might find the guilt irreconcilable.”

“I’m not giving up hope of a peaceful resolution. So no, I’ll not surrender myself to his justice just yet. But I promise, the violence against the barbegazi will end.”

Felman nodded, resigned. “Very well. Let’s get some warm food in your bellies and get you on your way.”

***

The barbegazi brought bowls of some kind of warm stew for the party to eat, the three white bearded men and the injured girl all sitting down with Garamaen, Rie, and Daenor, while the older woman—presumably the leader’s wife—served from the kitchen. Solvi tried to get up to help a few times, but the woman just smiled and encouraged her to sit and relax, to recover from her ordeal.

Rie waited to eat until Garamaen and Felman took their first sips, following the protocol of the Upper Realm. She didn’t know if etiquette was as strict in this realm, or with the barbegazi, but it never hurt to err on the side of courtesy.

Felman held the bowl to his lips and took a deep swig. He smacked his lips appreciatively, then nodded to Garamaen to give it a try.

“My wife makes the best lichen soup in all the realm,” he grinned.

“Mmm,” Garamaen lifted his eyebrows and smiled in gratitude. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. In fact, if anything, he squinted in distaste but was too diplomatic not to give the soup a try. “Yes, I remember this well from the early days. Your wife’s soup is much better than your great-great-grandmother’s, however.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear it. The recipe has been handed down through the generations, but it’s always nice to improve on the past.”

Rie looked into the bowl. A skim of green floated on top of a thick gray liquid. Chunks of some kind of dark brown meat floated like icebergs in a murky sea. She swallowed, suddenly not very hungry.

“Go ahead,” Felman encouraged. “Give it a try. That’s a bit of goat meat, the first of the spring slaughter.”

Rie held the bowl to her lips, making the unfortunate mistake of taking a deep breath at the same time. The scent of old grass and dirt mixed with a gamey grease twisted her stomach. Burying the desire to put the bowl down, Rie forced her hands to tip it up.

It tasted as bad as it smelled. Bitter and sour, she felt like she’d stuck her face in a recently plowed field and taken a bite. She forced her throat to swallow. If it wouldn’t kill Garamaen, it wouldn’t kill her.

“Mmm,” she said, nodding toward Felman. “Delicious.”

She glanced at Daenor out of the corner of her eye. He also seemed to struggle to swallow, but made a few appreciative noises.

“Oh good, I’m so glad you like it. Eat up.”

Garamaen held the bowl to his lips, forcing down another sip, then set the bowl in his lap.

“Tell me about the guards.” It was a rather abrupt change of subject, but then, he probably needed an excuse to talk instead of eat.

“Guards?” Felman asked.

“At the portal and in the market and stationed throughout the city. We had to take a circuitous route to avoid being followed.”

Felman waved away the concern. “It’s just because of the Battle of the Arches. My sources suggest that the general was concerned that the Shadow Realm, or King Othin, would want to take this opportunity to invade since we were defeated and lost so many soldiers.”

“Who would want to conquer this realm?” Daenor asked, then grimaced at his undiplomatic question. “No offense, of course. You are after all, attuned to this climate, but the dark elves certainly have no desire to live in such cold, nor can I imagine the high elves wanting to leave their comforts and temperate climates.”

“No offense taken,” Felman replied. “In fact, we count on that disinclination to settle. This land cannot feed a large population.”

“It’s why the market is so large here, the frost sidhe have to import most of their supplies and foodstuffs from the Autumn and Upper Realms,” Calder said, the implication of weakness strong in his tone. He didn’t seem too fond of the frost sidhe. But given the violence in his gaze with every glance at Garamaen, he wasn’t too fond of the elves in his presence, either.

“I think the general is being overly cautious. But that’s his job, isn’t it?” Felman added.

“Perhaps,” Garamaen mused. “Regardless, they can’t know we’re here. The frost sidhe still support King Othin, and he’ll do what he can to thwart our efforts, regardless of the needs of the barbegazi or the risk of Fenrir.”

Felman nodded. “Not to worry. We’ll get you out of the city without a problem.”

Rie found that a little hard to believe, but nonetheless hoped he was right.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CLOAKS WRAPPED TIGHTLY about their bodies, hoods hiding their faces, the team left the barbegazi townhome and headed out into the city. The weather had gotten worse. If winds had been blustery before, they were now a downright gale force.

The barbegazi didn’t seem to mind the inclement weather. They simply skated forward on the icy terrain as if their bare feet were cross-country skis. Rie shook her head. It was hard to believe these people could handle that much cold on exposed skin, but it seemed they were designed for winter. Which made sense. They had evolved here, after all.

At first the way was clear and open, the only pedestrians a few other barbegazi. But as they neared the main thoroughfare at the center of the city, activity levels exploded. The market was still open, vendors hawking their end-of-day wares to bargain hunters. But many stands were shutting down, their non-native stall-keepers racing to pack up and get through the portal before the center of the storm reached the city and temperatures really dropped.

Rie was not looking forward to the next few hours.

They needed to cross the entire city to exit on the road to Bjergtopp. Felman thought they wouldn’t have trouble, what with the market chaos and the herds still in the city, but they were leaving on a rather unorthodox path, especially for greater fae who didn’t often venture outside the city walls.

“Where are we going, again?” Daenor asked, his voice muffled by the fur around his face, but still intelligible.

“Bjergtopp,” Greg replied. “It’s the nearest village to Fenrir’s lair, built into the cliffs of the mountain pass. Or it was.”

“There aren’t many still living there, especially now, in early spring,” Felman said.

Rie glanced up at the sky, and the craggy mountain shadowed in the distance. “This is spring? I’d hate to see winter.”

The barbegazi grinned. “I’m sure you’d be miserable. Most of your kind are. At times, we wish you all were, but that’s another story.”

Though the words sounded bitter, the tone was light, almost playful. Rie wished she’d had time to study more of the history of the Winter Realm before coming to this harsh landscape. It sounded like there was ancient conflict that had worn down over time, the sharp edges of competition and discord dulled by forced cooperation.

“In any case,” Felman continued, “Bjergtopp is the highest village on this continent, an ancient settlement in the cliffs of Mount Nordryggar. There are a few recluses who prefer the isolation in the winter, but most of the village come down to lower elevations with the goat herds when the first heavy snow falls.”

“So an elder, a fire thrower, and an apprentice hike up a mountain to an abandoned village, high in the mountains. That’s sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,” Daenor said.

Rie chuckled. “It does. Unfortunately, I think the joke’s on us.”

At that moment Rie’s feet decided to slip out from under her. She landed on her hip. Hard. A grunt of pain escaped her lips.

The barbegazi turned to see what had happened. Not one could hold back a smile. Even Garamaen seemed amused by the clumsy fall.

Daenor helped her up. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

“Hmmph.” Rie rubbed her hip with the heel of her hand. Already she could feel the swelling.

“Watch out for black ice. You won’t slip on the white snowdrift, but the ice slicks can be deadly.”

“Thanks for the advice,” too little too late. She would never speak so disrespectfully to her master and ancient ancestor, but she sure could think it.

“If you gently melt the ice before each step, you’ll get a better grip on the ground,” Garamaen continued. “If you can take it down to stone, all the better, but it takes less energy and is faster just to turn the surface into slush.”

Rie looked down at the ground. Then down the path. The exit gate still wasn’t in sight, and though a light snow fell, the wind seemed to blow it away before it could collect on the ground.

Rie lifted up her foot to look at the bottom of her boot. “Couldn’t we just wear shoes with better traction?” she asked. Her boots were high quality human manufactured footwear, but they had slipped as easily as if they didn’t have any traction at all. “Like maybe some spikes?”

“If you brought some, put them on,” Garamaen replied. “But still practice targeting each step. It’ll be good to improve your precision with heat.”

Daenor leaned over, as if to adjust her cloak, but whispered in her ear. “Don’t feel too bad, I’ve had a couple close calls and hadn’t thought of heating each step, either.”

“Don’t we need something flammable to work with?” Rie whispered back. “Stone and ice aren’t exactly ideal fuel sources.”

“I’m going to try heating the rubber sole.”

“Ah.” Maybe that would work. With her leg still lifted to examine the tread, Rie concentrated on the rubber. She imagined a hot iron pressed against the bottom of her shoe. When she touched the rubber, her finger left an indentation and the material clung to her finger in a goopy strand.

Too much. She grimaced, frustrated at her clumsy attempt at control. She was getting better with her magic, but precision was still beyond her. Pulling a horde of souls through the veil? No problem. Calling violent premonitions? Easy. But heating the rubber of her boot without completely destroying it, that was apparently too much to ask.

Backing off the heat a bit, Rie found a temperature she thought might work to melt the ice without ruining her shoes.

She stepped forward. Tried to slide her foot back and forth, but it seemed the method worked. The heat melted the ice and let the tread of the shoe get a grip.

By the time she had a handle on her technique, the rest of the party had moved on. Rie struggled to catch up, but she didn’t slip again.

They’d long since left the main market area behind and were now entering what could only be described as a ramshackle section of town. Instead of stone, these buildings looked like they’d been hastily constructed out of cheap imported timber. Some were little more than a roof supported with thick beams, while others had four walls but no door.

Foot traffic, however, had increased. Not only fae, but livestock. The barbegazi were pushing their goat herds into the city, probably from some pasture land outside the gates. Frost sidhe wrapped in heavy winter cloaks gestured and shouted commands at the shepherds. From what Rie could gather, they actually owned the livestock and the barbegazi were paid servants.

Rie pulled the hood down farther over her face. With valuable property out in the open, there would certainly be more guards watching, both private hired arms and military.

Their little group was pushing against the flow of traffic. They would be obvious to anyone looking.

“Isn’t there a better way to go?” Rie asked. This couldn’t be the only way out of the city.

“Not if you want to get to Bjergtopp tonight,” Felman replied.

A herd of goats pressed toward them, directly in their path. Dozens of animals blocked the width of the entire road. Goatherds and frost sidhe shouted at one another, trying to clear the way and straighten out which animal belonged to whom. The goats seemed perfectly comfortable in a mixed crowd.

Daenor squeezed close. Garamaen glanced back at them from ten paces ahead, a half dozen bleating animals separated them. Someone jostled Rie from behind. She turned to find the odd bland eyes of a goat staring at her as the beast tried to nibble at her cloak.

“Leave off,” Rie growled, pushing the beast away.

“Hey! Don’t touch my animals!” A thin-lipped man waded through the white wool. He grabbed Rie’s arm and yanked her away from the goat, as if she were trying to beat on the beast.

The motion of her shoulder shook free her hood, exposing her very un-frost-sidhe short black hair.

“A human?” He peered under Daenor’s hood with a gasp. “And a dark elf? Guards!”

Rie yanked her arm out of the man’s grasp, turning the motion into a quick back-kick to knock the man’s legs out from underneath him. He fell, the goats scattering out of the way. Their movement gave Rie and Daenor just enough room to maneuver out of the herd toward one of the open lean-to’s.

“Not there!” Felman shouted from the group farther ahead. He pointed toward another hut three spaces up the road. A woman motioned for them, her eyes wide.

Meanwhile, the man who’d grabbed her was back on his feet. “Guards!” he called again, “they’re here!”

How could he possibly know who Rie was? How could he have identified them so quickly?

Unless they had only been told to watch out for a human and a dark elf together. That would be a striking combination. Rie shook away the worry. If they were being followed, being chased, the best thing they could do would be to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Rie waded through the goats, most of which were amenable to being moved. She threw her hood back over her hair.

“Ouch!” Niinka complained. “Don’t forget we’re in here!”

“Oof,” Hiinto grunted.

Rie felt the pixies moving around in her hood but said nothing. They were a distraction she didn’t need.

She turned her head, checking over her shoulder to see what was happening. The man was still pointing in their direction and shouting, but the other frost sidhe in the area just looked at him with confused expressions. It didn’t seem any wanted to follow. But then movement in the back. A guard with a tall helm and silver armor was pushing through the crowded street.

Daenor waved her on, pushing her forward. He was right, focus on where they were going, and get there as fast as possible. Just twenty paces to the woman, then they were through the open doorway.

“Quickly.” She kicked aside a pile of dirty straw and pulled open a hatch in the floor. Beneath, a dark room greeted them.

“What about the others,” Rie said, hesitating to enter the shadowed confines of an enclosed box. Felman had pointed them in this direction, but what if it was all a trap? What if he wanted them captured to gain favor with the frost sidhe? It was certainly a possibility.

But then Garamaen would be unlikely to help solve the problem with the wolves.

Unless the frost sidhe had promised their help in exchange for this trap.

“They’ll meet you outside the gates,” the woman replied. “There’s a tunnel in the corner. Emergency escape hatch.”

Rie glanced back at the opening to the hut once more. She didn’t hear any commotion, but Garamaen would have tried to stay hidden.

“Check the possibilities,” Daenor whispered, understanding her hesitation. He too, must have considered that they could be led astray.

“There’s not much time, you have to get down there, now!”

The buzzing of wings caught Rie’s attention. Tiik zipped in and landed in the fur of Rie’s hood with enough force to turn her head.

“Garamaen says to go. He’ll find you outside.” Tiik launched himself back into the air and was gone, faster than the eye could follow.

Rie nodded but took one breath to parse the possible futures of the next few moments. If they hesitated any longer, the guard would come through the doorway and capture them. They’d be taken to some sort of ice prison. If they dropped through the hole now, the girl would cover their tracks and tell the guard they had slipped out through a shuttered window on the back. She’d even make it believable by giving the shutters a bang before the guard arrived and leaving them flapping open in the wind. Rie and Daenor would indeed be able to exit the city through an underground tunnel.

It was not going to be pleasant.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A WEIGHTED WHIP flashed toward Judith’s head. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the bead at the tip.

“You have to be faster than that,” Eliphaz chastised. His arm pulled back, cracking the whip close to Judith’s face.

She flinched, pulling away just in time. If she hadn’t moved, she might have lost an eye.

“When the Moirai assigned you to my physical training, I hadn’t expected I might go blind.”

“You won’t go blind if you move faster.” The blond angel grinned, a glint of bright white teeth between full lips. “If they can’t touch you, they can’t distract you. Don’t take a blow you can avoid.”

Judith’s breath came in ragged gasps as she jumped and dodged, her wings lifting her higher into the air than just her legs could manage. Unfortunately, they also got in her way when she was on the ground. Which was why this training was so important. She couldn’t always simply fly away.

The dust of the training grounds puffed around her feet as she landed.

“The less you move, the faster you’ll be,” Eliphaz continued.

“That makes no sense.” Judith twisted out of the way of a lash aimed at her hip but was too slow to avoid the next strike. The tiny metal bead found skin at her waist. She hissed. Eyes reflexively squeezed shut against the pain.

Another strike on her shoulder. A trickle of blood this time.

Judith lifted a hand, pausing the exercise. Immediately, Eliphaz recoiled the whip, but he frowned as he did it.

“You have to work through the pain,” he said, approaching Judith to look at her injuries. “The souls won’t stop. If you can’t find a way to stay focused on the battle, despite your injuries, despite your fatigue, they’ll easily overcome you.”

“They can’t possess my form. Isn’t that enough?”

Eliphaz shook his head. “You know better than that.”

Judith sighed, hanging her head between her shoulders while she rubbed her side. A welt had already sprung up, the swollen red skin painful to the touch.

“I know.” And she did. She’d experienced first-hand how the souls would do anything to possess a body, and how they could affect even those they couldn’t possess.

Eliphaz straightened up after examining the wounds. The shoulder strike had already stopped bleeding. Judith shouldn’t be complaining so much. But she was tired and angry and resolved to do her best even while fantasizing about throttling Apprentice Sanyare. The woman had gotten her into this mess, taken away her opportunity to finally achieve her goal of becoming a counselor to the souls of traumatized human children. Instead, she would be playing executioner to the irredeemable wicked.

The Moirai would frame it differently, she was sure, but the truth remained the same. She would be forced to hunt and destroy the twisted creatures who’d escaped the Daemon Realm. Because Sanyare hadn’t just pulled the souls of the dead through the veil, she’d pulled the worst of the worst, the psychopaths and sociopaths without conscience who took pleasure in Chaos. It wouldn’t be long before the innocent began to fall to their wicked desires. Sadly, the lost souls could only be found through the ripples of death and destruction around them.

She loathed the thought of striking the blow that would give a soul its final death, but she hoped she could rescue the innocent before Chaos blackened their souls.

Judith fought to turn her thoughts from the darkness and focus on what Eliphaz was saying. Dwelling on future torments would only handicap her efforts here and now.

“You’re working too hard, thinking too much,” he said. “Use the least amount of energy possible to avoid the blow, and then you’ll last longer in a fight. Think about efficiency.”

Judith shook off her doldrums and lifted her head. “Show me.”

Eliphaz grinned again, approval in his eyes. “On that second to last strike, you twisted out of the way, taking three steps to do so. That’s a lot of energy. It can certainly move you out of the fight, but it also leaves you open. You can’t see where the next blow is coming from when you’re facing the wrong direction. Instead, you could have simply dipped your hip to the side. Less energy used, but still effective at avoiding the strike.” He demonstrated with a shift of his hips and a lift of his arms. “Simply stay out of the way. Sometimes, that only means you have to move a finger-length or two.”

Judith could see what he meant. “But what if you misjudge it. Wouldn’t it be better to move farther to ensure you don’t get hit?”

“Even if you misjudge it, if you’re moving in the right direction, the strike will be less powerful—less damaging—than if you hadn’t moved at all. And it has the benefit of keeping you aware of the next move, and the one after that.”

Judith pursed her lips, nodding her head in understanding. “Okay, let’s try it again.”

The gods only knew when she would be called to fetch the first lost soul. It could be next week, or next bell. She needed to be as prepared as possible.

Eliphaz stepped back, whip held loosely in his hand. He waited for Judith to get set, then launched a series of attacks aimed at her arms and hips. This time, Judith tried to move the least amount possible to avoid the stinging beads. After a few glancing blows that left her wincing but still engaged in the fight, she started to understand the reach and dynamics of the strikes. Soon, she wasn’t being hit at all anymore, and she hardly moved a muscle.

“Don’t take it easy on me,” she said.

“I’m not. But if you’re feeling that confident, I can take it up a notch or two.” The twinkle in his eye gave away his excitement at the prospect.

Judith lifted an eyebrow, still keeping pace with the whip. She blew out a breath but accepted the challenge with a single quick nod.

Eliphaz’s smile widened. The whip continued to lash out at the same pace, but now he was moving. He pushed forward, forcing Judith to step back. A strike at her abdomen had her jumping back with her waist sucked in. The whip came back at her face. She tilted her head to the side, but the bead glanced across her collarbone with a resounding thwack.

Judith yelped. Eliphaz pressed his advantage as her balance shifted out of stance. He lunged forward. His arm flashed out. Eyes wide, Judith watched the bead heading directly for her face. She bent further to the side, but it wasn’t enough. The whip sliced across her cheek even as she overbalanced and landed hard on her hip.

Eliphaz dropped the whip and rushed to her side, his wings outstretched and protective. Judith waved him away, pushing herself to sitting. She touched her cheek, her fingers coming away stained with red.

“I’m so sorry, Judith,” Eliphaz said. “I got carried away.”

Judith shook her head. “I asked for it. Cocky. My own mistake.” Her cheek was entirely numb, but she could feel sticky warm liquid dripping off her chin.

“Here, let me help.” Eliphaz pulled a thick square of cloth from a pocket. Faded red stains marred the fabric, but it looked like it had been washed. Repeatedly. He pressed the cloth to Judith’s cheek.

“You keep a handkerchief in your pocket?” Judith asked.

Eliphaz shrugged, keeping the fabric on her wound. “I’m a combat guardian. Injuries come with the territory.”

“I guess I’m going to have to learn.”

Eliphaz waved away her concern. “You’re not a combat guardian. You’re too nice. But if you’re venturing off-realm, you will need to be prepared.”

“Judith!” Tirzah called from the second-story loft above the training arena. She was Judith’s instructor for the management and counseling of souls. Judith was scheduled to meet with her later in the afternoon but wasn’t entirely surprised to see her now. The loft was Tirzah’s favorite place to rest between classes, or so she’d told Judith.

“Come speak with me for a moment.”

Judith gave a quick nod to the stands before turning back to her sparring partner. “I should go.”

“Same time tomorrow?” Eliphaz asked.

“Yes.” The word came out a disgruntled mumble, but Eliphaz grinned anyway.

“We’ll have you fit for duty in no time.”

“Right.”

Judith thumped her fist to her chest in the traditional greeting of the guardians, then leaped into the air. With a few beats of her wings, she landed in the viewing gallery to find Tirzah seated with another angel.

“Judith, I’d like you to meet Silas. He’s the head of the reaper choir. We were discussing your new role.”

Judith thumped her chest again, this time with a slight bow from the waist. The head of any choir had to be at least a level seven. Judith’s own parents weren’t even that high ranking.

“I’m honored,” Judith murmured, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. If only this meeting didn’t concern the hunt for the lost souls, she might have been more pleased to meet him. Instead, her nerves jangled in anticipation of bad news.

“Your physical training seems to be going well,” Silas said.

His expression was bland and hard to read. Judith couldn’t tell if he was giving her a serious compliment, or just making small talk. Probably the latter.

“Eliphaz is a talented instructor,” Judith replied.

“It was good of him to take you as a student.”

Judith dipped her chin in agreement, unsure what to say. Eliphaz had volunteered for the job, but she didn’t think his skills were in such high demand that it was a hardship.

“Tell me, Judith. What do you know of the dual-souled?”

Judith shook her head, confused. “The dual-souled?”

“Bodies who have been possessed by a non-native soul, without dislodging the original occupant.”

Judith’s eyes widened. She swallowed. “I didn’t know that was possible, sir.”

She’d always assumed only one soul could inhabit a body at any given time. It was why Norgeledil had perished at the Battle of the Arches. The souls had fought over her physical form until her soul could no longer hold on. If that wasn’t true, it changed everything. It meant that two beings could live the same life.

“How could they possibly coexist?” she asked, following her thoughts to their logical conclusion. “The body would deteriorate, naturally be torn apart.”

“Sometimes, that’s true. Usually, one soul is stronger than the other and quickly ejects the weaker. But not always.” The guardian’s cheek twitched. “I once reaped a dual-souled body. The creature had killed itself after being unable to reconcile the two halves of its being. The trauma was too much, and even after arriving in the Daemon Realm, the souls couldn’t be separated. They had twined together. Yet their competing interests had driven them insane.”

“What happened?”

The reaper grimaced. Fully, this time. “They were amongst the first occupants of Hollows South.”

Why did everything seem to come back to the Hollows?

“They were truly irrecoverable,” Silas continued. “There was no separating the souls, and their obvious insanity made them a liability if they were to be reincarnated.”

“Do dual-souls always end in insanity?”

“It depends on how quickly the dual nature is discovered.”

“Judith, why don’t you sit,” Tirzah said as she stood and relinquished her stool at the table. She opened her wings and ruffled her feathers a bit. “I have another class to teach.” Eschewing the open balcony, she chose to walk down the stairs.

Strange woman.

Silas pointed an open palm at the now empty seat. “I think we should have a discussion, if you have the time.”

“Of course.” Knowing that a significant number of souls had escaped during the Battle of the Arches, making friends with the head reaper seemed like a good idea. Maybe he would have a way to bring the souls back to the Daemon Realm without destroying them. She would try anything if it meant her sword remained sheathed.

“So, to fully answer your question, if the invading soul can be identified and removed quickly, the original soul should have a strong chance of a normal life. In the case of the humans, who have chosen ignorance regarding the nine realms and the state of their consciousness, the instance of insanity is much higher, and the window of opportunity for recapture is short. The rest of the fae have a better outcome. Usually.”

“But most of the time the invading soul disconnects the original owner and establishes its own connection with the body.” Judith made the statement a question with a lifted brow.

“Yes, usually, but after the battle we performed an inventory of the souls returned to the gates. We couldn’t account for all of them.”

“So there are dual-souled bodies roaming the realms? Isn’t there a way to track them?”

Silas frowned. “Unfortunately, no. The lost souls escaped through a gap in the system. They have no thread for the Moirai to weave, and because we only track souls, and not bodies, we don’t know which forms they stole. In a dual-soul situation, the original soul might change course or darken, but we still won’t see the attached lost soul. Depending on the race of the body, it could be centuries before we notice anything wrong.”

This didn’t make any sense. “But can’t you capture the dual-souled at the death of the original?”

“Perhaps, but at what cost? Waiting that long will ensure insanity. Wouldn’t it be better to find the lost and exorcise it as soon as possible, to save the good? Not to mention minimize the collateral damage?”

Judith couldn’t argue with his logic. Saving one made the final death of the other somehow more bearable.

“So what would you have me do?” she asked.

“Find Apprentice Sanyare. She and her mentor are the only ones who can untangle a dual-souled without sacrificing the original occupant. They are the last of their kind with both soulspeech and soultouch. You can send the wicked to their final death once it’s cut loose from the mortal coil, but we must save as many innocents as we can.”

CHAPTER NINE

RIE JUMPED INTO the room beneath the goat shelter. Without thinking, she tried to stand up to her full height and slammed her head against one of the cross-beams supporting the floor above. Right. Barbegazi were little.

Daenor landed silently next to her and the trapdoor closed with a soft click.

“Don’t hit your head,” she warned in a near-silent whisper. But Daenor was so tall he couldn’t even straighten his legs all the way. He quirked a single eyebrow at her.

Rie rubbed her head with a shrug and a grimace.

A soft swish of hay being drawn over their hiding place, then footsteps and the bang of a wooden shutter, and their hideout was secure. The shutter continued to bang repeatedly against the back of the building. A few goats meandered across the trapdoor, making the wood shake, but their bleats covered the sound of the creaking hinge.

With the fire sidhe magic in his blood, Daenor lit a fire in the palm of his hand using a bit of straw for fuel. “I’d pick some of this up for later, if I were you,” he whispered. “Light and easy to carry, it’ll burn too fast for major damage, but it’s good for small things.”

Rie nodded, only half-paying attention. Her eyes were drawn to the shadows around the room. One of these corners held the tunnel. She stuffed a few handfuls of the straw in an interior pocket while Daenor paced toward the edge.

“Where’s this tunnel?” he asked, searching the walls, but there was no sign of anything.

“Here.” Rie pushed back a several bales of fresh grass to reveal a three-foot-round, rough-dug tunnel in the lower wall of the room.

“You must be joking. Even the barbegazi would have a hard time crawling out of this.”

Guessing that the barbegazi were about four feet tall on average, Rie couldn’t disagree.

Niinka poked her head out of Rie’s hood, eyeing the hole in the ground. “We’re not going in there.”

“What do you mean? For you it’s no problem. In fact, I should send you to scout the way.”

“Pixies are creatures of the air, not the earth. Dark underground tunnels are not part of our repertoire.”

“Toughen up.” Gikl pulled himself out of Daenor’s hood to stand on the dark elf’s shoulder, hands on his hips as he scrutinized the tunnel entrance. The tiny warrior still wore a needle-sword at his waist. Daenor had started to teach him basic swordsmanship, as if a pixie had any hope of winning in any kind of sword fight with anyone but his own kind, and no other pixie that Rie knew of carried a sword. “I’ll scout ahead, see where this leads.”

“Thank you Gikl. The rest of you should probably fly as well. I don’t think the crawl will be comfortable.” Daenor crouched next to the hole and gently pushed his hood back. Possn scurried out, close behind Gikl.

Niinka and Hiinto were slower to agree.

“There’s no other option,” Rie whispered, eyeing the trapdoor above them. The guard would arrive any moment, and though the probability of him shifting the goats around and moving dirty hay to find the trapdoor was slim, it was still a possibility. “You have to go through the tunnel to get out of the city or you risk us all being discovered and imprisoned.”

“We’re too fast for that.” Niinka’s lip pushed out in a stubborn pout.

“Please, Niinka. Before it’s too late.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, even as she tied up the wing covers on her coat. “But if we get lost and die in here, I’m haunting you forever.”

With all four pixies inside, Rie waved Daenor in next.

“Your vision is better in the dark, so you should lead. I’ll find a way to hide the tunnel behind us,” she said by way of explanation. Daenor had been raised in the Shadow Realm, a land with at most six hours of daylight. He couldn’t see in pitch black, but even a little bit of light would be enough for him to make out the contours of the space around him. Rie could only stay close and follow by touch and sound.

Daenor frowned but didn’t argue further. He slid headfirst into the tunnel, using his elbows and knees to army crawl through the dirt. He still held a hay-fueled flame in the palm of his hand, lighting his way as he went. As soon as his feet disappeared, Rie crawled in after, pausing for a moment to consider how to cover their tracks. Hunching over into as tight a ball as her body would go, she angled her butt into the hole and pulled the bales close behind her.

A heavy footstep thumped on the floor above. Rie froze, her gaze drawn upward.

“Where are they?” a man demanded.

“G-gone,” the girl replied.

Quickly, but silently, Rie finished arranging the grass in front of the hole, trying to make it appear haphazard and untouched. She held her breath.

Rie’s vision had shown the girl pointing out the window to the banging shutter. If this future held true, the guard was alone and would choose to believe the girl, climbing out the window to follow. But he could still change his mind and search the hut.

The shelter filled with goats, Rie reminded herself.

Regardless, Rie contorted her body around until she could crawl after Daenor.

Time passed slowly in the dark of the tunnel. Every so often, Daenor would light a bit of his straw and send it shooting down the tunnel. All it ever revealed was a seemingly endless straight tunnel lined with hard dirt and cut rocks.

Rie wiggled and wriggled and squirmed her way through the tunnel, her nose just inches from Daenor’s boots. She panted, her breath blowing steam into the frozen air of the passage. The walls felt like they were closing in on her. Dirt crumbled and fell on her head and into her eyes. Her cloak weighed her down and dragged behind her, catching on every rough surface—which basically meant every inch of tunnel—but the space was too cold to take it off.

“I need to take a break for a moment,” Rie finally admitted. She didn’t know how long they’d been crawling through the darkness, but it felt like it had been miles.

She lay down, resting her cheek on crossed arms. Daenor stopped squirming ahead of her.

“I wish I could turn around,” he said.

A buzzing announced the return of one of the pixies.

“The end is only another hundred lengths,” Gikl chimed. At least, Rie thought it was Gikl. She couldn’t actually see anything. “The others have gathered around the exit. They’re waiting for you.”

A hundred lengths might as well be a thousand, but they had to move. There was no other choice but to go forward.

Daenor started crawling once more, his legs churning his body forward.

Rie took a little longer to get started. “Okay,” Rie finally said after another few breaths. “I can do this.” Of course she could. This cold dark oppressive tunnel wouldn’t get the best of her.

Elbow. Knee. Elbow. Knee. One in front of the other.

The scent of fresh air motivated the last few feet until her head emerged through the snow.

“She lives!” Felman grinned.

Daenor and Garamaen helped pull her the rest of the way out of the tunnel, and the two younger barbegazi pushed a stone slab over the top to hide the space. Then, with a wave of their hands and a rumble of sound, the surrounding snow drifts jiggled and shifted to move snow over the stone, hiding the tunnel from view. No one would even know people had been here.

“That’s handy,” Rie murmured. Then she saw Daenor and burst out laughing. The dark elf was smeared with dirt, his leathers and animal hide coat caked in grime. The normally spiky white-blond hair was plastered down to his head with dirt and muck. A few pieces of hay stuck out in odd places.

“Laugh it up. You’re just as bad.”

Rie glanced down at herself, grimacing at the damage. “Well, at least we match.”

Between being nibbled on by a goat and dragged through the dirt, her cloak had seen better days. She hoped Plink would be able to repair it. But as she continued to brush it off, the dirt seemed to fall away. While it had lost some of its luster and still carried a few smears of dirt, the fabric had held up surprisingly well to the abuse.

The amlug hide leathers, on the other hand, would take some serious work to get clean.

Garamaen helped brush the bigger clods off Rie’s shoulders, while the barbegazi worked on Daenor.

“We’re just lucky that tunnel exists at all.”

“And you’d better not reveal it to anyone,” Felman said. “That tunnel represents the emergency evacuation of all barbegazi in the city, if the frost sidhe ever turn on us, or the city gets overrun. No one else is supposed to know about it.”

“We’re honored that you gave us access. We would certainly have been caught otherwise. And we swear to keep the secret,” Rie assured.

“The city’s going to be on alert now,” Garamaen added. “You’d better get back before you’re questioned.”

“Agreed.” Felman pulled on his long white beard. “Now, you’re going to need these.”

The son and grandson held out six oval hoops wrapped with a cross-stitching of leather.

“They’re old, but in good repair. They’ll get you up the mountain.”

Garamaen dipped his head, accepting two of the contraptions. Rie and Daenor each took a pair as well.

“Just one more thing,” Felman said after the gifts were handed out. “If you find Fenrir, this time kill him.”

CHAPTER TEN

WIND AND SNOW whipped at Rie’s face, stinging the skin of her cheeks despite the deep fox fur of her hood. The trek to the barbegazi mountaintop village would take five hours on a clear day. Today was not that day.

The pixies had taken refuge deep within their hosts’ hoods. For Rie, that meant she had Niinka and Hiinto fighting behind her neck.

“Stop kicking me,” Niinka complained. Something small and sharp thudded into the base of Rie’s skull. Probably an elbow or knee.

“I’m trying, but your wings are in the way,” Hiinto replied. His wings fluttered, getting tangled in Rie’s hair.

That was the last straw. “If you two don’t settle down, you’re going to have to travel on the outside of my hood. Trust me, you’ll enjoy the trip a whole lot less out here.”

“How are we supposed to get comfortable in such tight quarters,” Niinka asked. “Plink really should have made this hood much bigger.”

“Don’t blame this on Plink.”

“Are we there yet?” Hiinto asked. Clawed fingers pricked the skin beneath Rie’s ear as Hiinto pulled himself forward to look out the front.

“No,” Rie snapped. “We’re not there yet.”

Daenor turned to look over his shoulder, an amused question in his gaze, which was the only bit of his face she could see.

Rie shook her head and rolled her eyes. Or tried. The muscles of her face were stiff and slow, her cheeks frozen and nose completely numb.

When they’d started up the road to Bjergtopp, Rie had thought the storm was bad, but it was only getting started. The higher they progressed, the worse it got. Now the sun had begun its descent, and temperatures were descending right along with it. If they didn’t reach the village soon, Rie wasn’t sure they’d make it at all.

Rie stared at Garamaen’s back. He led the way, the only one who knew the path they traveled. But his back was hunched against the wind, his arms crossed tight against his chest as the broad snowshoes trudged in slow steps up the hill. She hoped the weather was the only thing weighing him down. She’d seen the guilt in his eyes when he talked of Fenrir. And they couldn’t See the outcome of this venture. Was he making the right decisions? Was she?

She turned her eyes back to the ground, putting one foot in front of the other as she waded through the snow drifts, the snowshoes helping just enough to keep her from getting stuck.

Garamaen had demonstrated the proper foot placement and walking technique for the contraptions, but Rie continued to struggle. She was spending more time fighting with the shoes than walking up the mountain, and yet if she took them off she would sink waist deep in the snow. She gritted her teeth, determined not to fall behind.

Daenor and Garamaen’s unmoving feet came into Rie’s narrow view. She looked up. They’d paused on the crest of a small rise in the terrain.

“How much farther?” Rie asked, sucking in great lungfuls of air. She gazed out on the serene yet empty terrain. A few scraggly stands of trees managed to survive at this high altitude, but the rest of the scenery was limited to ice and snow and rocky cliffs in the distance, barely visible through the falling snow.

“Those cliffs are our destination,” Garamaen pointed toward a wall of dark rock beneath a heavy lip of snow. “But we won’t make it before nightfall.”

“It can’t be more than another mile,” Daenor argued.

“Night comes fast in the mountains,” Garamaen replied. “And distances are deceiving.”

“Well, let’s push on. We can always light our way.” Daenor opened his palm to reveal a small flame, then clenched his fist to extinguish it.

Garamaen shook his head. “Too risky. We could still die of the cold. Better to find shelter nearby and conserve our energy.”

“Shelter?” Rie gazed out over the near barren landscape. “What shelter?”

She’d never been much of an outdoors person, her travels always taking her to cities or at least inhabited locations with buildings to sleep in. Was it even possible to sleep outside in negative temperatures without freezing to death?

“We have about a bell until full dark. We’ll build it over there, below that rise.”

“Build it?” Rie’s eyes widened.

Garamaen didn’t answer, and instead began trudging over to the indicated hill. The rise turned out to be a rocky outcropping covered in snow, a few areas swept clean by the wind.

“Perfect,” Garamaen said, hands on hips as he examined the site. “We’ll build a fire there, a few feet off the rock wall, and the shelter will go here.” He indicated a spot downhill from the boulders, where snow had gathered in a high mound. “We’ll take turns digging to avoid overheating.”

He strode down the mountain to his chosen shelter site. After a few heartbeats consideration, he nodded his head. “Yep, this will do fine. Rie, you need the practice, so you can get the fire started while Daenor and I start digging.”

Rie looked around the slope. With the exception of the few handfuls of straw in her pockets, she didn’t have any fuel for the fire. There were no trees nearby, no dry deadfall to collect.

Seeing her consternation, Garamaen huffed a laugh. “Those twigs lead to bushes under the snow,” he said, pointing out the obtrusions poking up out of the white. “The base layer is at least five feet thick here.”

Rie grimaced, but commenced digging for the wood using hands and knives. Luckily, the snow was fairly dry and light, and it didn’t take long to chop away enough branches for a small fire. The activity quickly warmed her up, letting her pull the hood back.

“Hey!” Niinka complained.

Rie had forgotten for a moment that the pixies were wrapped up inside. They’d been still and quiet for far longer than usual. In fact, now that she thought about it, she was surprised they’d managed not to fight for more than a quarter bell.

“We’re sleeping here.”

“Well, I’m trying to get a fire started so we don’t all die of hypothermia overnight. Care to help?”

“Us?” Hiinto asked, incredulous. “What are we supposed to do? We can’t even fly in this cold.”

Rie frowned, but chose to ignore the pixies, rather than engage. It was easier to do the work herself, anyway. She started the fire with a touch, pushing the flames into a merry dance that quickly warmed her hands and drew the pixies out of her hair.

“Mmm, what is that?” Niinka asked, crouching on Rie’s shoulder. “Do you see it, Hiinto?”

“What?”

“The white furry creature hiding in the rock over there.”

“It looks delicious. Do you think we can catch it?” Hiinto clacked his teeth together.

“Worth an attempt.”

The carnivorous pixies hitched up the wing protectors on their cloaks and buzzed their wings experimentally. Of course, now that they had something interesting to do, they were happy to try their wings in the cold. A fraction of a heartbeat later they were gone, disappearing into the rock outcropping to hunt whatever critters they could find.

The pixies would have the advantage on speed and ferocity, Rie was sure, but the prey had the home advantage. That being said, Rie hoped the pixies would be successful in their hunt. They were always in a better mood when well fed.

Brushing off her gloved hands and tucking them back into the fur lining of her cloak, Rie made her way back over to the men who were now panting and out of breath. Daenor had removed his coat and thick leather tunic, and Garamaen was down to a single long-sleeved t-shirt.

They’d built a mound of snow on the hillside and were alternating digging their way inside.

“Your turn,” Daenor said, waving a hand toward the hole.

“What are we doing, exactly?” Rie asked.

“Digging,” Garamaen replied, as if that wasn’t obvious. Rie couldn’t help but notice how he rubbed a hand over the site of his wound, the knife injury still knitting itself back together. She worried he was making it worse.

“Take your cloak off before you go in,” Daenor suggested, drawing Rie’s attention away from her mentor and back to the immediate problem. “You’ll be cold for a moment, but as soon as you start digging in there, it’ll get hot, and the fur will get in your way.”

“We’re already up to the second level. When you get inside, we need to form raised platforms for sleeping,” Garamaen added.

“Raised platforms?”

“Snow beds.”

“Uh huh.” Rie had no idea what they were talking about, but assumed she’d figure it out when she poked her head inside.

Rie set her cloak in the pile with Garamaen’s and Daenor’s gear, finding the other pixies cuddled inside the layers as if it were their nest.

“Niinka and Hiinto are hunting in the rocks over there,” Rie said, pointing toward the fire. “You might want to join them if you’re hungry.”

Daenor lifted an eyebrow. “What’s there to hunt out here?”

“Some kind of white furry creature.”

Garamaen glanced at the rocks, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Might be a warren of alpine weasels.”

“So things really do live up here,” Daenor said, gaze wandering around the dimming landscape. “I was starting to doubt it.”

Rie grinned, then crawled into the tunnel entrance. Barely wider than her shoulders, and just tall enough for her to crawl on hands and knees, the entrance required some careful maneuvering to avoid damaging the walls. Once her head and shoulders were inside, the tunnel veered up a few feet, then leveled out again.

The men had poked a small ventilation hole overhead, and that was the only illumination for the small space. Feeling claustrophobic, Rie almost couldn’t stand being inside. Again. First the underground tunnel out of the city, and now a survival shelter made out of snow. But she forced herself to stay calm, examining the room with the analytical part of her brain instead of the screaming hindbrain.

A channel had been dug out through the center of the space. On the right side, Rie could see that headspace was now being removed from above a flat snow pile. It had to be the bed. There was only about a foot of clearance.

Rie began digging, a careful scraping with her knife to avoid caving in the snow overhead. Within moments she knew why the men had removed so many clothes. The space was getting warmer the more she moved, and the energy of digging threatened to bring on a sweat. Rie didn’t know much about surviving in the winter wilderness, but she knew it was not a good idea to be wet in these temperatures.

Slowing her pace slightly, Rie worked until her hands lost all sensation, then she backed out of the shelter to warm them by the fire, pushing the loose snow in front of her. She’d made good progress, but the second platform was still a bit shallow for sleeping.

“I’ll take first watch,” Garamaen offered, already seated next to the fire. “You two get some rest.”

“I’ll take second shift,” Daenor shot Garamaen a significant look, then grabbed his coat and headed inside.

Rie wondered briefly what that look was all about but set it aside. If Daenor and Garamaen were having some kind of disagreement, she really didn’t want to get involved. And if there was something else, she was sure Daenor would tell her in due time.

“We’ll stay out here,” Niinka said, emerging from a blood-stained pile of white fluff near the fire. The lazy way her eyes opened and closed, Rie knew she was blood-drunk. They must have decimated the entire warren.

Tiik popped his head out. “Could we borrow a waterproof covering? So long as we don’t get wet, I think we’ll be quite comfortable. This fur is surprisingly warm.” Less hazy than Niinka, he looked like he might be the one in charge of tonight’s nest building efforts.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Rie replied. “The animals live here year-round. I imagine they would need a solid layer of insulation.”

“Yes. True.” Tiik grinned, revealing serrated teeth. “Their fat content was quite high as well.”

Garamaen pulled a bag out from under his cloak. Emptying the contents—a random assortment of first aid and survival supplies, including the red box with the white cross he’d used to heal Rie’s leg so long ago—he gave the entire sack to Tiik.

“That will be perfect. Much appreciated.”

As a group, the pixies began shoving the white fur into the bag. Some were more mobile than others, but it wouldn’t take long for them to create their preferred sleeping arrangement.

Wrapping herself back up in her fur cloak, Rie waited for Daenor’s feet to disappear inside the shelter. She knew it was going to be tight but figured they could work a little more together before closing their eyes.

“I’m in.” Daenor’s voice was muffled by the surrounding snow.

With her hood over her head, Rie tucked herself inside.

The room was dimly lit by a tiny straw and twig fire that Daenor must have started as soon as he entered the space. With the light fading outside, the interior of the shelter was already dark. Now he was digging out a little more of the second platform, pushing the snow out and down to the lower section. Rie moved to help him, but he waved her away.

“Lie down. This will only take another moment.”

“So what was that all about?” Rie asked. Okay, so she wanted to know more. She couldn’t help it. “With Garamaen, I mean.”

The muscle in Daenor’s jaw twitched. “I disagree that we should have wasted our time here, building a shelter out in the open, easy targets for anyone looking. We should have gone on ahead, found safety in the village.”

“Greg knows what he’s doing. He’s been here and done this a thousand times before. And maybe he knows something we don’t.”

Daenor shook his head, frustration pulling his lips down. “We have no idea what we’re walking into, or when the enemy will attack. All we really know is that they will, and soon, because neither of you can See a thing. We’re exposed and vulnerable.”

“I haven’t been able to See anything, that’s true, and I believe Garamaen when he says he can’t either, but his sister once told me that even as a child he had an uncanny knack of preparing for disaster without knowing why. She said there was one incident where he started storing water months in advance of having all their drinking water poisoned. It was the only thing that saved them when other families perished. He swore he hadn’t had a premonition, but all the same, he knew. Maybe that’s happening here, too. I’m going to trust in his judgment until I have reason not to.”

Daenor frowned. “Your mentor is a good man, and means well, but I worry that his skills and judgment aren’t what they once were.”

“Are you suggesting he’s getting old?” Rie grinned. Garamaen wasn’t just old, he was literally ancient. One of the oldest of the mortal fae.

Daenor laughed, the hearty chuckle bubbling up from deep within his chest. It was a nice sound, one that Rie hadn’t heard in quite a while. She was glad to have given him at least a moment’s levity.

When the laughter finally subsided, Daenor blew out a gust of air. “That’s as good as this shelter’s going to get.” He pushed the last of the excavated snow out of the entrance. “I suppose we’d better get what sleep we can. It might be our last opportunity for a while.”

“You’re not actually planning to sleep over there, are you?” Rie asked. “I’m pretty sure in sub-freezing temperatures, it’s better to share body heat.”

Daenor smirked, the corner of his lip turning up in a half smile. “I thought we’d put my coat on the snow and use your cloak as a blanket.”

“Mm. That sounds like a solid plan.”

Rie moved off the snow bed, giving Daenor enough room to spread out his coat, fur side up. He lay down on his side, his back to the wall of snow, lifting an arm in invitation. Rie snuggled in close, pulling her cloak over the top of them both. The fur of the hood tickled her nose, but wrapped in Daenor’s arms and covered with the fur, she finally felt at least marginally warm.

“It’s been a long day,” Daenor murmured in her ear. “Who would have thought drinking coffee this morning that our night would be spent in a snow cave?”

“Not me.” Rie turned her face up to look into her chosen partner’s eyes.

Chosen partner. She liked that turn of phrase, and the way Garamaen had said it so casually to the barbegazi leader, as if Rie and Daenor were more than just lovers and would continue to be so. Did her mentor know more than he was sharing?

Daenor flicked a finger at the palm-sized pile of straw they’d been using as a lantern. The flame vanished, and their shelter descended into full dark.

“I’ve decided I’m not a fan of small spaces,” Rie whispered.

Daenor squeezed his arms around her waist, tucking her in tighter to his chest. “Even with me beside you?”

“This is nice.” Rie’s eyes were closed, not that she could tell the difference. Pitch black was pitch black. But somehow, Daenor’s lips found hers. His hand brushed across her cheek. Breath mingling, they found warmth in one another, if only for a little while.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A HOWL PIERCED the night air. Rie rolled off the snow bed, landing in a crouch. She hadn’t thought it at the time, but now she was glad it had been too cold to take off much clothing last night. All she needed were her leathers and her knives, and she was ready. Daenor followed suit, sliding down to the lower level as soon as his coat was on.

Gikl zoomed through the tunnel entrance, wings buzzing with urgency.

“Outside.” It was all he said before zipping back out into the night.

Daenor exited first, sword drawn. Rie followed close behind. The cold slammed into her, drawing the heat from her bones before she could even take two breaths. She wrapped the cloak tightly around her shoulders, straightening to stand next to the men while her breath billowed out and froze on the night air.

The sight before her eyes dashed all thoughts of the cold from her mind.

Orange and red lit the night sky, brightening the distant mountain to near daylight. Rie couldn’t tell what was burning, but the cliffs themselves seemed to be on fire. A scream. Shadows loped through the wreckage, backlit by the flames. A figure on two legs was chased by another on four. The echo of a snarl. A shout. The words were incomprehensible, lost in the miles between them.

“We have to help them.” Daenor’s voice was fierce and unshakable. “We should have been there already.”

“And we would have died by their side,” Garamaen replied, sadly.

“Then why are we here? What are we supposed to do, if not help?”

Rie pressed her hand on Daenor’s arm, but he shook it away. The rejection stung. Especially after a night of finding comfort in each other’s arms.

“End this. But we do it on our terms, on our timeline. Not on theirs. They expected us to be there. They had set the trap with the girl in the city.” Garamaen shook his head, despair washing over his features. “I don’t know how to fix this yet, but I will.”

“This is the wrong choice. These people deserve better.” Daenor pressed his lips together, fury kindling the fire in his eyes.

“Perhaps.” Garamaen’s shoulders slumped. He turned away from the view. “But how do you choose one life over another? How do you take sides in a conflict between species? No matter what we do, it’s murder.”

“Stopping a murder is not the same thing.”

Garamaen sat on a stone he must have moved next to the fire. Dark circles clouded his eyes. “It was the arrival of the origin elves with an affinity for the cold that started this whole mess in the first place. When prey was scarce, Fenrir fed his family with the blood of the barbegazi. What would you do to feed your family, if they were starving?”

Daenor crossed his arms over his chest, not responding. His jaw remained tight, but a flicker of uncertainty softened his eyes.

“Of course, the barbegazi didn’t want to be considered prey. They demanded justice, demanded Fenrir’s death from the settlers in exchange for colonization. But that wouldn’t have ended the violence. His family still needed to eat. The only solution I could think of was to convince the wolves to leave the area completely, to travel to follow the herds to the distant tundras. They didn’t want to move. This was their home.”

“They’re wolves,” Rie argued. “They should want to go where the prey is.”

“They still had prey. The barbegazi raised goats and were—are—weaker than the giant wolves. Even with their magic, they couldn’t compete.”

“What did you do?” Rie’s voice lowered a fraction. She knew she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“I blackmailed them. I trapped Fenrir, chained him in his own lair. The pack was to leave the barbegazi and their livestock alone in exchange for Fenrir’s life. A life in captivity, but a life nonetheless.”

Rie’s gaze traveled back to the village, where the shouts and screams had ended but the fires still burned. “And there he remained for two thousand years, planning and plotting an escape . . . and revenge.”

“Fenrir is intelligent. He learned our language within months of the first settlers’ arrival.”

“So what do we do now?” Rie asked.

Garamaen sighed and rubbed his eyes once more. “I need a few hours of sleep. At dawn, we finish the trek to the village. Maybe there will be someone there we can yet save.”

Rie’s gaze returned to the distant fires. The weather had mostly cleared, only a few lonely snowflakes drifted from the sky. But the wind still whipped across her face, stinging her cheeks and bringing tears to her eyes.

At least, that’s what she would say if anyone asked.

***

They arrived at the village of Bjergtopp a bell or two after sunrise. Downhill and downwind from the caves, Rie could smell the destruction before they could see anything. Smoke and the scent of burning wood, with an undertone of charred flesh and putrid sick wafted on the air.

Rie covered her mouth and nose, gagging on the stench. Normally the cold would have minimized the smell, or so she thought. She dreaded climbing over the last rise into the cliffside plateau. She wrapped her cloak tight around her shoulders, holding it in at the neck as if the hood would protect her heart as well as her face.

She stopped, stomach in her throat. Took in the scene.

“Gods above and below,” Niinka whispered, even her tiny voice hushed in the face of so much chaos and ruin.

The village was utterly destroyed. A few fires yet burned in the stacked woodpiles near the cliff face, but most had been reduced to ash and rubble.

A door hung on its hinges, split in half from top to bottom, the ragged edges of wood pointing accusingly inside. A body sprawled at an awkward angle, its intestines curled and looped on the floor.

Rie turned away, but her eyes caught on the blackened skin of another body. This one was on its stomach, arms extended away from a still glowing pile of ash, as if it had been trying to crawl away.

She couldn’t think of the bodies as people, not and still stay sane. They weren’t men and women, they weren’t people. They couldn’t be.

Bodies were strewn everywhere, but none had been taken as meat.

No, the wolves were seeking revenge, not food. After two thousand years surviving on the tundra, they had clearly found enough prey to survive. They didn’t need to hunt the barbegazi or their goats—of which Rie saw no sign. Maybe this village didn’t have any, anymore. Felman had said it wasn’t heavily populated at this time of year.

“We need to canvass the village for survivors,” Garamaen said. His voice was sad and resigned, but Rie agreed they still had to be sure.

The pixies crawled out from Rie’s hood and buzzed into the air.

“We’ll help,” Niinka said. “We’ll check the harder to reach areas of the upper cliffs.”

“Good idea,” Rie said. “There may have been a back exit or emergency way out.”

Garamaen shook his head. “I doubt we’ll find anything but death.”

It didn’t matter. While the pixies zipped off to scan the cliff-face, Garamaen still led the way into the interior of the mountain, passing through the broken doors and into the barbegazi homes. Rie and Daenor split off, choosing a different door to begin the search for survivors.

“This is madness,” Daenor whispered, aghast. “I’ve never before seen or heard of a creature who would do this kind of destruction outside of war.”

“This is war,” Rie said, finally understanding what Garamaen had been saying all along. The wolves brought the war into the barbegazi homes.

Rie, hunched over and heart pounding, kept moving through the cave system that had been turned into a home. Furnishings had been knocked over, books and belongings scattered across the floor. A finely knit wool rug lay bunched in a corner like a discarded rag.

She found her way into a bedroom. A spray of blood coated one wall like paint. The couple lay in bed, the man sprawled across the woman as if trying to protect her. Their throats had been torn open.

Rie lifted a hand to cover her mouth. For one brief moment, she imagined what those final moments must have been like. The terror of waking to find a wolf above you, snarling and threatening your life. Weaponless, struggling to protect the person you love the most in this world. Rie’s breath hitched, her shoulders shaking as she fought to retain control.

Daenor wrapped his arms around her from behind and Rie turned around to bury her face in his chest. His hand rubbed slow comforting circles into her back.

Long heartbeats later, Rie managed to regain her composure.

“We should split up,” she said with a swallow. “We’ll cover more ground faster. And then we can leave this horror behind us.”

“Are you sure?” Daenor’s eyes tightened in concern.

Rie nodded. She could handle this, and the faster they were done, the better.

Daenor brushed a hand across Rie’s cheek. “You are, without a doubt, the strongest woman I know.”

Rie’s lips lifted in a wan smile. “Let’s get this done with. If there’s anyone alive, we have to find them. Time is critical, now.”

With one last caress, Daenor turned back to the main hallway and proceeded deeper into the cave. When he turned left at a fork in the tunnel, Rie turned right.

Sometime later, Rie was brought up short in a small room off the main hall. The body of a woman huddled in the corner, her shoulders turned away from the door even as her head lay back at an awkward angle, neck broken. Bloody scratches covered her back, her wool wrap torn and soaked in red. Something about the way she was positioned—her arms curled around something small, her body pressed against the wall—had Rie aching to turn away. Some instinct in her primitive hindbrain warned her that what she was about to see would haunt her forever.

But she couldn’t turn away. She had to bear witness.

She took a step forward, ducking her head low to avoid the ceiling beams. Another step.

The baby lay in its mother’s arms, swaddled tight in a white wool blanket. Its eyes were closed, its lips blue. A single streak of blood marred the pale skin of its cheek, perhaps its mother’s final kiss.

Help her, a woman’s voice spoke in a heavily accented version of the common tongue. She’s not yet gone. Save her.

Rie looked around the room. Garamaen and Daenor were searching other parts of the complex, but the wolves had done their damage.

Rie closed her eyes, sought the connection to the souls of the dead. Not the souls of the Daemon Realm—she wouldn’t make that mistake again—but those that haunted this plane of existence.

The mother’s soul materialized in front of her mind’s eye, the final soul string vibrating with barely contained tension. She wasn’t going to leave her baby, even in death.

Immaterial eyes implored Rie to take action. Save her. Please. Make her warm again.

Rie swallowed a lump, even as the tears fell freely and silently from her eyes. This woman’s sacrifice humbled her, and she would do her best to honor the request.

Carefully, gently shifting the baby out of her mother’s arms, Rie cradled the infant close to her body. The child was barely bigger than her hand, its weight hardly noticeable. Placing a finger next to the child’s chin, Rie felt for a pulse. It was faint and uneven, but it was there. She had to get the blood flowing.

Rie rubbed her palm against the child’s back through the blanket, hoping friction would build enough heat to start the warming process. Did her lips move? Rie couldn’t be sure. They seemed a little less blue.

Skin-to-skin. She needs to hear a heartbeat, even if it’s not my own.

That was the treatment for hypothermia, wasn’t it? Rie hated to lose the warmth of the baby’s blanket, but she had to give it a try. Unbuckling her own vest first, Rie pulled up her thermal layers to reveal bare skin. Then, keeping the blanket around the child’s back, she pulled away the layers of wool to place its body next to her own.

Rie brought her fur cloak around them both, containing their combined heat as best she could as she continued to rub the child’s back.

Warmth. Rie contained the ability to increase temperature with a touch. Obviously, she didn’t want to burn the child, but if she could warm her own skin a few degrees, she might improve the baby’s chances of absorbing heat.

Rie closed her eyes again, searching for the control necessary to warm, but not burn. Sweat trickled down her brow, mixing with the tears. Determination warred with hopelessness as the baby failed to stir. Rie couldn’t even feel it breathing.

Fearing she’d failed, Rie sank into her consciousness once more, searching for the fragile soul attached to the child. There it was, hovering just over the physical body, all three soul strings were still attached, but the soul itself was slightly askew from the physical form, as if the child’s soul was searching for her mother’s.

No, sweet girl, the mother murmured. Stay. Grow strong. Her incorporeal form brushed a hand across the infant’s head, rubbing her thumb in a circle on the child’s forehead. I love you. I will always be with you.

The baby whimpered. Rie’s eyes snapped open. A weak cry. Rie grinned, the tears streaking her cheeks warming with joy.

A moment more, and the baby lifted its chin. It pressed its cheek into the flesh of Rie’s breast, rooting for milk. Unfortunately, it was a meal Rie’s body couldn’t provide. But the baby was alive.

Put her to my breast. There’s still milk. Help her get to it.

Rie grimaced, feeling as if she was violating the dead. Would the milk even still be good?

Do it. Save her.

Rie unwrapped the woman’s cloak, exposing disproportionately large breasts given the height of the woman. She wrapped the baby once more in its blanket and did her best to hold the infant up against its mother. The baby latched on, her mouth working quickly to draw down the last of the nourishing fluid.

Thank you. Protect her. Care for her.

“I’ll take her to your people in the city,” Rie said, feeling a bit foolish for speaking out loud.

Footsteps approached the room. “Rie? Are you here?” Daenor called. His voice was ragged, as if he too struggled to maintain his composure.

“Here,” Rie replied. She turned back to the place where the mother’s soul had been, but she was gone. The reaper must have finally arrived to take her to the gates.

The baby let go of its mother just as Daenor entered the room. His eyebrows lifted and mouth gaped. “Is that . . . .“

“A survivor.” Rie cradled the baby once more to her chest, but the child had fallen into a deep sleep. “I think the wolves had left her for dead, either not seeing her, or believing she would die of exposure without her mother’s care. She nearly did.”

Her color was back, her lips plump and pink, so Rie was feeling good about her chances of survival. At least for the moment.

Daenor approached slowly, his gaze intent on the baby’s face. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered.

“Here, take her.” Rie leaned forward, careful not to jostle the child too much as she transferred the baby to the crook of Daenor’s arm. She didn’t stir. If anything, she snuggled deeper into the soft leather of his coat.

Rie readjusted her clothes, doing her best to cover or move the buckles of her vest so they wouldn’t press into the baby’s face or bother her when she carried her.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl,” Daenor murmured, gaze soft. “I’ve got you.”

Rie swallowed down another lump of emotion. Here was a hard man, gone soft and protective over the tiniest infant. And he used the same nickname as the mother. Suddenly, Rie realized she hadn’t actually asked what to call the baby, and the mother was already gone.

“We should call her Breneidis,” Rie said. The name meant survivor, and if anyone deserved it, this child did.

“Bren for short. I like it,” Daenor agreed. He brushed a finger across the girl’s cheek. She smiled, snuggling close.

“It seems you have another female fan,” Rie grinned.

“Cute as she is, I have to admit I don’t mind. But don’t worry, Sweetling. You still have my heart.”

Rie’s breath hitched. She wondered if she would ever get used to his casual endearments. She hoped not.

“We’ll need something to make a sling for her, to carry her while keeping our hands free.”

Rie glanced around, taking in the room’s surroundings for the first time. She’d been so focused on the mother’s body, and then the baby, she hadn’t really seen anything else in the room. Poor judgment on her part. She could have easily been ambushed.

But the enemy was long gone, the threat level low but the shock level high. She supposed she could be given a pass, this one time.

In any case, it looked like they were in some sort of large craft room. A spinning wheel with rough yarn had been knocked over, a basket of finished thread lying next to it. On the other side of the room, a weaver’s loom stood empty, waiting for its next project. But on the shelf behind the loom, a stack of neatly folded linens caught Rie’s eye. Perhaps she could make some kind of wrap out of a long length of the cloth. It would serve a double duty, keeping little Bren warm, while also tying her safely to Rie’s—or perhaps Daenor’s—chest.

“Do you want to carry her?” Rie asked, shifting aside a few baskets filled with weaving materials to get to the linens. Bren seemed to enjoy Daenor so much she hated to take the girl away from his warmth, even if Rie ached to hold the child again.

“No, you’d better take her. Your cloak will cover the both of you better than this coat when we go outside.”

Rie took the linens from the shelf. Unraveling it, she realized it wasn’t so much a sheet, as a bolt of fine wool cloth. Perfect.

Deciding on a simple sling to hold the child, Rie cut a length about as long as she was tall. She tied a knot in the end, and placed it over one shoulder, creating a pocket in the bottom to hold Bren.

“Okay, let me take her,” Rie said.

Daenor handed the sleeping babe over with one last caress. Rie shifted her tiny body to cradle her in the sling without obstructing her airways. She pulled the knot tight, checking to make sure everything was secure. She put on her cloak, and followed Daenor back out into the main cavern, then out into the snow.

CHAPTER TWELVE

GARAMAEN RESTED ON a stone ledge outside of the caverns. His gaze was tired, his eyes downcast. His face was drawn and pale, pinched in pain. Whether physical or emotional Rie couldn’t tell, but there was a heaviness to his shoulders that Rie hadn’t seen before, even after his injury during the tribunal. He looked up at the sound of their approach.

“Anything?” There was no hope left in his eyes. Rie hoped her revelation would change that.

Rie nodded, giving Greg a wobbly smile. “One survivor.”

She opened her cloak, revealed the babe nestled in the sling. The pixies buzzed over to take a peek, and Possn landed on the sling, gazing at Bren with a small smile.

Garamaen blew out a breath. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

“This wasn’t just an attack on the village,” Daenor said. “This was an ambush. And a statement. They left nothing behind.”

“They broke into these people’s homes. Tore them out of their beds. Gave them no chance to defend themselves,” Rie added.

Garamaen rubbed a weary hand across his face. “I know. And it’s my fault. Perhaps I should have killed Fenrir all those years ago, but it wouldn’t have ended the conflict.” He lifted his eyes, his gaze meeting Rie’s for the first time. “We make choices in this life. Every choice has a consequence, some good, some bad, some immediate, some delayed for thousands of years. Remember that as you parse the possible futures, there’s more at stake than you’ll ever realize.”

He was commenting on her own choice in the Battle of the Arches, Rie knew that, but the point was well-taken. She couldn’t pretend an omniscience that she didn’t have.

“We do the best we can with the information we have at hand,” Rie replied. “But Fenrir must die, now. The damage wrought here . . . ,” Rie glanced around the village, swallowing hard against the senseless death of civilians, “. . . it can’t be allowed to stand.”

“There are rules of engagement in war. This is genocide,” Daenor’s voice was hard and unforgiving.

They’d all seen war. They’d all seen death, but this was worse than anything Rie had seen in her century of life.

“Where is his lair?” Rie asked.

“You mean his prison of two thousand years?” Garamaen waved a hand in the direction of the valley. “Two or three hours hike that direction. Between the peaks. There’s a cave hidden behind cleverly placed boulders. It will be hard to spot.”

“We should get going then. We can’t waste the daylight. I’d rather not stay overnight in the wolf’s den,” Daenor said.

“We can’t take Bren,” Rie replied. “Who will care for her while we’re gone?”

“I could watch her,” Possn offered. “I bet we could even find some goat milk for her.”

“Your offer is welcome, but she has to be kept warm against a body.”

“I will remain here,” Garamaen said. “I’m afraid I will just slow you down.” His shoulder slumped, weariness drawing him down. He looked small and frail, like an old man in a younger man’s body.

“What if the wolves return?” Rie demanded. “Bren should be taken back to the city. To her people.”

“We don’t have the time to go all the way down the mountain,” Daenor argued. “Fenrir has already destroyed at least two villages. Perhaps more if he left no survivors. How would anyone know? We can’t let him strike another.”

“Daenor is right, and I am the best choice to stay. I won’t let the wolves get to her. If necessary, I’ll barricade myself deep in the caverns with a wall of fire between us and the wolves. You’re both physically stronger than I am right now.”

“And if we find Fenrir?”

Garamaen shook his head, desolation written across his face. “Kill him. But I doubt he’ll be there. Would you return to your prison?”

Rie supposed not.

“Then give me the babe and go. But one word of warning; Fenrir can’t be touched by magic. You won’t be able to sense his aura or drain his energy. Nor will you be able to predict his actions. Physical damage is the only way to affect him. And if he bites you, he will consume your magic.”

“Wonderful,” Rie murmured as she passed Bren to her mentor and gave him the sling to hold her. “Are there any advantages he doesn’t have?”

“He has no combative magic of his own,” Greg replied, a sad smile at the corner of his lips. “Just physical size, speed, and strength. Your best bet, if you come across him, is to try to get away. We’ll need to outsmart him, fight him on our terms, but first we need to know how he got out, and where to find him now. Or, if that’s not possible, what his next move will be.”

“He’ll attack another village.” Daenor said.

“Yes, but which one? And can we ambush him there?”

Rie refastened her cloak and armor, pulling each of the khukuris in turn, checking to make sure everything was ready. “Let’s go.”

There was no time to waste.

***

Three bells later, they reached the foothills of the peak where Fenrir had been contained. Another bell after that, and they were still searching for the cavern. Garamaen hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it would be difficult to find.

“He should have come with us,” Daenor grumbled. “This is ridiculous. We’ll never find it.”

“He said to look for an unnatural stack of rocks.”

“Beneath the snow? How are we supposed to see that?”

“Oh, stop bickering,” Niinka said, pulling herself out of Rie’s hood. “We’ll find it.”

The irony. Niinka, of all people chastising Rie and Daenor. She and Hiinto rarely paused their harassment of each other, though they had been unusually quiet on this trip. Maybe because of the gravity of their situation.

But the pixie pulled up her wing covering and zipped out to search the rocks. Hiinto and Gikl were quick to follow, though Tiik and Possn had remained with Garamaen and the baby.

Rie trudged along the base of the cliff, looking for any odd-shaped hill or ridge that might be the stone formation Garamaen had mentioned. Daenor paralleled her, a few paces up the mountain. It had to be here somewhere. They couldn’t be too far off of Garamaen’s directions.

Hiinto was the first to return, bobbing and weaving through the air as his wings threatened to give out. Rie pulled aside her hood, letting the pixie crawl into the fur without question. The temperature had dropped a few more degrees in the shadows of the mountain, and she was surprised Niinka and Gikl continued to search. They had to be freezing.

Half a bell later, and Niinka returned. Her cloak and face were covered in red. “I found another one of those alpine weasels.” Her wide grin suggested it had been delicious.

“What about the cavern?” Rie asked. If they didn’t find it soon, they were going to have to turn back without any new information.

“Oh, I found it ages ago.” She landed on Rie’s shoulder, crawling toward her position next to Rie’s neck.

“Not covered in blood, you don’t.” Rie lifted a hand to block Niinka’s access to her hood. “Finish cleaning off first. And tell me where we’re supposed to go.”

“Fine, fine. Another thirty paces up the hill and to the right. Daenor’s almost found it.” Niinka licked the blood off her hands and wiped her face. “Is that good enough?”

Rie rolled her eyes, but it was probably the best she would get out of the carnivore.

“I wish you would have told us sooner,” she said, letting Niinka pass into her cloak.

“I would’ve lost the weasel!”

“Daenor,” Rie called, laughter underlying her words. “Niinka says up and to the right.”

“She found it?”

“She thinks so.”

“I did! It’s pretty obvious when you look inside.”

“But where’s that stack of rocks we were supposed to be looking for?” Daenor asked.

Rie shrugged. It had been two thousand years since Garamaen trapped Fenrir in his lair. The landscape would have changed in that time. She crawled up the rocky slope, using her hands to keep balance when the terrain got too steep. She met Daenor at the entrance to the cave.

There, they paused, listening for movement or sound from inside.

“There’s no one home,” Niinka said, exasperated. “You can go in.”

Daenor slid his sword from the sheath on his back, Rie following suit with her khukuri blades. No matter what Niinka believed, they were entering the lair of a dangerous predator. They couldn’t be too careful.

Daenor entered first, his sword pointed low and to the rear. He crept forward on the balls of his feet, step by careful step.

Rie glanced back toward the valley one more time but saw no movement. They were alone, as far as she could tell.

A fissure let in light from above, revealing a dank cave filled with bones and smelling of rot and mildew. Water seeped through the rock from the snow-covered ground above, dripping in slow stalactites to the floor. A boulder the size of three mammoths rose up from the center of the floor, a ring of metal—still shining and smooth, despite its age—was bound around its circumference. Scratches marred the rock on either side, but the metal itself was unmarked.

Daenor crouched to the ground near the boulder, lifting a thin length of chain.

“This is what held a giant wolf for two thousand years? It weighs practically nothing.”

Rie shook her head with a shrug. “I don’t know, but apparently it worked.”

The stone floor around the boulder had been worn smooth, creating a low depression in a perfect circle around the rock. It looked like Fenrir had paced in a never-ending circle for two thousand years.

Caches of cracked and broken bones, the marrow sucked out, piled against the walls of the cavern. The wolf had been fed, at least.

Two thousand years. Rie couldn’t even imagine the suffering such a long imprisonment would have caused. The sheer boredom, endless days with nothing to do but think about how he got there and who put him there. It was no wonder he targeted the barbegazi as soon as he escaped. They would have been top of the list, right after Garamaen.

Rie bent down next to Daenor to examine the chain. It was lighter than the most delicate necklace, and still shone with the reflected light from above. Not a single spot of tarnish marred the perfection of the coiled ribbon. When she tugged on the length, there was no rebound in the links, yet it curled with the flexibility of fine string.

“It’s beautiful,” Rie murmured. She wondered at its creation, and why she had never seen anything like it before. You would think a metal this light and strong would be used in everything from armor to weapons, to industrial machinery.

“But how was it broken?” Daenor asked.

Rie stretched out the entire length. No chain seemed to be missing, no links broken or separated from the main cord. But the end looked melted, like wax from a candle. Running her hand from the tip toward the boulder, she found a similar melted area about an arm’s length from the end. She touched the two points together. They fit perfectly.

“It looks like there was a loop here, now broken.”

Daenor frowned. “You don’t think the welding point broke suddenly, after two thousand years, do you?”

“I don’t know, but this is how he got loose. The loop around his neck broke, and he escaped.”

“So this is Greg’s fault? All of it, even his escape?”

“It doesn’t make sense that it would have taken so long to suddenly come loose. There has to be more to it. Something else triggered the failure of the join.”

“Maybe it held for a while, and then Fenrir stopped testing it. Maybe during that time, the weld weakened, until he finally tested it again.”

“But look at the floor. He’s been pacing circles around this cavern. If he was moving around that much, he would have tested it by accident, even if not on purpose,” Rie argued. She couldn’t believe in the sudden failure of Greg’s work. If he had made a mistake in the crafting of the chain, it would have broken long ago.

“Garamaen should be here. He would know so much more, just looking at it, while we don’t even know what it’s made out of.”

“I’m not sure anyone does.”

“Somebody must have made it. It couldn’t have appeared out of thin air.”

Rie shrugged. She squeezed the chain in her hand. A little piece of the welding point broke off, piercing her hand through her gloves.

“Ouch, that’s sharp.”

Daenor lifted her hand, examining the metal shard before carefully removing it from her skin. Rie hissed. As soon as the metal was gone, she took of her glove to examine her hand. A single drop of blood oozed from the heel of her palm, hardly worth noting, but it stung worse than a papercut.

“Funny how the tiniest wounds hurt the worst,” Rie said.

“This piece of the chain is brittle. It doesn’t have the smooth flexibility of the rest. Almost as if it was heated to red hot, then flash frozen.”

Rie put her glove back on, clenching her hand and ignoring the small pain. “The wolves couldn’t do that, not on their own.”

“No.” Daenor’s statement was grim. “Fenrir had help.”

“But who in their right mind would free a giant, probably insane, wolf?”

Niinka buzzed in, apparently finished with her examination of the cavern. “Someone with the same enemies as the wolf, perhaps? There’s a back entrance to this cave, one that goes all the way out to the tundra.”

“That explains how the pack got in and out to tend their leader,” Rie said.

Daenor squeezed the chain again, his fist clenching so hard Rie was sure he would slice open his palm.

“So he had company. Maybe he wasn’t entirely insane then.” Daenor released the chain.

“Did you not see that village?” Rie asked, her eyebrows lifted in utter disbelief. Daenor was fooling himself if he didn’t think Fenrir was crazy. The wolves had broken into the barbegazi homes, defiled their safe spaces, regardless of guilt or innocence or age or weaponry (or lack thereof).

Daenor tilted his head to the side in admission. “So what’s next. Do we head back to Garamaen with our findings, or follow the other passages out, see where they lead?”

Rie considered. On the one hand, Garamaen’s input would be helpful, but it would waste a lot of time. Did they really need his input at this point? They hadn’t yet found the truth needed to provide the justice deserved.

Gikl landed on Daenor’s shoulder, his hand on the pearl button of his needle-sword.

“We go,” he said. “We find the wolves, we find the truth.”

It was as if he were reading her thoughts.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JUDITH CLASPED HER hands behind her back, patience wearing thin. Her task was clear. She needed to warn Apprentice Sanyare and craft a strategy for finding the dual-souled. They couldn’t wait for them to reveal themselves, or they risked losing the innocent. Time was of the essence.

Asher scowled as he drew the runes on the off-world portal with pointed deliberation. The designs weren’t complicated. The act of opening the portal wasn’t challenging. But maybe that was the problem.

“You shouldn’t be allowed off-world without an escort,” he grumbled. “No level three should. This is a disgrace.”

Judith frowned, her shoulders tensing. The other angel gave voice to her own reservations, but worse, reflected the sentiment of much of the choir. She knew her skills were limited, her knowledge of the other realms lacking. She was even less prepared than Rie had been when she’d first arrived in the Daemon Realm. But showing her insecurity would be a mistake.

“You may be right, but I have my orders,” Judith replied. In the end, it didn’t matter what she thought. It mattered what the Moirai thought. And they had assigned this task. She was duty bound to fulfill it to the best of her abilities.

“They should send someone more experienced. Someone who understands the humans.”

“Like you?” Judith demanded, her temper getting the best of her. “You lost your position in the choir. You will never be allowed to interact with the humans, ever again.”

Asher had shown his deep-seated resentment and prejudices against the human race in his lack of compassion. As a sorter, he had overstuffed the Hollows—the caverns of the wicked—until they were ready to burst, not even giving them the opportunity of redemption. It was yet another problem that now had to be fixed, but a solution was hard to be found.

Asher’s eyes narrowed into slits, but he said no more as the portal opened onto the beach near Garamaen’s personal estate. Rie should be there, studying and researching the possible locations of the lost souls she’d released into the nine realms. Thousands of the wicked had streamed through the breach she had created between worlds. Hundreds still remained unaccounted for. She had won the Battle of the Arches but had let loose a force potentially far more insidious.

With a deep inhalation, Judith crossed the threshold. Her body felt like it was being simultaneously stretched and squeezed, turned inside out by the passage between dimensions. She stumbled forward. Her foot squelched in the hard-packed wet sand. Her knees landed in muck.

Fighting to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged, Judith drew the salty human air deep into her lungs. She regretted it almost immediately. There were no oceans in the Daemon Realm, no native sea life to speak of. The scent of seaweed and driftwood mixed with the stench of decaying beach creatures was near overwhelming. She gagged. Held her breath. Finally panting a few quick exhalations, she was able to rise to her feet and look around more carefully.

The time of the crossing seemed somewhat fortuitous. With the sun in its final descent and a stiff cold breeze coming inland off the water, there were only a few individuals walking or jogging on the sand. No one appeared to have noticed the sudden arrival of a tall woman in a long coat.

Judith had been advised by Ssierra that the humans would find her wings alarming, and she should hide her feathers and armor, before handing over the heavy garment. Judith felt ridiculous wearing the thing, but if it kept her from drawing attention to herself, she supposed it was necessary. Except, when a jogger glanced her direction, she questioned whether the coat was better or worse than the wings.

Keeping her breaths shallow and her steps purposeful, Judith trekked toward the estate that housed Sanyaro and his entourage. Despite the smell, she did enjoy the movement of air across her cheeks and the view of the beach. And the waves. The rhythmic sound was almost a balm to Judith’s nerves, a surprising joy. They had plenty of sand in the Daemon Realm, but very little water. What water they did have, was mostly reserved for the care and restoration of the deserving souls in paradise. The guardian aeries were stark and dry in comparison.

Climbing the stairs to Garamaen’s estate—at least she hoped they were the right stairs and she wouldn’t surprise some unsuspecting human at home—Judith glanced back toward the portal. When inactive, the construct looked like nothing more than a stone cliff worn away by water and time. The arch was empty, the view through the gate the expected beach and dark blue water. It was peaceful. It might even be nice to have this view to gaze upon each day.

At last she reached the top of the cliff to find broad glass windows and a dark interior. She knocked on the wood and glass door, fearing that no one was home. Was this even the right house? She’d been given careful instructions, but could Ssierra have been mistaken on Lord Garamaen’s current whereabouts?

Finally, the door creaked open a few finger-lengths, but no one appeared inside. Confused and concerned, Judith pushed the door a little wider.

“Hello?” she called.

“Yes?” a small female voice said. It sounded low to the ground. “Can I help you?” Judith’s eyes searched the floor.

“I am Judith, guardian third class from the Daemon Realm. I’m here to see Apprentice Sanyare.”

“Judith! Yes, yes. Come in, please.”

The door swung open all the way and Judith could finally see the creature that claimed the words. A tiny thing, she had hooves, horns, and large ears. Her pink nose twitched in what Judith took to be consternation.

“Please, step inside. We don’t want the neighbors to see anything amiss. Fae presence here is kept under strict secrecy.”

Judith stepped forward at the creature’s nervous wave, moving inside the building entry.

“Normally, I wouldn’t even open the door,” the woman continued, “but Telthedis is out running an errand in town, and I could tell you weren’t human. The coat was a bit of a giveaway, I’m afraid to say, though I can’t think of a better way to hide wings. Hilgor, we have a guest. Could you please prepare a snack tray?”

The imp hopped down a few steps on legs that hardly looked able to balance in an upright position, yet the creature managed it with aplomb. She waved a gracious paw toward a seating area. Unsure what else to do, Judith chose a backless square cushion that wouldn’t hinder her wings.

“I apologize if this is rude, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. May I ask who you are?” Judith inquired.

“Dear me, yes, of course. I am Plink, lady’s maid to Apprentice Sanyare and housekeeper of Sanyaro’s estate.”

“Y’are not the housekeeper. That job is taken,” a male voice called from another room. A few clinks and clanks could be heard, but the owner wasn’t visible.

“You can’t be a proper housekeeper if you hide in the cupboards and refuse to be seen. Cook and caretaker, yes. Housekeeper, no.”

Clearly this was an old argument, one that Judith didn’t particularly care to listen to.

“Where is Apprentice Sanyare? I really must speak with her right away.”

“Apologies. Apologies. The mistress isn’t here. She and Lord Garamaen have gone to the Winter Realm.”

“What? What for?” Judith demanded, almost rising off her seat.

“I’m afraid I don’t know all the details, but I believe there is some issue that Lord Garamaen must attend in the village of Bjergtopp, something to do with wolves. Rie and Daenor went to assist.”

Judith’s breath rushed out, relief warring with defeat. She needed to tell Rie of the dual-souled problem, but if she wasn’t here . . . .

“Do you know when they’ll return? Perhaps I could come back.”

“Unfortunately, no. It seemed a complicated situation that might take some time to resolve.”

Judith really, truly, didn’t want to chase after Rie. She wanted to return to her training, wanted to learn to soothe the traumas of the dead. But the Moirai had given her the role of liaison with Apprentice Sanyare, and tasked them both with identifying and recapturing the lost souls. She now had information for the human that must be shared. She couldn’t shirk her responsibilities and disobey her leaders, not without risking their wrath and her position in the choir.

She let her wings droop against her back. “How do I get there?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE PIXIES LED the way into the system of caves and tunnels that made up Fenrir’s lair. Rie hoped they knew what they were doing.

“Are you sure this is the right direction?” she asked. The pixies had seemed so certain, and yet they’d been walking for what seemed like hours already, through twisting tunnels that must have been carved by water, desperate to find a way to the surface. Just like Rie. If they’d taken a wrong turn, they might be lost forever. She couldn’t stand the thought of being stuck inside this mountain, dying of starvation in the dark.

What was it with tunnels, this trip? Rie had never before spent more than a few bells inside a tunnel of any kind, and yet in the last two days it felt like she’d barely seen the sky.

“Of course, I’m sure.” Niinka rolled her eyes. “I have an infallible sense of direction. It’s not my fault you’re too slow to keep up.”

“Shh.” Daenor stopped mid-stride, one finger pressed to his lips, the other hand holding his sword out in front of him. They’d been using the flame imbued metal as a torch to light their way. He’d dimmed the blaze to conserve energy, so just a trickle of fire licked up the length of steel, but it was enough to see the way forward.

He closed his eyes and cocked his head to the side, listening. Rie reached out with her other senses, looking for the energy signatures of any nearby creatures.

A scampering and shushing sound could just barely be heard over the slow drip of water from the walls and ceiling. Rie had long since gotten used to the mineral scent of lime that coated her nose and throat, but the steady sound might yet drive her insane.

Focus, she admonished herself. Ah, there they were, two softly glowing white auras, one chasing the other through a crack in the rock.

“It’s just another weasel.” Niinka licked her lips. “Might be time for another hunt.”

“This deep in the mountain?” Rie asked. She didn’t think the weasels would venture so deep beneath the ground, away from the bits of grass, lichen, and tender bark that she’d seen them eating. Maybe they were some kind of tunneling creature, like a mountain mole, or something.

She was getting distracted again. Her thoughts only wandered like this when she was so tired she could hardly stand up straight.

“Tundra weasels. They sound plump and juicy.” Hiinto snapped his teeth together in anticipation as he launched himself from Rie’s hood. The two pixies zoomed out of the cavern without looking back.

Gikl stayed behind, hovering near the next turn in the bend of the tunnel.

“There’s only a little further to travel,” he said. “The weasels probably came in to escape the predators and find safety.”

He grinned, putting his serrated teeth on display. The weasels had chosen the wrong place to hide today.

“Leave one or two for us,” Daenor said. “We should probably get a few hours sleep here, before venturing out into the open. We don’t know what we’ll find on the tundra.”

“Agreed,” Rie replied. “Gikl, is there a good defensible and unoccupied side cavern we could rest in for the night?”

The pixie warrior shook his head. “Another half-mile and you’ll see the night sky.”

“We should go back to the big cavern. There was a ledge about half-way up the side that looked promising,” Daenor suggested.

“You’ve been scouting for campsites?” Rie asked. She felt so out of her depth in this outdoor adventure. Despite her exhaustion, she hadn’t even thought about where to sleep. She’d almost assumed they would somehow magically find and kill Fenrir and get back to Garamaen before night fell. Obviously, impossible.

Daenor lifted an eyebrow. “Always be aware of your surroundings.”

Right. He’d been trying to pound that admonition into her since the day they’d met. He’d made a habit of trying to sneak up on and surprise her. He was successful more than half the time, so you’d think she would learn to keep her guard up by now.

“Being prepared for an attack is different than looking for a good napping place.”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “It’s a place to retreat and regroup if under attack.”

Rie yawned so wide and hard, her jaw cracked. “Lead on.”

Daenor’s lip lifted in a fondly bemused grin. “I guess that means I’ll be taking first watch.”

“Mmm.”

***

Rie woke to the smell of cooking meat and wood smoke. She wiped away a wet streak from the corner of her mouth and rubbed the grit out of her eyes.

She must have slept hard.

“Um, Rie?” Niinka chirped from a rock near the fire. “You might want to find a brush.”

“I don’t know, I think the electrocution look might be coming into fashion,” Daenor teased. “You could dress it up with a little streak of ash from the fire.”

Rie rolled her eyes, but quickly ran her hands through her hair. Still too short to pull back, she did her best to tuck it behind her ears and pat it down on top. With a pang, she remembered the day she’d sacrificed the arm’s length braid to the sun god. She’d earned his favor, but still lost a friend on that journey.

She swallowed, turning her thoughts away from the dark.

“How’s that?” she asked the three-inch female who’d started the conversation in the first place.

“Better. Now you just look like you haven’t bathed in a week. Smell like it, too.”

“It’s been two days.”

Niinka tore a bloody chunk of meat off what looked like a weasel leg, and grinned. Her cheeks puffed out as she chewed.

Rie puffed out a laugh, then joined Daenor at the fire. He held out a side of the cooked rodent, which Rie gladly took. The meat was slightly charred and a little greasy, but it was hot and filling. Far better than the travel rations they’d brought with them.

“The pixies went hunting for us. They cleared out an entire warren of these little guys.”

“I’m surprised they were willing to share.”

“As I understand it, there was a debate, but ultimately their better nature won.”

“Ah.” That probably meant Daenor had caught them tearing into the creatures, and grabbed a couple before they were gone. Judging by the distended bellies of the three-inch carnivores, they’d already eaten a good meal.

“So, what’s the plan, then?” Rie asked.

“I was going to ask the same thing. The tunnel exits the mountain less than a mile’s walk from here. I did a little scouting while you slept—like a rock, I might add—and peeked outside. The tundra is entirely exposed terrain. If we’re hunting Fenrir, we’re better served staying on or near the mountain, using the rocks and ledges to stay hidden.”

“Or, we go back to Garamaen and Bren, make sure the wolves haven’t yet returned,” Rie said. Garamaen had not looked well when they’d left, and the baby was so young and fragile. She needed milk, needed warmth. Garamaen could take care of the latter easily enough, but would Possn and Tiik be able to find the missing goats without drawing attention?

“Can you See anything of the future?”

Rie closed her eyes, sought the inner calm that would open her third eye to the Sight, and call a premonition. Her consciousness sank into her being, her vision growing dark, and then popping in a burst of white light.

A jumble of images came to light, a few possible futures in the crystal city, but nothing seemed relevant. Judith was there, holding a great sword and looking angry. Why was she in the Winter Realm? That made no sense, at least not for this current journey. She should be back in the Daemon Realm training to be a counselor and preparing to capture or destroy the escaped lost souls.

“There’s a time gap,” Rie replied. “I can’t See anything here in the mountains. It’s odd, though. At some point Judith could become involved. I can’t tell why, or how far into the future, but she’s definitely in the frost sidhe city with a sword in hand.”

Daenor frowned in puzzlement. “Odd.”

“Yes. But Garamaen did say I wouldn’t be able to use my magic to sense Fenrir.”

“Why is that, anyway?”

Rie shrugged. “I have no idea. Something to do with Fenrir’s own abilities, I gather.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like these tunnels have been recently used. If I had to guess, I think the wolves must have a more direct path through the mountains and back into barbegazi territory. If that’s the case, we’re better served moving forward and finding their trail.”

“Do you miss the Shadow Guard?” Rie asked, abruptly. Ever since Daenor had chosen to remain with her in the Human Realm, she’d wondered at his reasons. He’d been the commander of the Shadow Realm’s military force in the capitol. Named heir to the Shadow Realm. But after the Battle of the Arches, he’d opted to stay with Rie.

His eyebrows twitched, suspicion written on his features. “What brings this up?”

“I don’t know. It’s just, you’re here, sitting in a cave, eating some kind of cave rodent, when you could be—probably should be—back in Nalakadr training with the troops in case Othin tries again. You had soldiers under your command, people who relied on you. What happened?”

“My father lied to me my whole life. That’s what happened.”

“Yes, but the guard was loyal to you. And if I remember correctly, you were determined to go back to them after the tribunal, anxious that they weren’t left under Faernodir’s inexperienced and incapable leadership.”

Daenor took another bite from the skewered weasel, chewing it slowly without looking at Rie. She let him stew for a moment in silence, picking the meat off her own stick. When finally he swallowed, he seemed to have collected his thoughts.

“Aradae is a good man, a good king. He’s not a good father. I can’t trust a man who didn’t trust me with my own family history. Who let me fend for myself my entire childhood, in the care of people who despised me, when he could have told the truth and forced the dark elves to treat me with respect.”

“Would that have worked, though? They might have been outwardly respectful, but you would never have known what they really thought. They very well might have tried to have you killed or sabotaged you behind your back.”

“They did that anyway.”

“Yes, but you knew about it, could counter it, especially as you grew older.”

Daenor’s pained gaze looked up, the tension around his eyes belying the internal struggle. “You might be right, but I still can’t forgive him for never telling me about my mother, or that I had family in the Summer Realm. So to answer your question, yes, I miss the men and women who looked to me for leadership. They deserve better than Faernodir. But he will learn to lead. I can’t go back to my father’s service. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

“Then what about Thanûr and the fire sidhe? You now have the opportunity to know and understand the other side of your ancestry.”

Rie didn’t know why she was pushing this line of questioning. She didn’t want him to leave her, after all. But she also feared that he was only doing this for her and would come to regret his decision later. She didn’t want him to grow bitter and resent her.

However, Daenor grimaced, disgust turning his lips into a sneer. “Thanûr is grieving. The whole realm is. And most of the people blame me.”

“They blame me, not you,” Rie disagreed.

“No, they blame me, too. Norgeledil was a well-loved queen. She kept her crazy hidden. I’m the long-lost grandson who drove her insane, and then gave the human witch an opportunity to kill her.”

“Ah.”

Daenor shoved his empty skewer into the fire. The fire blazed, fed by an outside source that wasn’t Rie. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared into the flame, a somber cast to his features.

“Besides,” he continued, gaze still locked on the fire, “I thought there was another reason to stay. A reason that might change the course of my future, rather than dwell on the past.”

A quick flick of his eyes, and Rie knew he was talking about her.

They hadn’t discussed their future, and she wasn’t sure she was ready, even still. The present was hard enough to think about.

But . . . .

“I’m glad you’re here, with me,” Rie murmured. “I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone—”

“Alone? What are we, rotten entrails?” Niinka asked, her words slurred.

Rie had thought the pixies were asleep, piled together as they were. In fact, it looked to Rie like Niinka’s eyes were closed.

Thankfully, Daenor smirked with good-natured humor. He never seemed to mind the pixies’ presence.

“I’ve come to learn the path of the future isn’t fixed,” Rie continued, “but I hope you’ll continue to walk with me.”

Daenor’s gaze softened, the tension leaving the corners of his eyes. Rie was glad to see it disappear.

“Well, that brings us back to our current path,” Daenor said. “Which road are we walking?” He reached out and pulled her into his lap, one leg on either side of her body. He put his chin on her shoulder, tucking her in close.

Rie took a breath, relaxing into his hold and letting him carry a small bit of her burden. As much as she felt drawn to return to Bjergtopp, the imminent threat was Fenrir and his pack. They couldn’t let them attack another village.

“We need to find out where they’re going, and what their next target will be,” Rie replied, leaning her cheek into his warmth. “We follow their trail.” She paused, turning her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “After you get some sleep.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RIE BLINKED AGAINST the sunlight. After nearly an entire day inside the mountain, the sun felt like it was burning her retinas and the wind slapped her cheeks as if to reprimand her absence.

It was amazing how much warmer the caves had been. She wouldn’t have thought so, but the protection from the wind and snow made the rough mountain passage feel like a sanctuary.

“Gah,” she grunted, lifting a hand to give her eyes a rest in the shade. With the other, she pulled her hood up and over her head, keeping her face in shadow and protected from the biting cold.

“Now you know how I feel all the time,” Daenor replied, tugging his own hood up. As a half-dark elf, his vision was attuned to the dim light of the Shadow Realm. The midday sun, even on an overcast day in the Human Realm, had him squinting in pain.

The good news was that the snow wasn’t nearly as deep on this side of the peak. They wouldn’t need the snowshoes. The wind had swept parts of the hillside completely clean, and the highest drifts only looked to be a couple feet deep.

“Any sign of the wolves?” Rie asked. She wasn’t much of a tracker and had never participated in any kind of formal hunt. She wasn’t sure Daenor had, either.

“Wolf prints,” Gikl motioned for Rie to follow. The pixies had chosen to fly awhile and help with the search, at least until their wings grew tired and cold. Rie expected that to happen at any moment. But the pixies were hunters. Not usually of big game, but they knew how to track and find things.

Rie crouched to find a very clear print in a patch of snow. She couldn’t see any others nearby. The print pointed down the hill toward the flat plateau that stretched out into the distance, as far as the eye could see.

“Let’s go.” Rie made to move down the mountain, but Daenor stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“We should stay on the mountain. There’s more cover, if we need it.”

“We don’t want to miss the trail.” Rie worried her lip, gazing down at the ground and around the area once more. “I don’t see any other sign to suggest where they might have gone.”

Niinka buzzed in front of Rie’s face. “There are more prints down this way,” she said.

Daenor’s expression grew skeptical, but he waved Rie forward. It seemed she would be taking the lead on this one. Fifty lengths down the mountain, Niinka stopped.

“There,” she said, pointing at the icy ground.

The print wasn’t as perfectly formed as the first one, but it was still clearly visible in the snow. And this time, there was more than one.

“What do you think?” Rie asked Daenor, but he was ignoring her, his gaze scanning the landscape around them.

“I think we’re being watched,” Daenor replied.

“By whom?”

“I can only imagine one party interested in our activities. Fenrir must be close.”

Rie stood, her hands immediately dropping to the handles of her khukuri blades. “He wouldn’t stay hidden for long. His ego won’t let him.”

“Ego? He’s been bound in a cave for two thousand years. I don’t think he has much ego left,” Daenor said.

“But he escaped. Somehow he broke that weld.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not being cautious.” Daenor’s eyes continued to scan the mountain and the horizon.

“Do we keep going?” Rie asked. “Because this is our only clue about where to find Fenrir’s pack.”

“Yes. But stay alert. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Rie’s senses launched into overdrive. She reached out into the magical spectrum hoping for some sign of the wolves, some gap in the protection Fenrir seemed to carry in his skin. But there was nothing to See.

“Gikl, scout ahead,” Rie ordered. “Niinka and Hiinto, spread out and look for the wolves. We need to know where they are.”

“But my wings are cold,” Hiinto complained.

“We need eyes and information.” Rie had learned that though they were her friends, the pixies could also be invaluable assets. But they did require a bit of extra coddling. “Your sneakiness is key to our success.”

Hiinto puffed out his chest, struggling to hold back a grin. “I can definitely be sneaky.”

“And whatever treasure you find is yours,” Rie said as he flew away. When they first met, Rie stopped the pixies from attacking her by first distracting them with a shiny ring, then offering tribute to keep them happy. It turned out they loved a nice shiny bauble almost as much as a plump alpine weasel. From that first bribe, a beautiful friendship had formed.

“Treasure? What kind of treasure can they possibly find out here?” Daenor asked.

“They’re pixies. They’ll find something. And so long as they can carry it, they have no restrictions in this realm, as far as I’m concerned.” Other places, other times, they had to be reined in from stealing. Way out here in the frozen wilderness, Rie didn’t have to worry about offending anyone.

Hands still on her khukuris, Rie stepped down the mountain. She tried to keep her gaze up and out, watching for the wolves, but she also had to watch her step. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she broke an ankle on loose rocks.

This was madness. Truly. Garamaen was the one who should be hunting Fenrir. But every time Rie thought about the despondent way he had walked through the village and the pain in his eyes, she knew he couldn’t win a confrontation. Fenrir had held a grudge for two thousand years. Even if he were weak, that anger would carry him through, fuel his plot.

The only question now; what was he planning?

Rie slipped on some loose gravel, the stone sliding down the hillside with a clatter. She caught her balance but paused to listen. If the wolves were around but hadn’t yet noticed their presence, they would now.

Her gaze traveled over the landscape, searching for movement amongst the rocks. Nothing caught her attention. Maybe they were lucky. Maybe Daenor was wrong.

“Run!” Niinka screamed, her bell-like voice filled with terror. She zoomed past Rie with enough speed that Rie only saw a blur and felt the draft of wind. Turning back to face the direction Niinka had come from, she saw them.

Five wolves, each at least the size of a full-grown troll, but faster than a horse at a full gallop. They tore across the hillside, snow flinging into the air behind them.

Rie didn’t wait to see more. She turned and sprinted for the tunnel opening. Blind panic overwhelmed her senses. Her heart pounded in her chest as adrenaline flooded her system.

“Get to the cave!” Daenor shouted, as if she weren’t already headed that direction. But his words distracted her. She looked over her shoulder.

The wolves had gained ground.

She tripped. Landed hard on her side, pain shooting through her hip and down her leg.

A fireball blasted through the air above her head, taking the lead wolf full in the chest. “Get up!” Daenor shouted.

Fire. Rie spied a few small bushes in the path of the wolves, their branches mostly clear of snow. With a thought and a clenched fist, each bush exploded as the wolves approached.

They veered away, but it wasn’t enough to stop them. They kept coming, teeth bared in vicious snarls.

Daenor grabbed her arm, Rie scrambled to her feet. Another fireball launched from his hands. And another. Tiny bits of straw became cannonball sized blazes that launched with explosive force.

“There’s no time,” Rie panted. The tunnel entrance was still at least twenty lengths away. They’d come farther from the cavern than she’d realized. And even if they did make it there, the best they could do would be to keep the wolves contained and fight them one by one.

“I know.” Daenor’s expression was grim but determined. He lifted his hands. “Help me.”

The mountain caught fire, a wall of flame separated Rie and Daenor from the oncoming wolves. Barely able to see them over the top of the blaze, the wolves slid into turns, dividing into two groups to circle around their position.

Rie called forth the fire in her own aura, pushed it into the vegetation around them. There wasn’t much, but any branch or twig or blade of grass was fair game. Within moments, Rie and Daenor stood in a circle of flame, the wolves pacing around the outside.

Stalemate.

But how long could it last? The fuel would eventually run out. They all knew it. The wolves just had to wait.

As if on cue, the largest wolf Rie had ever seen appeared. He stood on a boulder positioned higher on the mountain, where every creature in the area would see him. Gray around the muzzle, with a bare patch of skin visible in a circle around his neck, Rie assumed this was Fenrir himself, come to claim his prize.

“Let go of the fire,” the wolf growled, his voice a deep rumble from vocal cords not designed for human speech. “You have lost, but you are not who we seek.”

Daenor increased the blaze, his eyes burning with fierce intensity. “So you can tear us to shreds, as you did the barbegazi villagers? Not a chance.”

The pack circling around the edge of the fire growled and snapped their teeth. Rie checked her flame. Already, weak spots were forming in the wall. It wouldn’t be long before the first of the bushes blew away as ash on the wind.

“You cannot hold the fire forever,” the wolf replied. “But you may be more useful alive.”

Rie reached out with her senses once more. Still, she could not See the auras of the wolves standing right in front of her. Not even a flicker. Not even a dimmed shadow as she’d seen from some of the fire sidhe in the Summer Realm. It was as if they didn’t exist, magically speaking. But even creatures without magic had an aura. Every living thing did. According to Garamaen, even the animated dead could be sensed. So what was different about the wolves?

She shook her head, frustrated. She couldn’t pull their energy from them, couldn’t sense their soulstrings, couldn’t touch them with any kind of magical effort she could think of. Fire was their only hope.

Rie stepped closer to Daenor, pressing her back to his. They’d opened the circle about a length out from their position, but as the bushes burned and died, they were going to have to bring the line in closer. Already the wolves were testing the barrier, pushing closer where the flames were weakest.

“Useful? How?” Rie asked. Would it be possible to negotiate a deal?

The wolf huffed a laugh, the lupine grin displaying a disconcerting number of sharp teeth.

“You smell of the oathbreaker.”

Rie wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that but opted for honesty. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“My ancient enemy, once called friend, has returned. You will bring him to me.”

“That will not happen,” Daenor drew his sword as the first section of the firewall fell. Wolves tore through the gap.

Rie found her khukuris in her hands. They sang to her blood, anxious to be used.

Daenor took the first strike. Flames burned across the steel in white-hot light. He swung up and across. Wolf fur flew, but the creature dodged out of the way without letting blood.

Another wolf lunged at Rie. She sliced out. A puff of gray and black on the wind, this time with drops of blood. Not a deep wound, but the wolf squealed and rolled away. Another took its place.

The wolves took turns lunging toward their prey. Rie and Daenor kept their backs pressed together, their weapons moving in tight circles to keep the predators at bay.

Left, right, left. Rie’s knives carved patterns into the air. Into the fur. Into the flesh beneath. A wolf crept up to her right as she pushed back another on her left. Sidekick to the shoulder sent the wolf rolling into one of the few remaining burning bushes. The wolf squealed and whimpered, rolling on the ground to put out the flames.

Gikl zipped into the fray, Niinka and Hiinto close behind. But the pixies were no match for the giant wolves. The best they could do was annoy their eyes and distract them from their purpose. The wolves snapped their teeth. One nearly grabbed Hiinto out of the air, but the tiny pixie was too fast. He escaped, but rose above the fight, his wings buzzing in a dragonfly’s hover.

Rie couldn’t pause to watch. The first wolf was back. His tongue flicked out between exposed teeth, curling against raised lips. A wicked growl echoed from deep within his chest.

“Die,” the wolf lunged forward and up, aiming for Rie’s throat.

Rie blocked. Teeth pierced the skin of her elbow. The wolf kept his grip, shaking his head from side to side. Rie screamed as something tore deep within her shoulder. Daenor spun, the flaming sword slicing through the wolf’s neck in a bloodless but mortal wound. Rie kicked the dead body away.

But she knew the fight was nearly over. The wolf had torn through skin. Blood dripped down her useless arm, coating her bracer in slick wet heat. Her shoulder was dislocated, or worse. And if his descendants carried his poison, the magic in her system would slowly, inextricably, be eaten away, like the barbegazi village girl.

Daenor, forced to protect her injured side as well as his own body, was losing steam. Rie couldn’t give up yet. For his sake, if not her own. She kept her right hand tucked into her waist, her grip tight on her belt. She was still a better than decent fighter with the left arm—her non-dominant arm—but she was flagging fast.

Fenrir chuckled, the sound of a bass drum filled with gravel. He hadn’t yet moved. Hadn’t needed to. Wouldn’t need to.

Rie couldn’t buffer Daenor’s aura—or her own—since she couldn’t seem to find any creatures with sufficient reserves to drain. Even if her magic was still active, she didn’t have access to the wolves’ energy. The rodents had gone to ground at the first sign of the pinnacle predators, and wouldn’t have provided much help, anyway.

Daenor’s sword thrust out and up, came down in an overhead strike. The recovery was too slow. The smallest wolf lunged inside his defense, biting Daenor’s shoulder through the bear hide coat, finding skin beneath the layers.

Daenor shouted. The wolf released, eyes wide and rolling. It looked like she hadn’t expected to connect, hadn’t known what to do once she had flesh between her teeth.

“Enough,” Fenrir roared. A sly expression accompanied the word. “We’ve made our point. You are no match for us. Lay down your weapons. You will come.”

“I said . . . it before . . . ,” Daenor panted. “Not a chance.”

Rie had never seen Daenor so winded. Was it the pain? The altitude? The effort of trying to protect her weak side while fending off the wolves at his own throat?

“You are a fool if you think you can win. I can scent your blood on the air.”

The fire on Daenor’s blade dimmed. The burning bushes were all but dead. They’d run out of fuel, both physical and magical.

Rie placed her hand on Daenor’s forearm. She met his gaze, glanced up at the sky and back. “We’ll never make it out of here alive.” But she hoped the pixies would. More, she hoped Daenor understood her message.

If the pixies were free and could fly, they could bring help. The only question was if that was exactly what Fenrir had in mind.

“We’ll go,” Rie said. Unable to do anything else.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“LEAVE YOUR WEAPONS on the ground,” Fenrir commanded. “Do it now, or death is your choice.”

Rie grimaced, unwilling to part with the blades that had become as much a part of her as her own two hands. Exposure to the elements would dull their blades. Not to mention, they were irreplaceable. Rie’s knives and Daenor’s sword were custom-made and enchanted to fit their hands, and their hands alone. Leaving them behind felt like killing a piece of her own soul.

But. She wasn’t actually dead. Not yet, anyway. If she left them here, there was a chance she could come back for them at some point.

Rie lovingly caressed the steel one last time before stepping away. She gazed out over the surrounding landscape, doing her best to memorize every inch of scenery in an effort to mark the spot in her mind. She held her injured arm close to her chest, feeling naked and exposed without her weapons.

One of the larger wolves—though still significantly smaller than Fenrir’s hulking form—with a single patch of black fur around his right eye nosed at the near decapitated body of Rie’s attacker. The corpse shifted and fell to the side, exposing the cauterized wound that had taken the wolf’s life. Though the skin was sealed, Daenor had sliced through the carotid. The wolf had died within heartbeats after the blood no longer reached his brain.

Eye-patch tilted his head to the sky and howled, the sound an eerie mourning that sent chills down Rie’s spine. One by one, the other pack members took up the call, the melody cascading around and down the mountainside. Rie briefly closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her. She keenly felt their pain, understanding what it meant to lose a comrade in battle.

Fenrir approached, taking slow, deliberate steps toward them. The mottled gray and black fur shifted and blew in the wind. He kept his mouth closed, but his eyes were narrowed to thin, accusatory slits. As he moved, Rie realized just how big he truly was. His position on the mountain had been deceiving. The top of Rie’s head only barely reached the wolf’s shoulder.

Rie took a step back, unsure of his intent. She bent her legs, ready to at least make an attempt to defend herself. Her left hand automatically dropped to the space where her knives would be, but they were on the ground, out of reach. Daenor kept close, his solid presence an emotional support. Not that he could do much to help. If the wolves decided to attack, Rie and Daenor would die.

As if reading her thoughts, the wolves around her growled, their heads lowered and bodies shifting in agitation. They weren’t going to let any further harm come to their long-imprisoned leader.

Rie lifted her good hand in surrender. There was no getting out of this, no getting away.

Fenrir sniffed, his nose coming within inches of her own. Teeth showed between curled lips. The smell of meat and blood wafted over her as Fenrir blew out a noisy breath. Rie leaned her head back without stepping away. A lupine smirk pulled at the wolf’s lips. He knew he had her cornered and powerless. He sniffed again, then dropped his head to smell around her person.

“You wear many blades, many weapons,” Fenrir said. “They all must be removed. Not just the most obvious ones.” His eyes glinted with angry expectation.

Rie gritted her teeth but bent to remove the two needle-thin daggers she’d worn in her boots. When Fenrir leveled another piercing gaze on her, she pulled the throwing knives out of the hidden pockets on her left bracer.

“I need help with these,” Rie said, holding out her left forearm for Fenrir’s inspection. “I can’t do anything with my right hand.”

“Is it broken?” Daenor asked, worry lacing his tone even as he added to the armory on the frozen ground. Daggers and short blades, several throwing knives, they all went into a pile.

“Just dislocated, I think. It’ll need to be popped back into place.”

“I can do that.”

“After you arrive in the den, you will have time to tend your wounds. We must go.” Fenrir glanced up at the horizon, the sun already setting beneath the mountain peaks. “You take the knives from her. Leave everything here.”

The wolves snapped their teeth and growled, herding Rie and Daenor toward the pass after they were satisfied the metal was gone. A headache began to build behind her eyes, the pain creeping into her brain with mind-numbing tendrils. She glanced around, looking for the pixies, but the masters of camouflage couldn’t be seen anywhere. She hoped they were all right. They wouldn’t last long outside at night in the cold. Silently, she urged them to go back to the mountain tunnel, find a safe place to rest and stay warm, then return to Garamaen as soon as the sun was up the next day. That was a lot of ask of inquisitive creatures who didn’t have telepathy, but she prayed the gods would watch over her friends.

“Move,” the smallest wolf commanded. Her fur was more white than gray, her body shorter and leaner than her male brethren. Still, she was bigger than the horses Rie had learned to ride as a child, and her teeth snapped with as much ferocity as any of the others.

Rie realized she was going to have to give these wolves names, if only to use in her head.

Eyeing her guard, Rie decided Lil would be the perfect moniker for the small female wolf.

Careful to watch her step, Rie couldn’t help trying to strike up a conversation.

“Where did you learn to speak our language?”

“Keep moving. No talking,” Lil replied.

“Why not? We have nothing else to do on this journey.”

Lil snarled, her teeth bared. Rie wasn’t going to let that dissuade her. If they’d wanted her dead, they would have killed her on the mountain. And though Lil was fierce and could probably tear her arm the rest of the way off her shoulder, she didn’t seem like she particularly wanted to.

“You speak it quite well, especially for a creature not designed for human speech.”

Daenor glanced at Rie out of the corner of his eye, asking without words what she was doing. What she was thinking. She gave him a quick tilt of her head. She didn’t know if this would work, didn’t know if a bond could be created with the wolves, but if they were going to have any chance of long-term survival, they wouldn’t be able to fight their way out. They needed another solution.

“We are as intelligent as any of the races,” the she-wolf said. “Do not think us beasts.”

“Believe me, I don’t.” Rie lifted her good hand with a self-deprecating shrug. “After all, I’m the one who’s been captured.”

“Remember that.”

“Does your whole pack speak as well as you do? Or were just a few chosen to learn?”

“Great-grandfather made sure we were prepared for his freedom.”

“Stop.” One of the larger males snapped his teeth at the female. She dodged out of the way, avoiding the nip, but not the reprimand. “No talking.”

The young female fell back, the male taking her place.

“So, Fenrir is your great-grandfather?”

The wolf glared at Rie, his hackles rising. He clearly wasn’t interested in talking, and unlike the female, Rie didn’t think she should push her luck with him. Second only to Fenrir in size, he didn’t seem like he would mind taking a chunk out of her hide, no matter what the pack leader said. She decided she would call this one Brute.

Daenor bumped her good shoulder and gave a quick shake of his head. Apparently, he agreed that she should be quiet. But then he nodded his chin toward their destination.

A dark hole opened into the mountain. Snow covered a peaked overhang, while two stands of piled rocks marked the entrance. Rie, unable to see more than a few feet inside, had no idea what awaited. What worried her more were the half dozen giant wolves lounging around the entrance, each lifting their lips in a snarl that rumbled through the air and into Rie’s bones.

“Inside,” Fenrir growled.

Brute shoved Rie forward, sending her careening into one of the rock piles. She hit her dislocated shoulder on the stone. Pain sliced through her arm and back. She swallowed another scream, but tears sprang to her eyes and she slid to the ground.

“I said, inside,” Fenrir stepped forward, his teeth bared.

Daenor positioned himself between them. He held his hand out, a length of straw on his palm. A flicker of smoke, then nothing. His face scrunched into pained concentration. Not even a spark answered his call.

Fenrir chuffed a laugh. “Already your magic is fading. Your kind thought to keep me contained forever, thought the wolves weak and easily manipulated. Who is stronger now?”

Daenor’s jaw clenched. He kept his position between Rie and the wolves, hands slightly raised in a defensive crouch. He might not have his magic, but Rie knew he was more than capable of doing physical damage with just his hands and feet. However, they were too outnumbered. She couldn’t let this end in violence. She stood, using her good arm and the rocks behind her to pull herself upright.

“I’m up,” she said. “You can stand down.”

“Take your mate inside the cave,” Fenrir ordered.

Whether he was speaking to Rie or Daenor, she didn’t know, didn’t care. She took hold of his forearm and led him into the dark.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THANKING ALL THE gods for the depth and warmth of her feathers, Judith touched down in the courtyard of the village of Bjergtopp. Though the heavy coat had helped break the wind, Judith’s mad dash from the frost sidhe portal up to this tiny village in the mountain had nearly frozen her to the bone. Wrapping her wings around herself now, and spreading the cloak over the top, the chattering of her teeth finally began to calm.

She’d made it up the mountain in just over a bell, flying at full speed. She wasn’t as fast here as she was in the Daemon Realm, likely due to the high altitude and decreased air pressure, but she thought it had to be much faster than hiking up the treacherous mountain.

She hadn’t seen any sign of Sanyaro and his party, but it may have snowed since their arrival. However, landing in the courtyard of the village, Judith’s stomach turned.

Burnt and dismembered bodies littered the area around the cave openings where—she’d been told—the native fae species lived. Doors had been torn off hinges. Old dark blood painted the walls in a spray of physical destruction.

She swallowed hard. Whatever had attacked them, these people hadn’t had a chance. Judith hoped Apprentice Sanyare and the others weren’t included in the death toll.

She reassured herself with the knowledge that Sanyaro’s death, or even Apprentice Sanyare, would have been big news in the Daemon Realm. If their souls had arrived at the gates, every guardian and daemon in the realm would have known it within a bell. Garamaen’s was one of the oldest living souls still in existence across the nine. His reclamation would be epic.

The sound of a baby’s cry drew Judith away from the pain of the death in front of her and toward the only closed door in the mountain. She approached the low wood threshold and knocked.

A resonant shushing sound and the baby quieted.

Judith knocked again.

At first she thought whoever was inside wouldn’t answer, but after a few heartbeats, the door opened a crack. Sanyaro’s drawn face appeared in the gap.

“Ah, Judith. Finally, you’ve arrived. I worried you wouldn’t come after all.”

Lord Garamaen Sanyaro opened the small door fully, allowing Judith entrance into the room. Unfortunately, she practically had to crawl on hands and knees to fit inside.

“Yes, I know the accommodations are a bit tight for those our size,” Garamaen said, as if reading her mind. “It is the best available, for now.”

A fire crackled in a small hearth, effectively heating the small front room. Another door led deeper into the mountain. The bleat of a goat could be heard on the other side.

“Come on in and get warm,” Garamaen urged.

Judith gratefully took a seat by the fire, but her gaze kept wandering over to the back door.

“Did I hear a baby?” she asked. She couldn’t help herself. What could Lord Garamaen Sanyaro possibly be doing with a baby, here, of all places?

“Sadly, yes. She is the lone survivor of this disaster. In fact, if I hadn’t found that goat wandering around the slope this morning, she wouldn’t have made it either.”

“Is Rie tending her?” Judith tried to peer around the edge of the door, to no avail.

“Rie is trying to find the perpetrator of this mass murder. Bren is in her crib, the goat is keeping her company. They seem to have become friends. Would you like to see her?”

Judith nodded, a twist of emotion catching the words in her throat.

Garamaen responded with a rueful smile, and shuffled his way behind the door. Though Judith hadn’t met him prior to the meeting with the Moirai that had instigated this mess, she felt like he failed to live up to his reputation. The man’s skin was thin, stretched tight across bone and ligaments, and he moved with slow deliberation. The corners of his eyes were pinched, as if a headache or other ailment pained him. Yet he was supposed to be one of the greatest of the fae, a powerful lord of the elves. His injury didn’t explain this level of decline.

A soft mewling sound met quiet murmurs. Garamaen shuffled back toward the fire, a swaddled babe in his arms and two of Rie’s winged companions clinging to his sleeves. The baby was so tiny, she seemed to disappear in the big man’s hands. Yet when she peeked out from the soft white cloth of her wrap, Judith was instantly smitten. Pink cheeks and a tuft of white hair, soft lips that blew a raspberry into the air. She was pure sweetness and light.

“She has a kind soul,” Judith said.

“A lucky soul, at the least. Here, hold her.” Garamaen reached out, to pass the baby into Judith’s arms, but the angel balked.

“I have never held a baby in my life,” she said.

A birth amongst the near-immortal guardians was rare and precious, the child raised under careful watch of the parents and maternal nursemaids. Prospective parents had to wait until need arose before they could hope for a chance to procreate. Though the community at large would help raise and train the children once their wings were developed, only the closest family and friends were invited into the newborn’s home.

“If I remember correctly, you wanted to work with the traumatized souls of children. Well, now’s your chance.” Garamaen’s lips lifted in an encouraging but gentle grin.

With a nervous glance at Garamaen’s face to make sure he was serious—and that she was doing it right—Judith took the precious package from his arms. She cradled the child as if she were made of the most fragile glass. Barely bigger than her hands, the creature fit perfectly within the crook of her arm.

“What did you say her name was?”

“We’ve chosen Breneidis—Bren—for now. We don’t know what her mother called her.”

Wide, glistening blue eyes stared up into Judith’s face. The child cooed and waved a chubby fist in Judith’s direction.

“Fenrir and his pack destroyed this village,” Garamaen murmured, almost whispering, as if to keep baby Bren from hearing the words. “Rie and Daenor have gone to find justice.”

Just then, a tiny winged creature screeched into the room. One of Rie’s companions, Judith assumed, though she tightened her hold on the babe, just in case.

“Rie and Daenor have been captured by the wolves!”

“What!?” Garamaen’s voice echoed around the small room, the stone walls doing nothing to dampen the sound.

Judith’s shoulders tightened, and her heart pounded in her chest. Rie, capable and determined, had been captured by wolves? What lunacy was this?

Bren burst into tears, her entire face scrunching up as she wailed her distress. Judith forced her muscles to relax and bounced the baby gently, trying to soothe the poor creature, but to no avail. Her plaintive cries sounded like a siren announcing an emergency of greatest proportion.

The pixies who had been monitoring the baby, now gathered around the messenger, who landed shivering on a cushion near the fire. The tiny creature huddled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her chest and turning her back to the fire while slowly opening and closing her wings. She looked near frozen, despite the coat that covered her from head to toe.

“We f-found a back tunnel in the m-mountain,” the pixie chattered. “R-Rie and D-Daenor followed Fenrir out onto the tundra. It was a trap.”

“Of course it was a trap. Fools.” Garamaen rubbed a hand across his face. “No wonder I can’t See her anymore.”

“She couldn’t See the trap until it was too late.”

“I warned her that would happen. Fenrir is null. And I suppose she was bitten.”

“Both of them were.”

“Gods damn it all.”

Judith lifted an eyebrow at the cursing but refrained from saying anything. She couldn’t blame him, though she wouldn’t dare risk the gods censure herself. Sometimes you got what you asked for.

“So we go get them,” Judith said. It didn’t seem like such a big deal to her. “They are just large dogs, yes?” She didn’t have much experience with physical animals—none, in fact—but she’d seen a few of the human memories of their pets, and dogs featured heavily in those visions.

But Garamaen shook his head. “These are sentient fae. They grow to the size of horses, sometimes larger, and can think and speak with the fluency of any intelligent creature. This was a planned ambush, I’m sure of it.”

“It was,” the pixie chimed, her shoulders less hunched as the heat did its job. “They misled us with footprints, then charged out when we were too far to retreat back into the mountain.”

The baby finally hiccupped and quieted, her eyes closing in sleep as if the fit had entirely worn her out.

“We cannot leave them there,” Judith said, thinking that though Rie might not be her favorite person in the world, she was still an ally.

“Of course not. But we won’t be able to defeat the wolves in their own territory, either. They are too strong, too fast. And we have the baby to consider.”

“I will return her to her people and gather your allies.” It only seemed logical. Judith was faster than Sanyaro, especially since she wouldn’t be slowed by the snow.

“They might not come.”

“Then I will find someone who will.”

Sanyaro closed his eyes, his lips pressed together. “It will be dangerous, but you’ll have to enter through the gates of the city. Don’t try to fly over the walls or you will be shot down. Both you and Bren will be lost.”

“Shot down?” Judith asked, taken aback. She offered no violence to the residents of the city.

Garamaen nodded, opening his eyes once more. “The Battle of the Arches is still fresh in the frost sidhe memory. An angel flying overhead will be seen as an attack, and they won’t hesitate to protect Crystal City.”

“A single angel?”

“One or a hundred, it won’t matter. Protect Bren. And hurry. I can’t See the wolves, but I can’t leave Rie with them for long. They have every reason to project their anger at me onto my apprentice and heir.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WARMTH. IT HAD only been a few hours out on the mountain, but she hadn’t realized how cold she’d gotten until the heat inside the cave blasted her in the face. Heat, with no light. How was that even possible? Yet the farther they walked into the mountain, the warmer and darker it became.

Rie clutched at Daenor’s shoulder, trusting the superior night vision of his dark elf heritage. She, on the other hand, could hardly see the hand in front of her. Without Daenor’s sword or their fire magic, there was no way to light their path.

“Keep going,” Fenrir said.

The wolves pushed them through a series of tunnels all seeming to travel down into the depths of the mountain. Rie’s arm throbbed in painful complaint with every step. Every breath put pressure on the joint, every twist of her neck forced a whimper from her lips.

“We have to rest. I need to set her shoulder,” Daenor said into the darkness.

“You can rest when we get there.”

“Get where?” Rie asked, wincing as even the movement of her jaw seemed to make her entire upper body ache.

Fenrir chuffed another rough laugh. “Your prison. Do not worry, you will be chained to a rock, but we will feed you.”

The chortles of the entire pack echoed around the cavern. Rie swallowed down a heavy lump. Their magic wasn’t working. They were injured. The pixies were gone, might have been eaten for all Rie knew. The wolves had surely covered their tracks and taken care to leave no trace of their whereabouts. Garamaen wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for them.

This was a disaster. An ill-conceived, ill-fated idea. They had underestimated Fenrir and his pack.

She dropped her forehead to rest between Daenor’s shoulder blades. His hand reached up to clasp her fingers. He was there with her. At least they had that much.

A muted green glow lightened the tunnel up ahead. Rie could finally see the ground on which they walked. Then the walls came into focus. One final narrow passage and they entered the largest interior cavern Rie had yet seen.

Steam rose from an underground lake bright with some kind of bioluminescent algae. The room was so hot, Rie wanted to remove her cloak. Maybe even her thermal shirt. But the smell of sulphur and minerals seared her nose. She let go of Daenor’s shoulder to cover her nose with her elbow.

The wolves—at least twelve of them now—pushed past their prisoners and ranged out around the lake. Though they no longer snarled and growled, their expressions remained intensely focused on their captives.

“Welcome to the rest of your lives.” The smirk was evident in Fenrir’s tone, even though Rie couldn’t see his face.

The cavern was large, but Rie didn’t see how they were going to be chained to anything. Wolves didn’t have opposable thumbs. But the pack herded them to the far wall. The wolves pressed in close, a solid wall of fur and flesh that made Rie’s own hackles rise. She tried to ignore the aggressive dominance of the predators at her back, focusing instead on the trap that waited for them.

A series of large metal rings had been set into the stone. They looked old, like they’d been there for decades already, waiting to be used. On the ground, heavy chains wound in a spiral, the ends capped with single round manacles that would lock when pressed together.

“Chain yourself to the wall,” Fenrir commanded Daenor.

“Why would I do that?” Daenor ground out. His gaze had turned feral, the fire leaking into his irises. His magic might be weak, but it still burned within his soul. Rie thought that must be a good sign. The poison in the wolves’ saliva hadn’t eaten away everything, yet.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll tear her arm the rest of the way off and let her bleed out in front of you.”

Rie felt hot breath on the back of her neck. She tried to dodge out of the way, but she was too slow. Two other wolves pressed in from either side, caging her between thickly furred shoulders. A giant maw filled with sharp canine teeth pressed down on her injured shoulder, eliciting an uncontrollable whimper.

“Her shoulder needs to be set,” Daenor argued. “I have to get it back in its socket before any more damage is done.”

“After you are both chained, you can help.”

Daenor’s shoulders slumped as he acquiesced to Fenrir’s command. He picked up the circle. Studied the loop. It was too big to clasp his wrist.

“Around your neck,” Fenrir huffed. “A collar for the livestock you’ve become.”

Maybe that explained the original purpose of the chains.

Without further complaint but with anger burning in his eyes, Daenor clasped the collar around his throat, pressing the ends together. Rie couldn’t tell if the lock had been set.

“Tighter,” Fenrir commanded.

Daenor grimaced but pushed the metal another notch.

“Again.”

“Any tighter and the metal will cut into my skin.”

Fenrir shook his head from side to side, shaking out the fur around his neck and emphasizing the ring of skin where the fur had been worn away. “Do you think this was comfortable? For two thousand years I wore that collar. Now you will wear the same until your dying day.”

“Do you really want to continue this feud?” Rie asked. “Force others to suffer the same injustice that you served?”

Fenrir ignored her words. “Tighter.”

Daenor clenched his jaw but forced the collar another click.

“Now, you.” Brute pushed Rie down the line.

Once again, she stumbled, tripping over a stone on the floor. Her legs were getting weaker, whether blood loss or magical influence, she couldn’t say. But she remained on the floor where she lay.

Daenor gazed at her with worry written across his expression, but he didn’t say another word. Both of them knew the wolves wouldn’t allow any deviation from their plan. The chain was inevitable unless she chose death. But they still had hope. Death was not guaranteed.

Swallowing down an angry yet sad lump in her throat, Rie clasped the collar around her neck, clicking the metal tight to her skin. Fenrir approached, his expression smug. Rie fought her desire to lean away as the wolf put his face next to hers. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of fear.

Hot breath spread its foul cloud across her cheek. Rie closed her eyes, swallowing down the bile that coated the back of her throat. A shifting of the chain.

Fenrir gripped the iron between his fangs and deliberately stepped on her chest, pressing her injured shoulder into the ground. Rie screamed, hot tears pouring from her eyes. Fenrir’s paw held her in place as she twisted, trying in vain to relieve the pain in her shoulder.

Daenor lunged forward, but the wolves stepped between him and their leader. “I’ll kill you for this,” he swore.

A tug on the collar around her neck tore a second ragged scream from Rie’s throat.

Fenrir dropped the chain and released Rie from his hold. “You may try, but you will not succeed.”

Rie curled into a fetal position, clutching her arm to her chest.

Fenrir moved to Daenor’s chain. Daenor tried to back away, but the wolves growled and surrounded him.

“Kneel,” Fenrir ordered.

One of the wolves shoved Daenor from behind, knocking him to the floor. Fenrir grabbed the chain and yanked on it, testing the strength at the wall, and the binding at Daenor’s neck, same as he’d done to Rie. However, unlike Rie, Daenor didn’t make a sound.

Fenrir opened his mouth, dropping the chain with a clatter. He grinned, satisfied. “Now, we wait.”

Still gasping for air and trying to control the pain radiating throughout her neck and shoulder, Rie watched the great wolf exit the cavern.

Despite his fierce bravado, the elder wolf couldn’t hide his age. His steps were heavy compared to his younger packmates, his gray fur dull and shabby. Yet the faster, more agile wolves saw him out of the warm cavern without protest. The few who stayed—including the small female, Lil—quickly curled up with their noses next to their tails, apparently ready for a nap.

“I have to fix your arm,” Daenor murmured.

He moved closer to Rie’s side, the chain attached to the wall dragging behind him. The clank and groan of metal against stone emphasized their predicament. Rie squeezed her eyes shut, taking a breath to settle her emotions and prepare for another agonizing trial.

Though her breath still shuddered in her lungs, Rie agreed. “I’m ready.”

“Lie on your back.” His words were stark and practical, but his expression tightened in empathy.

Rie nodded and rolled over. Every movement was agony. She gritted her teeth against the pain, unwilling to burden Daenor with guilt for hurting her.

Daenor sat beside her, his hands gentle on the wound. “I’m going to bind this up first.” He tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his undershirt.

Rie had almost forgotten about the laceration in her bicep. How could she have forgotten that? But the pain in her shoulder overwhelmed every other sensation.

Now she looked down at her arm, thoroughly examining the wound for the first time. Well, thoroughly might be too strong of a word. The dim luminescence of whatever algae lived in the lake was hardly enough to perform surgery. But it was enough to see the injuries.

A long slash cut across her bicep, still oozing a faint trickle of blood. The material of her shirt was torn and stiff, sticking to her skin and crusting the edges of the deep laceration. The wound throbbed with each beat of her heart. It needed to be washed clean and bound.

But that wasn’t nearly as worrisome as her shoulder. The angle of the bone was all wrong.

She swallowed. “Do it.”

“We need clean water. Can anyone bring some clean water?” Daenor asked the sleeping wolves.

Lil cracked an eyelid. “Use the lake.”

“I don’t know if it’s clean. There could be bacteria, or the algae might bring on infection.”

The wolf cocked her head to the side, quizzically. “It’s underground. It’s clean.”

“If only I could start a fire, I’d boil the water to be sure,” Daenor murmured.

“Just bind it for now. I can’t think around the shoulder pain,” Rie replied. Her head was growing foggier and more confused by the moment.

The space between Daenor’s eyebrows furrowed, worry evident as he wrapped the makeshift bandage over the laceration. “This will hurt.”

“Of course it will,” Rie snapped. She closed her eyes, took another cleansing breath. Anger wouldn’t help anything. Not now. Not at him. “Apologies.”

Daenor brushed his hand across her brow, his expression turning resigned. “Here we go then.”

Stretching Rie’s arm out perpendicular to her body—which brought more tears to her eyes—Daenor grasped her wrist and gently pulled her arm away from her body.

Rie whimpered. The shoulder didn’t move. Daenor kept pulling, pushing his foot against her side to gain extra leverage. Rie ground her teeth together, pushing a strained breath between tight jaws. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Rie’s shoulder thunked into place. Immediately, the pain eased. She sagged in relief.

Daenor stripped off his coat and top layer of leather armor, then removed his thermal undershirts.

“While I appreciate the view,” Rie murmured, a smile on her lips, “I really don’t think this is an appropriate time.”

“I’m glad to see your humor has already returned,” Daenor replied with a wry shake of his head, “but we need to immobilize your arm.”

“You’re no fun.” Rie sat up, her arm naturally curling into her chest in self-preservation. “Help me take off my cloak.”

Daenor complied, shifting in close to unclasp the buttons. With his face just a finger’s-length from her own, Rie leaned in to press her cheek to his.

“We’ll figure a way out of this,” she murmured. She didn’t know how. She couldn’t See how. But she’d lived her entire life until just recently without the use of magic. She wouldn’t let her changing circumstances derail her ability to survive.

“Of course we will,” Daenor replied, soft lips against her cheek. “Just make sure you let me know when you figure it out.”

Pulling away, he spread the cloak behind her and used the long-sleeved t-shirt to improvise a sling.

“Now what?” Daenor asked.

“I think I’m going to take a nap.” There was nothing else to be done for the moment. Better to rest now and be fresh for whatever came next.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE FLIGHT BACK to the frost sidhe city was even faster than the flight to the village of Bjergtopp. Downhill, Judith didn’t have to fight for altitude. She just had to avoid the random outcroppings and trees that occasionally rose out of the snow.

The baby was wrapped tightly and tucked into a sling against Judith’s chest. Just to be sure the child stayed safe and warm, but could still breathe, Judith kept her own arms around the bundle as well. Bren would not suffer from cold or jostling while in Judith’s care.

Bren was one of the lucky ones, a child who had avoided the trauma of such an early and unexpected death. If she could still be raised in a loving family, she might retain her innocence. For once, Judith felt like she was fulfilling her purpose, ensuring that this child wouldn’t end up amongst the traumatized dead. Her soul would remain pure. Judith would make sure of it.

The baby giggled, one arm wriggling free of the wrappings. Judith tucked it back in with a smile.

The city appeared on the horizon, the sculpted ice of the central buildings rising high into the air. Sunlight sparkled from the crystalline peaks, refracting rainbows of light down onto the stockier snow-covered stone buildings at the perimeter. The ice wall surrounding it all was at least six strides deep, a strong defense against . . . what? Why would they need such a stout perimeter wall in a relatively unpopulated realm?

And had the gates been closed when Judith arrived through the portal? She hadn’t even bothered to check, hadn’t entered the city at all. There had been no need. Nevertheless, it seemed closed and barred now.

With Garamaen’s warning in the front of her mind, Judith knew she couldn’t just fly over the walls. But with the gates closed, how was she supposed to get inside?

Judith’s raptor-eyed gaze zoomed in on the populace. Frost sidhe in thick cloaks and silver armor marched through the streets, while unarmored civilians dashed from one building to the next, carrying bundles and pushing carts. Her thoughts whirled. Even if she could get through the gates unnoticed, making her way to the barbegazi would require a small miracle. Whatever had them on alert, the frost sidhe were unlikely to be taken unaware.

She worried her lip, possible options flitting through her thoughts. None seemed viable. None seemed safe. Bren had to be priority one but getting her to her people would serve priority two as well. She just had to get there. But how?

On that thought, shouts sounded from the wall. An arrow sailed in her direction. Judith gasped, spiraling out of the way while her arms tightened around her precious cargo. Bren giggled with excitement, not understanding that this wasn’t an amusement ride.

Archers were pouring out of the gate houses, running in precise formation to line the crenellations. Within two wing-beats, the city fortifications were filled with soldiers, their weapons nocked and aimed in her direction. Garamaen hadn’t been kidding.

“Land outside the gates,” a voice boomed through some kind of amplification device.

Judith’s brow furrowed, but she wasn’t going to argue. She couldn’t risk the baby, and they could have no reason to harm her if she offered no violence. Surely they wouldn’t brand her as an enemy combatant. Not now, so many months after the battle. Right?

Her face pinched in worry, Judith landed as gently as possible more than a hundred lengths from the Crystal City gates. She kept her movements slow and deliberate, tucking her wings underneath her cloak, then lifting one hand, palm out, in a sign of no harm. The other hand supported Bren in her sling, hopefully drawing attention to the little one before the frost sidhe took up their arms.

A smaller door opened from within the ice and iron-encrusted gates, pushing aside the piled drifts of snow with a creak and a groan.

Five men in battledress strode out, weapons drawn. The door slammed shut behind them.

“Halt,” the man at the point commanded. His stance was wide and balanced, his weapon ready but not yet pointed aggressively. “Do not take another step.”

Judith complied, carefully keeping her hands where they were and making no move toward her weapon. She wouldn’t do anything to antagonize the frost sidhe, so long as they didn’t threaten her or the child.

“State your purpose,” the man commanded.

“I am Judith, Level Three Guardian in training. I need to take this child to her people in the city. She is the lone survivor of an attack on her family’s village.”

“How did a guardian come to the Winter Realm without my knowledge or permission?”

Judith’s eyebrow twitched in consternation. Maybe he didn’t see the baby in her arms.

“I came through the portal, same as anyone else.” She unwrapped the sling to reveal Bren’s face. “This child—”

“Is not my concern. You will be taken for further questioning. Leave your weapons on the ground.”

Judith’s eyes narrowed. Something told her if she lost her weapon, she might never see it again. Or reach her destination. “This child must be taken to her people, and then I will answer your questions. But my weapon stays with me.”

“You will leave it in the snow, or you will not enter the city.”

“You would risk a baby’s life for the sake of your rules?”

The man’s head twitched, as if throwing away a thought or dismissing a suggestion. Judith pressed on.

“I am not here to harm anyone. I am a guardian, not a soldier.”

“And yet your kind aided the enemy at the arches, and you carry a weapon that would cut through flesh and soul alike. Leave it or leave the realm.” He lifted his sword in an ancient overhead ready position, tip pointed toward Judith and blade parallel to the ground. She would have laughed at his pose, if not for the deadly gaze with which he challenged her.

Bren’s little arm broke free from her wrap once more, her tiny palm waving up at Judith. The child could not be harmed. It was the only surety that Judith could offer. And she couldn’t take the creature out of this realm, away from her family, whoever that may be.

Gritting her teeth and swallowing down her pride, Judith pulled her sword from its sheath and placed it on the ground. She would not risk the child in combat, and somehow she knew that no matter what he said, this man was not going to let her in or out of the city without a fight.

The man lowered his blade, but kept it unsheathed. He lifted a hand toward the others behind him. “Check her for weapons. Then bring her to the cell.”

“What of the baby?” Judith called. “I must take her to her family.”

“Bring them both,” the man commanded over his shoulder as he returned to the gate.

Judith’s arms closed around Bren protectively as her wings flared. She set her chin.

Four men approached, all wearing the fur-lined silver armor of the frost guard. Each carried a sword, the eyes behind their helmets determined, but not cruel.

“We won’t take her from you,” the closest one said.

Judith’s wings flared wider in an involuntary gesture of aggression that they would dare suggest what she had already been thinking.

“She is my charge. I will return her to her family. If she comes to harm, someone will pay the price.”

Of that, they could rest assured.

“We’re not in the habit of hurting children,” another soldier said, this one surprising Judith with a woman’s voice. On second glance, her armor did have a slight curve to it that marked it as different from her male counterparts, but the difference was so minimal Judith hadn’t noticed a female form. “Even barbegazi children.”

The disdain in the woman’s voice was evident, but she made no move toward the precious bundle.

“Just follow us now, without protest, and you’ll both arrive safe inside,” the first man said.

What else could she do? The arrows were still pointed at her. She couldn’t risk flight, or a stray shaft hitting the babe. Rubbing a thumb across Bren’s forehead, Judith surrendered to the frost sidhe. After checking her for weapons, the soldiers led her through the frozen gates.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE STONE FLOOR was hard. It seemed an obvious thought, but it was the first thing that came to mind as Rie’s gritty eyes cracked open in the dim green light of the underground hot springs.

The second was that her brain hurt. Her head felt stuffed with wool batting, her tongue thick in her mouth. She spread her jaw wide, trying to clear the cobwebs from her ears, but her lips stuck together, dry and chapped. She could barely swallow.

Rie shifted and tried to sit up. Daenor—arm wrapped around her waist— pulled her closer. He, it seemed, didn’t have a problem sleeping on cold granite. Even with her cloak and his coat beneath them, it felt like her hip and shoulder were being rubbed raw, the bones ground down in a losing battle against the rock.

Rie gently pulled his wrist to the side, giving herself just enough room to slide out from beneath his warm heavy weight. She pushed herself to sitting, careful of her injured shoulder. Everything ached. Without her blades or her magic to enhance her healing, she was truly human slow.

Rie lifted her hand to rub her neck, her fingers finding the cold metal of the collar. She’d forgotten about that. Already, the metal had rubbed her skin raw. What would happen in another day? Another week? She was chained to a wall. Like an animal. Like Fenrir.

All this started because Garamaen captured him like a wild beast, tricked him into an eternity of shame and degradation. Now Rie would pay the price.

She tried to swallow again, panic moving to the forefront of her muddy brain.

What was she going to do? The pixies were gone. Were they even still alive? How would Garamaen know what had happened? What would he think when he found out?

Rie rested her cheek on her knees, careful to keep her injured arm tucked safely against her ribs, as her thoughts circled in endless worry and confusion. She sought the calm center of her being, the place where visions might burst into light. Nothing.

A sob broke free of her control. Would they be trapped here for the rest of their lives? How long would that be?

Daenor’s arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her into his lap, his warmth a blanket around her body and soul. Taking strength from Daenor’s hold, Rie grasped his hand, soaking up his warmth and concern.

What would Garamaen think if he saw them now? How disappointed would he be? Worse, what of the other fae? They would never accept Rie into their ranks, never believe she was capable of becoming Sanyare in truth if she couldn’t even deal with giant wolves. Sentient wolves, yes, but wolves nonetheless.

Then again, did she care what the greater fae thought? Sanyaro’s role was as a peacekeeper, a mediator of the nine realms. Did she truly want to take on that responsibility? She still wasn’t sure. Justice and truth were lofty ideals. Peace an aspiration.

Her thoughts drifted to the human refugees Plink had rescued from the Upper Realm. Most now lived in the Shadow Realm, in an enclave sponsored by King Aradae in thanks for their help in the Battle of the Arches. A few, like Telthedis, remained at Garamaen’s estate, learning the ways of the Human Realm. These people had been oppressed their entire lives, had risen up against their former masters to fight with Rie for their freedom.

They had changed the status quo, had begun the journey toward independence, and perhaps equality. That was a goal she could get behind.

But she couldn’t do anything from a cave in the Winter Realm.

Rie’s tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. When she finally got it open, she could barely speak.

“What are we going to do?” she croaked. Her lips cracked open and stung with the movement.

“You need water. You’re dehydrated.”

Rie noted that he hadn’t answered her question, but she couldn’t disagree. The headache that pounded behind her eyeballs wasn’t going away.

Daenor glanced over at the blue-green luminescent lake with a grimace. The wolves had left them without any other option. They didn’t even have a cup or vessel to drink with.

“Let’s get you over there.”

Gently moving Rie off his lap, Daenor stood and offered Rie a hand up. She took it, gladly. Except, it almost wasn’t enough. She stumbled, her head swimming and vision turning black. Daenor caught her to his chest while she fought to stay conscious. Leaning heavily on his shoulder, Rie shuffled to the water’s edge, chain dragging along behind with a clank and a rustle. Daenor helped lower her to sitting.

Rie cupped her hands and drank. The water tasted heavily of minerals, with a slight undertone of bitter green algae. But the warm wash of liquid overrode her distaste. It was hydration. Pulling the water to her lips again and again, Rie swallowed until her belly was full and gurgling. Then she sat back, exhausted.

“So,” she began. “This might be our worst predicament, yet.”

“Mmm,” Daenor demurred.

“You don’t agree?”

“I didn’t say that. But I saw you after the beating at the hands of the fire sidhe. You looked a lot worse.”

“But I had you there with a healing potion to fix me up. I wish I had that again, here, but we’re on our own.”

“Maybe.”

Daenor’s eyes flicked up to the ceiling and back down to her face, the movement so fast, she almost missed it. Unsure if they were being watched, Rie was careful not to draw attention to whatever it was he was indicating. In any case, she was pretty sure she knew.

The pixies were here. They had found them, or followed them, or something.

“How long?” Rie whispered.

Daenor gave the tiniest of shrugs. “Just noticed.”

Rie’s thoughts whirled. At least someone knew where they were. But then her stomach growled. They hadn’t eaten since the little bit of alpine weasel they’d caught the night before. They’d burned a lot of energy since then.

Rie’s gaze traveled around the cavern once more. Perhaps the wolves had left them some food.

Only one wolf remained in the cavern with the pack’s hostages. With her nose tucked into her tail, Rie couldn’t be sure, but she thought it was Lil. Had the youngest of the pack been given guard duty? Was it a punishment? Regardless, it was possible that the arrangement could be used to her advantage.

The rest of the cavern was basically empty. A single tunnel led out the way they had come in. Darkness shadowed the space, making it impossible to see more than a few feet beyond the hot springs cavern. However, four more chains had been attached to the wall in a neat row, each spaced equally apart. It didn’t look like this place had served as a dungeon until now, but Rie couldn’t imagine what the purpose of the heavy links could have been.

Moreover, how had the wolves acquired the chains, and then attached them to the wall? It wasn’t as if they could simply go shopping in town. Nor could they use the tools that would be necessary to pound the metal into stone. Rie supposed there were two possibilities, either they’d found this cave already built like this—which then raised the question, by whom?—or they’d had help preparing the space for prisoners. If the latter, why so many chains? Had they expected even more prisoners? Were there others for whom they held a grudge?

Lil’s tail twitched, then she stood up to turn a circle before lying down again.

“Did you get stuck with guard duty?” Rie asked, before the wolf could close her eyes.

The wolf was the only other creature in the space that Rie could see. She wondered if there might be a way to turn her to their side.

Lil gazed at Rie with an indeterminate expression. She licked her lips and yawned, her tongue rolling out between long white fangs. “I needed a nap.”

“It is surprisingly comfortable in here,” Rie lied.

“No need to lie to me,” Lil replied. “I saw you shifting in your sleep. Fragile creatures.”

Rie tilted her head to the side with a pained grin. “Well, the temperature is nice, anyway. Especially since we can’t light a fire. It would be awfully cold in here without the hot springs.”

“Too hot for my taste.”

“But you have a nice heavy coat of fur.”

“Another weakness. Thin skin, slow legs, weak bones. You would never survive in our wilderness.”

“You’re right about that,” Rie agreed, readily. “We managed to survive one night out on the mountain, but the shelter took forever to build. I couldn’t imagine doing that every night during travel.”

“You were supposed to be in the village that night.”

Daenor’s hand, which had been rubbing gentle circles on her back, suddenly stilled.

“Oh? And how do you know that?” he asked.

“We were told you would be.”

So that answered part of the question. The wolves had an ally in the city. Someone who would have seen or heard of Garamaen’s arrival . . . and his departure. Perhaps someone who hadn’t known that Rie and Daenor had escaped through the tunnels, delaying that departure. And maybe that same person had helped the wolves set this trap.

“Since when do the wolves work with the frost sidhe?” It had to be a frost sidhe. The barbegazi would never ally themselves with the wolves. Especially not after they had begun destroying the villages.

“Runt,” a deep voice growled from the tunnel. “No talking.”

Lil lowered her head to the side, revealing her throat in a submissive gesture. After a few heartbeats, she returned to her napping position, curled tightly into a ball of gray and black fur.

Daenor glanced at Rie and pointed his chin back at their sorry excuse for a bed. When they got there, he rolled her cloak into a sausage shaped pillow and set it up against the wall. Still not entirely comfortable, at least with his coat beneath her and the pillow at her back her legs and butt wouldn’t fall asleep.

But when her stomach growled loudly enough that even Lil looked up, Rie couldn’t wait any longer. Hopefully the other wolves had gone, or at least weren’t paying any attention. For some reason, Rie wouldn’t mind asking for things from the smallest of the wolves, but the thought of the bigger males hearing her request made her question the need. She didn’t want them to think she was begging.

“I don’t suppose you have anything to eat?” Rie asked.

Lil’s eyes closed to half-mast, and she opened her mouth in another wide yawn. A passive aggressive show of teeth, or a lack of interest, Rie couldn’t be sure. But she got up without another word and left the cavern.

Another wolf, one with darker fur and a white spot just above his nose, poked his head in the cavern entrance, as if to make sure Rie and Daenor knew they were still being watched. Sitting half in the shadow of the tunnel, Rie could hardly see the back half of his body. It made her wonder how many more wolves were sitting in that tunnel, waiting for their prisoners to do something stupid, like try to escape.

While they waited, Rie cuddled into Daenor’s side, accepting the comfort of his warmth. They didn’t say anything, knowing the wolves would hear every word, but having him at her side was enough. The wolves could have very easily decided to separate them, to chain them on opposite sides of the hot springs without enough slack in the chain to touch. It gave Rie hope that they weren’t going to be tortured or hurt indiscriminately. As bad as imprisonment was, she knew it could be so much worse.

She’d experienced it.

Movement at her back and Daenor’s positioning of their gear made sense. His thoughts must be clearer and more organized than her own. Tiny claws pricked Rie’s earlobe as Gikl made his way to her shoulder.

“Niinka flew to Garamaen,” the pixie chimed, his voice so quiet even Rie had a hard time hearing his words, and he was speaking almost directly into her eardrum. “Hiinto is watching the front. The caves are too dark for us to see much, but the wolves are restless.”

“Can you pick the lock? Set us free?”

An agitated flick of the pixie’s wings. “I’ll try, but I don’t think so.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THROUGH THE ICE gates and into the city, Judith kept her wings open and arched over her shoulders and baby Bren. The guards were smart enough to keep their distance after they’d patted her all over for weapons. They’d even checked inside the cloth wrapping the child, as if Judith would keep a sharp blade next to a baby’s skin.

Pedestrians on the street watched the procession with wide eyes. Judith was fairly certain none had ever before encountered a guardian, and many pointed at her wings as if they were the most fascinating thing they’d ever seen. Perhaps they were.

Luckily, they didn’t have to walk far. The guards led her into what was clearly a military complex, not too different from the training grounds she was used to. An open courtyard for drills led up to a four-story structure built of ice and stone. Though not as impressive as the tall crystalline spires located deeper in the city, the building was obviously designed by the frost sidhe, with tall narrow doors, and geometric designs cut into the ice-covered walls.

Judith was forced to tuck her wings tight to her back to pass through the building’s entry. Even still, the wrist joint of her wing brushed the keystone of the peaked doorway, sending a shiver down her spine. An ominous sense of dread spread through her limbs as they entered the eerily silent and cold space.

Bren didn’t seem to notice or mind, however. She blew a raspberry and looked up into Judith’s eyes with adoration. Judith patted her on the back, gently reassuring them both that nothing was going to happen. She would find a way to reach the barbegazi.

A woman sat behind a desk in the receiving area, monitoring the front door. She stood as soon as Judith entered the room, her frosty blue eyes assessing. Twin blades—naked on the desk—and the scar that crossed her face from ear to chin suggested the woman was more than just a secretary.

“Cell one.” The woman’s voice was cold, colder even than her appearance. “The general will join you momentarily.”

Judith’s personal guards strode forward, still keeping their distance but herding her past the desk. The woman’s hands hovered over her knives, twitching with an obvious desire to use them. Judith glanced at her with wary eyes, but the woman wasn’t looking at her anymore. Instead, she was staring at her hands, as if they would betray her.

The guards opened a set of locked doors at the back of the room. They continued their procession through two more sets of locked doors before arriving at what could only be described as a dungeon. Stone walls, bare and frosted with ice. A single iron-studded door for entry and exit. A bucket in one corner and a narrow bench against the back wall. No water or other provisions that Judith could see.

A glance into the bucket proved that the pot hadn’t been emptied since the cell’s last occupant, and the contents had frozen over. Luckily, the cold kept the smell down.

Judith paced across the floor, from one wall to the other, rocking Bren gently in her arms. The baby had fallen asleep again, though Judith knew she would be getting hungry soon. She was getting hungry too, come to think of it. But no matter. Unlike the elves and fae, the angels of the Daemon Realm weren’t just long-lived, they were nearly immortal and could survive for months—even years—without sustenance. Bren was another matter altogether. What was she going to do?

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. None of this was her fault. There was no reason she should be here at all, except that she was still chasing and protecting Apprentice Sanyare. And now this child, a baby, had lost her family and been imprisoned like a criminal. A baby. For all that’s good in all the realms, children were innocent. She couldn’t even talk.

Yet the more time Judith spent with Apprentice Sanyare and her master, the worse things became. They couldn’t just leave well enough alone. They meddled and interfered, forcing their vision of the future on everyone else. Was it justice, to let others deal with the consequences of your own ill-informed choices? Was it truth, to discover that your past had negatively affected the future?

A clank and a groan drew Judith’s attention back to the entrance of the cell. A guard pushed open the door and the man from the gate strode through. The door shut behind him.

Judith wrapped a protective hand around the back of Bren’s head, her wings opening in an automatic defensive stance. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough space to do more than flare the tips a bit.

“You have no right to keep us here,” Judith stated. She would defend this child, and she would leave this realm to the whims of the frost sidhe and Sanyaro.

“What are you doing in this realm, Guardian?” The frost sidhe sneered the last word like a curse.

Judith narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to the side as she examined the man. He wore the armor of the frost sidhe, but a more ornate version, with embossed knot-work on the breastplate and heavy fur trim around the shoulders and neck. His white-blond hair had been braided away from his face to trail down his back in a long straight fall of silken locks. The blue of his eyes was a summer sky, but the arrogant curl of his lips suggested a frozen heart.

“What do you know of my kind?” Judith asked. Guardians rarely left the Daemon Realm, since the early days of man’s expansion across the Human Realm. Quite simply, with billions of souls to manage, there was too much work to allow for much travel. Only the reapers were allowed to see the realms from which they cut the threads of life, but even they were restricted to the space between.

“I know enough. But this is my interrogation, not yours. So I’ll ask you one more time, what are you doing here?”

Lying went against her nature. She wasn’t good at it. But Sanyaro and his apprentice were still considered enemies of this realm.

“I am on assignment from the Moirai.”

“Lies.” The man glared at Judith with cruel eyes.

Judith’s spine stiffened. “I am a guardian. I do not lie.”

“Have you come to claim the final survivors, then? To give the human witch a chance to claim this realm as her own?”

“Of course not. The Daemon Realm doesn’t take sides.”

“You were there. I saw you strike down one of my soldiers.”

“We were there to try to prevent the horde of the wicked from possessing the bodies of the unprotected living.”

The man’s head twitched. A nervous tic?

“What is your name?” Judith asked, a creeping suspicion wriggling its way into her conscious mind.

“I am . . . General Maethor.” The man’s spine straightened, his hands clasped behind his back. His soldier’s training was obviously rising to the front of his mind. But his lapse in posture and the hesitation with which he said his name . . . .

“How long have you been a general, sir?” Judith asked, keeping her tone level. She worried her suspicions might leak into her voice, but she needed to know. Was he dual-souled?

Unfortunately, he seemed to have caught on. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. After a heartbeat or more of silent challenge, he leaned forward, pushing into Judith’s space. His head twisted to the side in an almost daemonic fashion.

“As I said, I’ll be asking the questions, here.” He paused. “Where did you find the child?”

“In the village of Bjergtopp, being cared for by Sanyaro.”

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she regretted it. She hadn’t meant to reveal her connection to Lord Garamaen and his apprentice. But she wasn’t used to hiding her thoughts and intentions.

General Maethor pursed his lips, his expression livid. “He survived?” He took a deep breath, fury in his eyes.

He knew.

Judith didn’t need to say any more.

“Then they failed,” he growled. Judith thought she could almost see the wicked soul riding the frost sidhe’s form. “No, it is too late for that. We must go up the mountain immediately.”

“What?” Judith asked.

General Maethor strode toward the door, ignoring the angel and her charge. He pounded on the wood, which immediately opened.

Bren began to wail, her voice surprisingly strong given the tiny lungs producing the sound.

The general glanced over his shoulder. “Lock them in.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

JUDITH TUCKED HER legs up onto the cold, hard bench, wrapping her wings around her body and tiny Bren as best she could. She was stuck in a prison cell with a baby. Her weapons were gone. Her allies—the two she could claim in this realm—had no idea where she was, and one of them was also imprisoned.

She needed to get Bren to her people. She needed to find allies for Garamaen and find a way to free Rie.

Judith felt something wet and warm against her hand. Bren smiled up at her. Judith pressed her eyes closed. And now the baby had wet herself—or worse—and she had no way of cleaning the child or properly caring for her. She’d never even changed a baby before. Nor did she have any milk.

But what if . . . Judith smiled. The guards hadn’t been entirely unreasonable. Surely they wouldn’t allow a child to sit in its own waste. In which case, they would have to open the door.

“Guard!” she said, pounding on the steel. A small panel opened at the top, allowing the female guard to peer into the space. “The baby needs to be changed.”

The woman rolled her eyes but unlocked the door. “Give her to me, I will take care of her.”

“Not a chance.” Judith grabbed the woman’s arm, yanking her inside the cell and sweeping her wings around to knock the guard toward the back of the room, away from the door.

A male guard stood just outside the door, his eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. Before he could react, Judith stepped out into the hall. Keeping her left hand tucked around Bren, she flicked her wings in a jab toward his face, pushing him off balance. He recovered, catching his balance with a back-step toward the open cell door.

The woman meanwhile had come back toward the front, her sword bared in her hand. Judith couldn’t let her escape. A side kick into the man’s gut sent him reeling backward, knocking into the female guard and back into the cell.

Judith slammed the door shut. With the key still in the lock, it was easy enough to bar the door and walk away. No one else was in the hall. Their pounding—if heard—would be easily mistaken for the protests of the prisoners.

Which gave Judith pause. Were there other prisoners in these cells? If so, did they deserve to be there? Or, like her, were they imprisoned for the hubris and insanity of the dual-souled?

Deciding to risk the time to find out, Judith walked the length of the icy dungeon. Most of the doors were open and empty, but there were three that remained closed and locked. She peered into the first cell.

A man covered in filth and wrapped in rags, knocked on his own head with a closed fist. His gaze traveled around the room, but didn’t pause at the open grate in the door. He didn’t even seem to see it. Lacking the pale blond hair and pointed ears of the frost sidhe, he didn’t appear to be one of their own, but the wild wide eyes suggested some kind of insanity had set in.

Judith left him where he sat.

The next door-grate opened to reveal an imperious frost sidhe soldier. He wore no armor, and no weapons, but sat with his spine straight and a recalcitrant expression on his face. A bruise around his eye and raw scrape across his cheek marred the otherwise perfect pale complexion. Eyes of the winter sky assessed Judith through the hands-breadth of space in the door.

“You are not the guard.” His baritone voice was surprisingly smooth, given his injuries. Judith would have expected a gruff warrior, not princely eloquence.

“No. I’m not. What have you done to be imprisoned here?” Judith asked.

The man pursed his lips. “I disagreed with General Maethor, as you know. Everyone knows.”

“I wasn’t there. Tell me what happened and I may let you out.”

His eyes narrowed, but he complied. “The general has gone mad, chasing ghosts and seeing conspiracies where there are none. After our defeat at the arches, I tried to force his resignation to protect our people.”

“So he did this to you in punishment?”

“He calls me traitor.”

“I need to get to the barbegazi chieftain. If I let you out of this cell, will you help me?” Judith asked.

The man stood, tilting his head to the side in obvious suspicion. “You are not a frost sidhe.”

Judith’s dull gray eyes probably gave that away. It was all he would be able to see through the narrow opening in the door. “No.”

“What do you need with the barbegazi?”

“Help me, and I will let you out of this prison cell.” Judith couldn’t voice her suspicions, not yet. Nor could she explain her limitations. “Once I’ve achieved my purpose, I will help you stop the general.”

“Agreed.”

Judith questioned the quick response, but at least he didn’t appear insane. Even if he didn’t help, he didn’t seem to belong in this cell.

As soon as the door opened, the man gaped at the happily waving arms of Bren in her blanket. Judith tucked them back in as best she could, once more.

“Is that a baby?” the soldier asked.

Judith gave a single nod. “Your general shoved us both in one of these cells without supplies. Now Bren is wet and hungry, and I have no recourse. It’s part of the reason I need help.”

“And you chose to find that help in prison?” he asked, incredulous.

“Not my choice. But I’d like to check the rest of the cells for additional unwarranted prisoners.”

“I heard a woman screaming to be let out. She may have been barbegazi.”

Judith hurried to the last door on this floor, throwing open the viewing grate.

A young woman shortly out of her maturity sat hunched on the bench, her arms tucked into her lap. Dressed all in white, she was bundled up for the cold, except for the oversized bare feet that swung in the air above the floor.

“I have nothing else to tell you,” the woman murmured, barely glancing up at the door. “I don’t know anything.”

“We’re not guards, and we only need to know one thing,” Judith murmured, keeping her voice calm and soothing. The woman was close to breaking, the tears in her eyes ready to spill over. “Why are you here?”

The barbegazi woman looked up at Judith from beneath long dark lashes, her expression wary. “I already told you, I couldn't stop them from going into the hut, and I didn’t know they would run through the back.”

Judith realized that the woman wasn’t going to trust her, not without being sure she wasn’t a guard. Regardless of whether or not the woman chose to help, she didn’t belong in this prison. Judith was certain of that. She opened the door and stepped inside, fluffing her wings in display. The frost sidhe smartly stayed back and out of the way.

“I need your help,” Judith said. “I have a child—an orphan—that needs to be returned to her people. Can you get me there?” Judith held out her precious bundle, the baby’s face just visible over the re-tucked swaddle.

The barbegazi woman’s face softened. “She’s precious. But how did she come to be with you, here?”

“She’s the last and only survivor of the destruction of her village.”

The woman gasped, her hand lifting to her lips. “Like Solvi.”

Judith didn’t know what that meant, but she nodded anyway. If it convinced this woman to lead them to the barbegazi stronghold, she would be happy.

The woman slid off the bench and held out her arms. She only stood as tall as Judith’s waist, but Bren was also a tiny creature. “Give her to me. I’ll make sure she gets to a good home.”

Judith reluctantly relinquished the bundle she’d been carrying for the last several hours, unwrapping the impromptu sling she’d created for the journey. Bren immediately started to cry.

“Shh, shh,” the woman hushed.

Bren wasn’t interested. Her arms flailed, working free of the swaddling once more. Without hesitation, the younger woman tucked Bren back in, the gentle movements and shushing sound eventually quieting the baby’s cries.

“I’ll take you to Felman,” the woman said, her gaze never leaving Bren’s face. “He’ll know what to do.”

Judith let the barbegazi woman slide past and into the hall but came up short when she froze at the door.

“You said you weren’t guards. You said we could leave.”

“We can.” Judith peered around the door, gazing into the blue eyes of the frost sidhe soldier.

“I’m coming with you,” the man said. “They’ve called me traitor. I have no intention of hurting you.” He lifted his hands in a sign of peace.

The barbegazi woman stepped back into Judith’s legs, then tilted her head back to look up into Judith’s face. “Is this true?”

“I found him locked in a cell, same as you, same as me and Bren. I don’t know what he did to earn the markings on his face, or his place in this dungeon, but he was definitely a prisoner.”

Pounding could be heard from Judith’s former cell.

“The guards are locked in there, but I think we’d better move on,” Judith said. “We can work out the rest later.”

“This is a trap. I know it’s a trap.”

“It’s not a trap. Only a beast would use a baby as bait.”

“Clearly, you haven’t spent much time with General Maethor recently,” the frost sidhe stated, tone dry but entirely serious.

“None at all. But if my suspicions are correct, there may be a deeper reason for his behavior.” They reached the outer door, which had been closed and locked from the other side. Judith hoped the guards’ keys could be used to open this one, as well.

“Like what?” the frost sidhe asked.

“Later,” Judith fumbled with the keys, trying to find the one that would open the iron door.

“Give me that,” the frost sidhe said. He yanked the keys out of Judith’s hand, and with confident fingers, slid one of the larger skeleton keys into the lock. With a twist and a clank, the door opened.

The soldier straightened his spine, lifting his chin once more. “I’ll lead from here.”

“I need to get my sword,” Judith replied.

“We all need a lot of things,” the frost sidhe mumbled.

“You just said we might have to fight our way out,” the barbegazi woman whispered, peering out from behind Judith’s legs. It seemed she’d decided Judith was her safety point. The frost sidhe was still suspicious.

“Best to be prepared for anything, but I’ll try to talk us out of here. If we’re lucky, we’ll only need to get past Romine at the door,” the frost sidhe replied.

“She didn’t seem too keen to see me,” Judith said. “I doubt she’ll just let us go.”

“I am her commander. She will hesitate to oppose me.”

Judith frowned. He seemed to be forgetting that they’d locked him up in here in the first place.

“Who are you?” Judith asked, realizing she didn’t know the soldier’s name or rank.

“I am Aegasson. I am General Maethor’s second in command and leader of the battle mages. Or I was, until a few days ago when he started acting entirely irrational.” Aegasson pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“So you fought in the Battle of the Arches?” Judith asked.

The frost sidhe’s expression tightened further, his voice turning frigid. Judith could almost feel the cold emanating from his skin. “Nearly every soldier in the frozen army fought in that battle, so yes, I was there.”

“So you saw the souls pulled from the wastelands of the Daemon Realm. You witnessed the possession and destruction of the army.”

“What I saw that day will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life. And yes, I saw you there. I know you and your guardians helped turn the tide of that battle in the Shadow Realm’s favor.”

Judith shook her head. “We only sought to end the battle quickly and return the souls to their earned afterlife. They should never have been brought into the Human Realm in the first place.”

“On that count, we agree.”

Aegasson strode through the doorway with a confident swagger that seemed a bit out of place for an escaped prisoner.

Judith followed behind, her hands clenching and unclenching as she wished for her sword, while the barbegazi brought up the rear with baby Bren. She stuck so close to Judith’s legs, Judith was afraid she might trip on the woman.

The next hallway was lined with more doors, but no one seemed to be in the area. Perhaps it was a storage area or offices? Aegasson never hesitated and didn’t seem inclined to wait for them to keep up. His gaze never drifted from their destination; the door at the end of the hall that would lead to the building’s entry hall.

“Where is everyone?” Judith asked. If this were the headquarters of the Moirai, or the Guardians’ barracks, there would be people everywhere. Off duty or on, the halls shouldn’t be empty.

“Patrolling the streets or preparing for the march up the mountain,” Aegasson replied. “Every able-bodied guard was called to arms.”

“I guess that explains the archers on the wall,” Judith murmured.

“Archers?”

Judith nodded. “They were on full alert. There was no chance I was going to sneak into the city as I had planned.”

Just then, the farthest door opened, and the woman from the front desk entered the hallway. As soon as she saw the group gathered in the narrow space, her eyes narrowed.

“You.”

Judith wasn’t sure which ‘you’ she was talking to, but didn’t have a chance to ask. In a single motion, the woman slid her knives from a sheath at her back and sprinted toward them, a vicious snarl pulling her lips into a grimace.

Aegasson stepped forward, left hand out in a stop motion, right hand back to push Judith and the barbegazi away from the battle. As if Judith would trust him to fight his own people on their behalf.

Judith didn’t have any weapons, except her wings and armor. Her best offense would be to act quickly, surprise the woman with her own ferocity. With the babe at her back, there was plenty of that.

Instead of waiting for the frost sidhe to reach her, Judith pushed past Aegasson and rushed headlong down the hall. Her wings spread behind her, the tips touching either wall and brushing across the ceiling.

The woman’s eyes widened a fraction for a brief moment, before she dove forward in a foot-first slide, trying to get beneath Judith to the relatively unprotected skin of her legs.

Catching the air with her wings, Judith hovered for one brief moment, tucking her legs up into her chest as high and tight as she could. She kicked down and out. The woman’s knife glanced off Judith’s boot, cutting a shallow furrow into the thick leather. But Judith’s foot connected with the woman’s chin, knocking her head back and into the stone with a reverberating crack.

Judith’s feet touched down. She spun, using the momentum of her tucking wings to turn before the woman was even able to stand from the floor. Aegasson was already there. He sat on top of the front desk guard, slamming the woman’s hands into the ground, trying to force her to release her weapons.

The woman twisted her body, trying to squirm out from beneath her former commander. She pushed and shoved with her legs, searching for leverage.

Hating to kick a woman when she’s down, Judith had no other choice. The frost sidhe had to surrender. A boot to the face seemed like a less terrible option than a knife to the heart. If Aegasson got a hold of the woman’s knives, Judith was certain that would happen.

Striding toward the struggle in the floor, Judith placed the toe of her boot on the woman’s head, forcibly turning her skull to the side and putting pressure on her temple. She leaned into the hold, making sure the woman could feel the threat.

“Drop the knives,” Judith commanded.

Steel clattered on stone. Aegasson picked up the weapons, but remained on the woman’s chest. He held one razor-sharp blade to the woman’s neck, drawing a beaded line of red through the thin skin. Startled at the aggressive threat, Judith released the woman’s head.

“I will always best you,” Aegasson whispered.

The woman on the floor spat into Aegasson’s face. “Traitor. He will come after you.”

“Let him come.” With a sweep of his hand, Aegasson slit the woman’s throat, the red liquid of life draining away on the floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THE BARBEGAZI WOMAN’S scream pierced Judith’s brain, cutting through the shock of Aegasson’s actions.

“Why did you do that?” Judith demanded, her heart beating in her throat. She hadn’t wanted anyone to die, hadn’t imagined the frost sidhe would take the life of a fellow guard.

Aegasson stood from the unmoving body, wiping the knife on the leg of his pants. “She was infected.”

“What?” An infection?

“She followed General Maethor. Chose his side over the common good. She would have killed you—killed all of us— if she’d had the chance.”

Judith had noticed the anger and violence on the woman’s face when she’d arrived. There was no mistaking her desire to kill a guardian. But why? What possible explanation could there be for the ferocity of her reaction, especially against her comrade?

A tendril of white-gray ectoplasm began to squirm its way out of the body of the fallen warrior. Its movement was odd, as if shedding the skin.

“Was she also a warrior in the Battle of the Arches?” Judith asked, thoughts whirling. How many souls had escaped? How many were yet missing?

“Of course,” Aegasson snapped. “Why do you continue to bring that up?”

“You said you were there. Did you not notice the wicked possessing the living and walking off the battlefield?”

Judith watched the soul continue to pull itself from the body. Aegasson, unknowing, stood less than an arm’s length from the writhing cloud that pulsed above the mortal flesh. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t normal.

“The possessed died. The souls were reclaimed.”

“Not all of them.”

With a pop of displaced air, the soul came free. An incorporeal head formed at the top of the cloud, a sharp-toothed grin splitting the creature’s face. It was not the same face as the woman on the ground.

In an instant, Judith pushed Aegasson behind her. Without her sword, she couldn’t dispatch a lost soul to its final death. She couldn’t even send it to the Daemon Realm. Only a fae with soultouch could do that. With a grimace, she realized only Lord Garamaen Sanyaro or Apprentice Sanyare could do that. They were the last remaining fae with soultouch, or so she was led to believe.

Judith flared her wings wide, blocking the hallway from view. She couldn’t be possessed. It was the only true magic she carried, and the only way to protect her companions.

“Stay behind me,” she ordered.

“Why?” Aegasson demanded. “What’s going on?”

“A wicked soul is on the loose and hunting. I can’t kill it, but I can keep it from claiming you.”

The barbegazi woman’s sobs grew louder, while Bren wailed in discordant harmony. Judith didn’t have time to check on her or see what Aegasson was doing. There was no safe path here, nothing to prevent the soul from possessing the living. She was their only hope. She couldn’t let it slip by, not even a tendril. Aegasson and the others wouldn’t see it coming.

The soul launched itself toward her like a spear. Judith batted it away with a wing, but the impact rattled her bones. The soul tried again. Judith leaned to the side, blocking the open space between her flight feathers and the floor. She took the blow to her shoulder with a hiss of pain. The soul tilted back and cackled. There was nothing sane left in its existence.

Judith set her feet preparing for the next onslaught as the head ballooned to at least five times normal size. The hair began to shift and slither, growing hooked barbs on the end of each thick shaft.

The soul launched its attack. Piercing barbs struck Judith on every exposed inch of skin and bounced off the plate metal of her armor. She shifted and turned, using hands and wings like a wall to prevent the soul from passing. Not a single strand would get through her guard. Her heartrate increased, further infuriating the damned creature who craved a heart of its own.

Lungs burning, Judith matched the soul’s frenetic pace. She ignored the stinging lacerations and the deep bruises that were sure to form. She kept her body in constant motion, her vision narrowing to the medusa before her.

Frustrated, the soul stabbed at Judith again and again, slicing the top layer of skin in a thousand tiny cuts. Though no blood was drawn, Judith could feel her limbs beginning to tire. Her motions slowed. The first of the soul’s tentacles nearly slipped past. Then a second.

You have to work through the pain, Eliphaz had said in training. The souls won’t stop. If you can’t find a way to stay focused on the battle, despite your injuries, despite your fatigue, they’ll easily overcome you.

She had to find a way to make it stop, to give it something else to focus on. Bren was back there, and the barbegazi woman. Innocent souls she was sure were unprotected. Even Aegasson might be at risk. If the soul claimed his body, it would also claim his skill. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

But if the soul traveled outside these walls, it would possess another unsuspecting living body. Could Judith sacrifice an unknown individual to save the lives of those behind her?

Bren’s wails cut through the sound of Judith’s panting breaths. Yes, to save Bren, she would sacrifice another. But when she found this soul again, and she swore she would, she would happily end its miserable existence.

Rushing forward with a wordless scream of defiance, Judith used her body and wings like a battering ram to press the wicked soul out of the hallway. The soul shrieked in response, its face pressed so close to Judith’s own, she would have gagged on its breath if it had had any.

Slamming through the last set of doors into the building entry, Judith sent the wicked soul flying backward. Catching its momentum, the soul paused, hovering in the air a few feet above the ground. The door to the outside was less than a length away. The soul looked at Judith then looked back at the door.

In an instant, the damned creature took the easy route, and fled the building. Judith watched for several more heartbeats to be sure it was truly gone, before turning back to her charges with sagging shoulders and a sigh of relief.

She needed to find her sword.

Making her way back into the hall, Judith found the barbegazi woman huddled in a corner, Bren tucked in close to her chest. The woman rocked back and forth in self-contained panic while Bren wailed her own distress.

“Shh,” Judith reassured the woman and her charge. Bren quieted almost immediately at Judith’s voice, but the woman was less inclined to be soothed.

“What is your name?” Judith asked. She needed to stop mentally calling her the barbegazi woman.

“Eira,” the woman replied, her eyes scrunched closed.

“Eira, we have to move. The wicked soul is gone, but we can’t remain here.” Judith placed a hand on Eira’s shoulder. “It’s time to take Bren home. Can you be strong for the baby? Can you lead us to safety with your people?”

Tear stained eyes finally turned up to Judith’s face. Eira swallowed and nodded her head.

Judith turned to find Aegasson, to ask him to lead the way out, but he was gone.

“Where did Aegasson go?” Judith asked as she helped Eira stand.

Eira shook her head, eyes wide and unseeing in her panic. “He left. We’ll be caught any moment. I never should have followed you. I should have stayed in my cell,” she babbled.

“Eira!” Judith grabbed her shoulder with a light shake to draw her attention back to the immediate situation. “I need you to lead the way, now. I don’t know this city, I don’t know where to go.”

Tears still streaming down her face, Judith could see Eira’s struggle to contain her sobs and think. She was a good girl, but young and inexperienced. And she wasn’t a fighter. But she was the only resource Judith had to get out of this mess.

“This way,” Eira finally managed.

They exited the building, Eira’s oversized feet surprisingly quiet on the ice-slick stone of the street. With a start, Judith realized why. Instead of walking or jogging, as Judith was doing, she slid over the stone as if she were wearing skates. Judith marveled at the oddity of bare feet in such a cold realm, but Eira was a true native, her people designed for this climate.

Staying close to the building, Judith used the shadows of dusk to mask her form as best she could. Her wings would draw too much attention if people saw them, and even under her cloak their form was unmistakable. Keeping an eye to the windows and doorways, she could only hope no one was watching.

Eira, on the other hand, wandered down the middle of the street with her shoulders slumped and head hanging low. She didn’t seem concerned about being seen, but she was also a barbegazi. Unless someone recognized her as an escaped prisoner—which seemed unlikely—they probably wouldn’t give her a second glance.

“Hurry, Eira,” Judith urged. A sense of dread had begun tickling the back of Judith’s neck, the hair raising as if it had an extra sense she didn’t own. She glanced up and down the street.

A shadow ran across their path but disappeared before Judith could tell what had made it. Eira didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was trained on the ground, her voice cooing soft nothings to Bren. The child was surprisingly well-behaved.

Eira turned a corner, Judith close on her heels. They were brought up short at the sight of two soldiers standing in the middle of the road, their backs to Judith and Eira.

Judith tugged the smaller woman into an empty doorway, peeking out around the frame to see if the soldiers had spotted them. One shifted and glanced over his shoulder but didn’t seem concerned.

Meanwhile, Eira knocked on the door.

“What are you doing?” Judith hissed.

“This is my cousin’s office,” she replied with a shrug. “If he’s still here, he may be able to help.”

That would be convenient, if a bit improbable.

Judith snorted when the door opened to reveal a barbegazi man dressed in a heavy wool cloak that covered him from neck to ankles. Only his extra-large hairy feet peeked out from beneath the cloth. His head was uncovered, short white hair combed back in a slick coif, while his thick beard had been trimmed and shaped into a neat cushion around his face.

“Vegard, let us in,” Eira said, pushing past her brethren.

“Eira! I’m here to find a way to rescue you. But now you’re here. What happened? Who’s your companion? And is that a baby in your arms?”

The questions came fast, but he waved Judith inside and silently shut the door behind her.

As soon as Vegard turned back to the room, Eira rushed into his arms. “Oh, Vegard, it’s been awful.”

Her cousin rubbed a hand across her back. “Tell me,” he said.

“First, they took me for questioning when Apprentice Sanyare and the dark elf ran through my shop.”

Vegard glanced at Judith, wary concern lining his expression. “Hush now,” he warned.

“No, it’s okay. She was sent by Sanyaro and helped me escape the prison. They wouldn’t let me go, Vegard. They insisted I reveal how they escaped.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Just that they ran through the shop.”

“Good.”

“No, not good!” Eira practically shouted. “He shut down the city!”

“He shut down the frost sidhe movement. He didn’t stop anything else.”

What was that supposed to mean? Judith lifted an eyebrow in speculation but said nothing. It wasn’t her place to pry into the affairs of the barbegazi, she was only here to take Bren home and gather allies for Apprentice Sanyare. Whatever they were doing, for or against the frost sidhe, she didn’t have the desire to get involved.

Eira swallowed, hopeful eyes gazing up into Vegard’s face. “Are the goats okay? The frost sidhe didn’t hurt them, did they? Do they have access to the grazing fields?”

So Eira was a shepherdess of some kind. Judith hadn’t gathered that.

“The goats are fine. They tried to follow when you were taken, but Hilde turned them around. They’ve moved in with her herd for now.”

“Thank the gods,” Eira breathed. She stepped away from her cousin, gently bouncing Bren in her arms.

“So who is the child? And the winged mistress who hovers over my shoulder?” Vegard teased, a tentatively smile touching his lips as he glanced up at Judith.

She felt like a hulking beast, her head nearly brushing the ceiling even as she hunched. This room was larger than the Bjergtopp village house, but just barely.

“Judith brought the child from Bjergtopp. They’ve been destroyed, Vegard. The baby is the only survivor!”

Vegard grimaced. “Not another one.”

Another one? Judith wondered. Other villages had been annihilated in the same way?

Vegard pulled back the swaddling cloth to look at Bren’s face. “Is she hurt? Like Solvi?”

“No. They didn’t touch her.”

“Sanyaro found her and revived her,” Judith offered. “He said she’d been left for dead in her mother’s arms.”

“Gods above,” Vegard swallowed hard, glancing once more at the child. “At least she’s young enough she shouldn’t remember.”

“I am Judith, by the way. Guardian level three, from the Daemon Realm.”

“I’d gathered you weren’t from here. When did you arrive?”

“Just yesterday,” Judith replied.

“You must have gotten in right before they shut the portal. How did you evade the guards?”

“I flew. They never saw me.”

“It certainly would be nice to have wings.”

“Not when they’re shooting arrows at you.”

“Vegard, we need to see grandfather. We need to take the baby to a nursing mother. She’s weakening,” Eira interrupted

“She is?” Judith asked, startled. She lunged forward, aching to take the child in her arms and see for herself, but Eira jerked away in surprise.

Bren didn’t even stir. She was quiet, too quiet. Judith closed her eyes in silent prayer. Let the child survive. Let this mission succeed, if only for one life.

Vegard glanced once more at Judith, before nodding his head with a decision. “We’ll use the tunnels. It will be tight for you, I’m afraid. Especially with those wings of yours, but it’s the fastest and safest way to reach the stronghold.”

Judith swallowed. Tunnels. That sounded far too much like the Hollows for her comfort, maybe even worse. At least she could walk through the passages of the Hollows. But Bren needed her, and she would do anything necessary to see her home safe.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A SCUFFLE OUTSIDE the hot springs cavern had Rie sitting upright. She shook Daenor’s arm. They had fallen into a kind of a stupor over the last few days, only moving to drink water or pick at the sparse bones the wolves left for them. They’d exhausted all topics of conversation, and even the pixies had left. There wasn’t much for them to do here, except perhaps hunt. Despite their best and continuing efforts to find a way out of the manacles, the pixies had come up empty. Rie and Daenor were truly at the mercy of the wolves.

But now . . . something new was going on.

“I can’t hear what’s happening, can you?” Daenor asked.

“Not a word, but there’s definitely movement.”

Gikl zoomed into the space, his presence marked only by the buzzing of his wings. He landed on Daenor’s shoulder, quickly camouflaging his color to match the black of his thin undershirt.

“Garamaen is here,” he whispered urgently. “He’s demanding that the wolves release you.”

Another buzz and thump, this time on Rie’s shoulder. Niinka crawled up and through Rie’s hair hiding in the messy black strands. “He’s negotiating a trade,” she added. “The plan is that he’ll force the wolves to reveal you, then convince them to let you go.” The gleeful way she emphasized the word ‘convince’ led Rie to believe that blood and meat would be involved.

“And,” she paused, probably for emphasis as her bell-like voice grew even higher in pitch, “we get to help!” she exclaimed. Rie winced as the words pierced her eardrum, aggravating the already painful headache that never ceased behind her eyeballs.

“I expect you would,” Rie replied. Though smaller than her palm, the pixies were vicious little predators when they wanted to be.

“Yes, but you never ask,” Niinka complained. “Sometimes I wonder if you even appreciate our talents.”

Rie rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore the complaint. “But what about Bren?” If Garamaen was here at the cave, where was the baby? Surely he wouldn’t bring her into possible danger.

“Safe,” Niinka replied. “Judith is here. She took the baby to the city.”

Rie’s jaw dropped. Judith was here? The guardian? Why? What could possibly have drawn her to this frozen realm?

Before Rie could ask more detailed questions, a larger, deadlier predator than the pixies entered the room.

Fenrir paced forward, his lips pulled up in a snarl. Four other wolves matched him on either side. They came to stand in front of Rie and Daenor, crowding around in an impressive act of intimidation.

Rie swallowed. What had Garamaen done?

“You will follow,” Fenrir growled, the words barely intelligible over the rough tumble of his voice.

Rie touched her neck, and the manacle that held her attached to the wall. “How?” she asked.

Fenrir’s growl deepened. He lunged forward. Rie flinched, but the wolf wasn’t aiming for her body. In one powerful motion, he took the heavy chain between his teeth and yanked, tearing the attachment out of the wall. He threw the chain to the floor with a toss of his head. Then he did the same for Daenor.

“Move.”

The single word sent chills of dread down Rie’s spine. Whatever Garamaen had planned, Fenrir had a countermeasure in mind. Even without foresight, Rie could see the calculation and aggression in his eyes, the glee at finally having his true prey close at hand.

Lil shuffled sideways, close to Rie’s side. “Take your coat,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You will need it.”

Surprised at the gesture of kindness, Rie nevertheless did as suggested and wrapped her cloak over her shoulders, Daenor following suit. They were going outside.

Once more, Rie found herself following Daenor through the tunnels of the mountain, her hand placed on his shoulder as she trusted his better night vision. The trip out seemed longer than the trip in.

Eventually, they emerged into the entrance cavern. Rie raised her good arm, blinking against the bright light as she attempted to shade her eyes. The sun’s rays pierced her brain like shards of glass, and her eyes watered.

Daenor was even worse, unable to keep his eyes open in the glare. How long had they actually been in the cave? Unable to tell the difference between night and day, it could have been weeks.

The wolves herded them outside, their feet crunching through ice encrusted snow. The cold seeped through Rie’s leather boots, her toes going numb within moments. She wrapped the cloak more tightly around her body, glad that Lil had provided them a warning.

“What have you done to them?” Garamaen’s voice boomed out over the open space of the mountain. He stood on a rise, perhaps twenty-five lengths from the entrance to the cave. For some reason, Rie didn’t feel like she recognized this landscape. The shape of the rocks seemed different, the peak in an odd alignment from what she recalled on their approach.

Snow covered hills surrounded the area. If there had been any vegetation, it was now completely covered by a blanket of white. Not even a twig poked above the ground. Only a few sheer rock faces remained exposed.

“Nothing you didn’t do to me,” Fenrir replied. “I gave the same courtesy, and the same regard. They are alive.”

As if that was sufficient.

“Rie, are you well?” Garamaen asked.

“Enough,” Rie replied. Her magic was gone. Her arm was in a sling. She imagined her face was covered in dirt and grime, her hair greasy and in disarray. She was half starved and dehydrated. She probably smelled pretty ripe, as well.

But . . . it actually could have been worse.

“And Daenor?”

“I was bitten, sir,” Daenor replied. “We both were.” Succinct and to the point. That was Daenor.

The message clearly was received when Garamaen nodded his head and turned an intent stare on the wolves who held them.

“Your fight is with me.”

Fenrir lowered his head between his shoulders, leaning into the potential confrontation. “Yes. Their fight is with the frost sidhe.”

Rie’s eyes grew wide. This was the trap.

Snow exploded into the air. Dozens of frost sidhe charged from their hiding places beneath what had appeared to be hills and frozen landscape. A communal war cry burst from their lips, the sound echoing off the mountain.

Rie ran forward, her thoughts fixated on Garamaen, her mentor and last living relative. Her motion was brought up short by the chain around her neck. A wolf yanked her off her feet and onto her back with a gasp of air. For one brief moment, Rie couldn’t breathe, her lungs refusing to function. When finally they inflated once more, she coughed and rolled to her side, groaning as her injured arm slid free of the sling.

Daenor was on his stomach, a wolf standing on his back. He pushed against the ground with futile efforts, his strength no match for the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pounds encapsulated in the wolf. Anger burned in his eyes, but the true flame was nowhere to be seen.

Rie’s gaze turned back to Garamaen. A thick casing of ice covered the rock he stood on, creeping up toward his legs. But Garamaen still had his magic, still had his heat. A blaze like a blacksmith’s furnace burst from his hands, melting the efforts of the frost sidhe.

Archers—staying well back and out of the melee—took aim. Arrows loosed and immediately burst into flame, the ash blowing on the wind. Another volley, destroyed just as quickly.

Wolves and frost sidhe alike sprinted toward him, scrambling up the hill. At least half of the warriors dropped to the ground, asleep or dead before they ever had a chance of reaching their target, but there were too many wolves untouched by magic. They surrounded him, the frost sidhe blasting him with cold and ice while the wolves attacked with teeth and claw.

Desperate to go to Garamaen’s aid, Rie held the frozen metal chain between bare hands. With a rapid jerk, she lunged up into a standing position, hoping to catch the wolf holding the other end by surprise. The chain slipped from his grasp, but only gave a few feet of slack before the wolf yanked her back once more. Rie glared over her shoulder, but a wolf with a single black leg—Black Sock—would give no quarter.

Meanwhile, the pixies had decided now was the time to act. Niinka launched herself into the air, speeding toward Black Sock and crawling into his fur. The wolf yipped and dropped the chain, bending his body to chew at his skin. Gray and black clumps of hair flew as the pixie went to work. Rie didn’t stop to watch. She ran.

But the snow was deep, and her energy was weak. She didn’t make it more than another few steps before the chain pulled tight again. She fell on her butt in the snow, the collar around her neck yanking her off her feet.

A new wolf held her chain, one she hadn’t had the displeasure of yet meeting. He growled. But Rie was done playing around. Instead of running toward Garamaen again, and pulling against the force of the wolf, she charged the creature. Who cared about his fangs? She’d already been bitten.

The wolf’s eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed. He dropped the chain, ready to take a bite out of her hide. Rie grabbed the end he’d released, and doing her best impression of a gymnast’s vault, she launched herself over the back of the wolf, wrapping the chain around his neck and pulling tight.

The wolf bucked and rolled, throwing Rie off his back. Forcing herself up, Rie grabbed up the chain and ran once more to Garamaen’s side.

A weight like a cannonball blasted into her back, knocking her to the ground. With her face pressed into the cold snow, she could hardly breathe. The weight never lifted, never shifted. A single paw pressed into her spine between her shoulder blades. Wriggling enough to clear the space around her mouth, Rie turned her head as far as it would go to the side. She stared up into Fenrir’s yellowed teeth, the scent of meat and halitosis heavy on the air.

But Gikl and Niinka weren’t yet done. They zipped and dodged from one wolf to the next, keeping away from teeth even as they sent the beasts dancing and rolling through the snow.

A third pixie—moving so fast Rie couldn’t tell who it was—joined the fray. Targeting the wolf on Daenor’s back, the new arrival burrowed into the animal’s fur, making the wolf wriggle and jump until he released the dark elf fire master. Daenor didn’t hesitate. He pushed himself up to standing and sprinted toward Rie and Fenrir, as if he would take on the great wolf in a bare-knuckle brawl. If he’d had his magic and it was a one-on-one fight, Rie wouldn’t have bet against him. But here, in deep snow, with the magic eaten away and his energy drained, he was as vulnerable as any human.

No more than three steps and he was tackled once more, Brute taking him down with fangs on the back of his neck.

“No!” Rie shouted, just as Fenrir snapped a command at Brute. The wolf rolled his eyes up at his leader, as if asking a question, but Fenrir ignored the plea.

Another high-pitched shriek, but this time from the throat of a pixie. Black sock had managed to clamp down on Niinka’s leg. He pulled her from his fur with a violent shake of his head, threw her to the side. She landed in a snowdrift. She didn’t move.

“Niinka!” Rie screamed, one hand reaching out to her friend. But Fenrir wouldn’t let her move. He pushed down on her back even harder, leaning in to growl into her ear.

Garamaen, hearing Rie’s cry, looked up from his battle with the frost sidhe on the hill. He must have lost his concentration. In that one split second, the wolves and the wielders of ice and snow overwhelmed the fire master, piling on top of him and quenching his flame.

“Stop!” Fenrir roared. “He is mine! If you kill him, there will be no deal.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“CONTAIN HIM!” A man stepped out of a shadowed corner of one of the frost sidhe mounds. Wearing the full fur-lined silver armor of the frost sidhe, and a battle helm with a tall blue crest, Rie couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed him before now. The polished battle-dress should have marked him out immediately, but either he was extremely well hidden, or they had all been so focused on the melee, they hadn’t paid attention to their surroundings.

For Rie, it very well could have been the latter.

Regardless, the man strode forward over the snow as if walking on bare dirt ground. Each step was braced on solid ice, the snow freezing in place to hold his weight. This man would never need snowshoes.

Fenrir removed his paw from Rie’s back, stepping away from his prisoner. Rie knew another wolf must have picked up the chain—Fenrir wouldn’t let her escape now that the fight was over—but at least she could sit upright.

Fenrir curled a lip as the frost sidhe commander approached with his hand held out in greeting. The wolf might be working with the frost sidhe, but he wasn’t too happy about it.

“Come now, is that the way to treat an ally?” the frost sidhe murmured. “I would think you would be grateful after all I’ve done for you.”

“Yes. I am grateful,” Fenrir replied, but his teeth were still bared. “Bring me the oath breaker, and our business will be done.”

“Of course.” The frost sidhe motioned for the pile to untangle itself, and for Garamaen to be brought forward. Garamaen hung limp and unconscious between three of the frost sidhe, one on each arm and another holding his feet. A great gash crossed his face from right eyebrow across his lips to the left side of his chin. His cloak had been torn free and left in the snow. The clothing beneath was ripped and bloody. Bite marks marred the flesh of his calf, and good arm.

Garamaen’s body was tossed at the great wolf’s feet. His head hit a rock, and Rie winced in sympathetic pain.

“I told you not to kill him.”

The general smirked at Fenrir. “He’s not dead. Your own wolves did most of the real damage. The poisoned blades only put him to sleep faster.”

So that was how they’d overcome him. Only one had to touch him, to break the skin. Either the wolves would suffocate his magic, or the sidhe would send him unconscious. With their overwhelming numbers, they’d managed both. It was a clever, if perhaps overzealous, trap.

The question remained, how did the frost sidhe know that Garamaen would come?

Fenrir sniffed Garamaen’s face. With exaggerated slow-motion, the wolf bit down into the crook of Garamaen’s collarbone. New blood seeped from the space where teeth had broken skin.

“Are you satisfied?” the frost sidhe general asked.

“Yes. Take them.”

The two frost sidhe soldiers who had carried Garamaen’s body took the chains from the wolves.

“On your feet,” the general said. “We have a hike ahead of us, and we need to be back in the city before nightfall. I hear this territory is controlled by a dangerous predator these days.”

“Wait,” Rie begged. “My friend—”

“The pest is dead,” Maethor sneered. “And if not, it will be soon.” His gaze searched the sky and area around Rie. “Fair warning to any that remain, try anything, and you’ll be frozen where you fly.”

Rie swallowed down a sob, unshed tears pooling in her eyes. But the sorrow quickly turned to anger. Niinka had been her friend for over eighty years. She had traveled with and entertained, protected and informed. She was the leader of the pixie swarm. Without her, what would happen to the others? Where had they even gone? The general’s dismissal of the pixie due to her diminutive stature was a slap to her importance.

The frost sidhe holding her leash yanked her to her feet. Three others surrounded her, their faces mostly hidden by their helms. What she could see, was more than unfriendly.

With blades pointed at her throat, the soldiers none too gently forced her hands behind her back, tying them together with a length of tight twine. Rie whimpered as the pressure on her shoulder increased. Though she tried to give herself a bit of slack, the sidhe forced her wrists together, the thin but strong rope cutting into her skin.

Daenor was similarly bound, but the soldiers surrounding him didn’t seem to be taking as much pleasure from their duty.

With another smirk in Fenrir’s direction, the frost sidhe commander turned on his heel and marched down the hill. The soldiers yanked on the chains still connected to the collars on their necks, and Rie and Daenor followed. Rie glanced over her shoulder one last time, to see Garamaen being dragged into the cave by two of Fenrir’s minions. Blood ran down his face in rivulets, the cuts and gashes from the fight still flowing. Torn and bloodied, he looked just this side of death.

Rie would come back for him.

***

Hiking through the untouched snow was an exercise in futility for Rie and Daenor. With every step, they sank up to their knees in white powder, while the frost sidhe walked across the surface without a trace.

“Can’t you help us out here, a little?” Rie asked. “We’d all move faster if you could harden the snow for us.”

The general glanced over his shoulder. “Why should I make your journey easier? You, who would tear our souls from our bodies, if you still had your magic to call on?”

Rie frowned, completely taken aback by the comment. “Why would I do that?”

“I saw what you did in the Battle of the Arches. Nearly forty percent of our army was lost.”

Forty percent? That couldn’t be right. She thought back to the aftermath of the battle. Many had died, but of the bodies on the field, the frost sidhe had the smallest percentage. Was their army so small compared to the other realms?

The soldiers in the line glared at Rie, their gazes narrowed and angry. There was no love for her, that was certain.

“Yet here you are, traipsing through our realm as if you own it. Acting as if you can do whatever you please, without consequence,” the general continued.

He paused, pushing his face in close to Rie’s, their noses almost touching. “There. Are. Consequences. And you will feel their full measure.” General Maethor grinned, the vicious expression turning his pale white face from man into monster.

Rie swallowed. For the first time since starting this journey, she felt like she was in enemy territory. The frost sidhe could tear her apart and may yet.

The general’s face suddenly smoothed, his expression instantly morphing from wicked glee to thoughtful calculation.

“However, you are correct that we do not have much time to waste.” His voice had a smooth modulation, the speech pattern changing into a formal protocol. Rie heard the change, but said nothing, filing the information away in a separate part of her brain to examine later. Something odd was going on, but she couldn’t quite determine what it was.

“Viktor, retrieve the sled. We will return to the city before nightfall.”

One of the soldiers—Viktor, apparently—strapped narrow polished wooden boards to his feet and slid down the hill faster than a full sprint. He tilted from side to side, the snow spraying in great waves behind him. Rie’s eyebrow lifted. Under different circumstances, that looked like fun.

Everyone else trudged on, their pace constrained and impatience written on every movement. The general still refused to harden the snow, forcing Rie and Daenor to plow their way through the drifts. It seemed petty, and unnecessary, like he was making more trouble for himself than anyone else. Especially since he’d already called for the sled to speed things up.

Viktor returned moments later, driving a team of six giant white fuzzy-horned deer in front of a wide sled that looked like it could seat at least a half-dozen men comfortably.

Notably, it would not fit everyone in the company.

The general climbed into the cushioned front seat, right behind Viktor. He pulled several thick fur hides over his lap, while Rie and Daenor were shoved unceremoniously onto hard wooden slats in the back. The soldier guards climbed in after them, never releasing the chains. They sat on the cushioned bench as well, their backs to their general, watching the rear.

Viktor snapped the reins on the team, and they were off, the wind picking up with the speed of the animals down the mountain. Ice pricked the skin of Rie’s cheeks, a stinging pain that she couldn’t seem to avoid, no matter which way she turned. With her hands tied behind her back, she couldn’t lift her hood to cover her face. She tucked her chin down, doing her best to protect her face, but the improvement was marginal at best.

Somehow, even prison seemed welcoming at this point. It would be warmer, or at least out of the wind.

Daenor scooted closer to her, his shoulder touching. He slid his hands closer to her side. Rie thought he was simply trying to grasp hands, for comfort or warmth, it didn’t much matter. But what she found lightened her heart more than any romantic gesture.

Cupped inside his palms, two tiny bodies wearing miniature fur cloaks huddled together. The rise and fall of a chest pushed tears into Rie’s eyes. At least two of the pixies had survived. She didn’t know which two, and they couldn’t talk about it now, not with the guards watching. But whether injured or just hiding, the pixies hadn’t all died or disappeared.

Rie swallowed down a hard lump of emotion, the relief astounding in its depth. They were alive. It was something. She leaned into Daenor with a little more force, trying to express her emotions without words. However he had managed to save the pixies, whatever had transpired, he had achieved far more than she had been able.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE TUNNEL OPENING was hidden beneath a loose stone tile in Vegard’s office, beneath his desk. As far as hiding places went, Judith thought it was pretty secure. Very few people would have access to this room, and even fewer would think to check beneath the thick slab with barely a hint of broken grouting. Certainly, she never would have considered it.

Vegard pulled up the stone using a clever metal stick with a hook at one end. Then, grabbing the slab with both hands, he heaved it to the side. Judith gazed into the small space. The opening dropped a few feet into what looked like a slightly larger space, certainly big enough for the barbegazi to crouch together. Judith would fill the entire void.

“I’m not going to fit,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll never get my wings tucked in tight enough.”

Vegard patted her arm in a friendly, if patronizing, reassurance. “It’s bigger than it looks.”

“Apprentice Sanyare and her consort fit in an even smaller space,” Eira added. “Even I have to crouch to crawl through the tunnel from my hut to the outside.”

“And how often have you done that?” Vegard asked with a raised eyebrow.

Eira looked a bit sheepish. “I’ve tested it out once or twice, just to make sure there were no problems that needed to be resolved.”

Vegard lifted an eyebrow but didn’t push the matter. Judith couldn’t tell if he was angry or amused.

“In any case, if the dark elf can fit, I’m sure you can, too,“ Vegard said. “He’s quite a bit taller.”

“He is?” That was surprising, but didn’t much matter. “But it’s not the height I’m worried about, it’s the width. If my wings get stuck, I won’t be able to do anything about it. I’ll have to be dug out.”

Vegard shrugged. “It’s this, or risk being caught on the streets. The frost sidhe don’t know about our tunnels.”

Did she dare risk being stuck in the tunnels? Or were the streets a better option, given her size?

“You first,” she motioned to Eira. “Make sure the baby gets where she needs. I will enter last.”

“We won’t let you fall behind,” Eira replied. Now that she was in her element, with her own kind and in a place that she knew, her confidence seemed to have blossomed.

Eira handed Bren to Judith, before lowering herself down into the hole. The baby mewled weakly, shifting in her blankets, but her arms no longer pushed out of the cloth. How had she deteriorated so quickly, and without Judith’s knowledge?

Judith pressed a cheek to Bren’s cool forehead, praying she would be okay. How much more trauma could this tiny body take?

“Give her to me,” Eira urged.

With one more gentle squeeze, Judith handed the baby down to the barbegazi, who immediately disappeared out of sight. Vegard was next, dropping silently into the hole.

“You’ll need to replace the stone,” he said. “Cover our tracks, just in case.”

“Understood.” Another reason she should remain at the back of the procession. She would keep anyone from reaching that baby.

When Vegard disappeared, it was Judith’s turn. Pressing her wings to her back as tightly as she could, Judith squeezed into the small hole, feet first. Her feathers rustled and protested the tight fit, a few coming loose in the process. Nothing that would hinder future flight, but still disconcerting. This was a terrible idea. Standing in the hole, the top of her head remained a few inches above ground. It made manipulating the stone tile easier, but a knot of dread formed in her stomach. She was a creature of light and air and open spaces, not dark and dank and tight confines. Her breathing sped as she contemplated what she was about to do. The walls seemed to press in on her, like a heavy weight on her consciousness.

Kneeling fully into the space, Judith swallowed, attempting to calm her restless nerves. This was not the Hollows. The souls of the dead would not attack her here. It was only a tight tunnel that would lead to safety. She could do this. She had to do this. For Bren. For Garamaen. Even for Rie.

Pressing her shoulders back, Judith sealed the hole and examined her surroundings. Kneeling on the floor, Judith was forced to lean forward with one hand on the ground or force her wings into a terribly uncomfortable position. Luckily, the space was empty, so nothing would get knocked over or destroyed with her movement. She shifted back and forth, wobbling around in a tight circle, looking for the tunnel entrance. There were two. In fact, the space she sat in was only a little larger than the tunnel itself and looked like it was probably a waystation for a more intricate network beneath the ground of the city. Lit with a dim green light from some kind of bioluminescent growth, Judith could see just enough to make out the edges of the space, but not enough to see where the others had gone.

She peered down the tunnel in one direction. She’d picked correctly.

“This way,” Eira whispered, her voice a beacon of hope.

Judith waddled forward, her knees practically touching her shoulders as she tried to keep her wings from dragging in the dirt while still moving. Eventually, she gave up the pretense of walking, and dropped to her knees to crawl like a fledgling in the nest.

If Eliphaz could see her now . . . .

Measure by slow measure, Judith wriggled and dragged her way through the tunnel. They passed a few other openings, made a few turns in the near-dark, but Eira and Vegard paused and waited for her at every crossroads along the way. They weren’t going to let her get lost in the dark down here, thankfully.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the tunnel opened up into a much larger room. Though she still couldn’t stand straight, she was able to get her feet beneath her, and brush her dirty hands off on the tough leather leggings she’d chosen for this journey. It was a good thing, too. Anything more delicate would have been torn to shreds on the uneven rocks of the tunnel.

Meanwhile, Vegard found a stick hidden in the corner, and began tapping an intricate rhythm on the ceiling. Moments later, a crack appeared, then an opening.

“Vegard,” a male voice spoke from the bright light above them. “I thought you were staying at the office to find a way to free Eira.”

“I didn’t have to. She freed herself.”

“We have an emergency,” Eira interrupted, stepping under the light. “We need a nursemaid, and quickly.”

Eira held Bren up to the opening and a loud gasp echoed down into the room.

“Get Inghrit,” the man said. Footsteps pounded across the ceiling, Judith assumed to fulfill the command.

Meanwhile, a rough spun rope ladder lowered down into the hole. Eira immediately climbed up and out of the hole, Vegard close behind. Words were spoken Judith couldn’t hear, then a head appeared, hanging over the ledge.

“Come,” Vegard said. “The way is open.”

Judith nodded and swallowed, eager to be out of the tight confines and stretch her wings. Not that she expected the barbegazi headquarters to be much bigger above ground, but at least she wouldn’t be rolling around in the muck any longer.

The rope ladder was retracted. Judith waddled forward, looking up into Vegard’s grinning face. He probably found her predicament amusing. Under different circumstances, she probably would have, too. But she grimaced instead, stretching out cramped leg and back muscles as she stood fully upright.

Her head popped out of the small opening first, her eyes just able to see over the edge of the hole without needing to stand on tiptoes.

Four curious gazes watched her, while Vegard just grinned with amusement. Eira was notably absent, and Judith hoped it was because she was rushing to care for baby Bren.

Deciding her best tactic was to get out of the hole, Judith maneuvered her hands and elbows up to the ledge and jumped.

Her wings banged against the other side of the exit. Judith shuddered from the impact, pins and needles racing down the length of her wings. The sensation was worse than hitting an elbow on the corner of a table. Judith dropped back to the ground.

Vegard approached, hand extended. “Do you need help out?”

“No, thank you,” Judith replied. It was humiliating enough to be covered in dirt and stuck in a hole. She didn’t need the much smaller creature yanking on her.

Glancing over her shoulder, Judith tucked her wings in as tight as they could go. She leaned forward, making sure the tip of her wings would clear the space. She jumped again, her wings scraping against the stone edge. Wriggling and squirming, she managed to get out up to her waist before getting stuck.

She couldn’t move. If she tried to wriggle down, her feathers caught and would be torn right off her wings. But she couldn’t pull them in any tighter. Her feet dangled above the basement floor, her arms scrambling for purchase against the smooth stone.

The barbegazi watched her with mixed expressions. Some seemed to want to laugh, others to gape. A few younger individuals had come in to join their elders, the room above the basement getting more and more crowded.

Finally, she gave up, to the chuckling sigh of relief from the barbegazi.

“Can I help you now?” Vegard asked again.

“Please.” Judith hesitated a moment longer, glancing back at her wings once more. She grimaced. They were going to have to help her tuck the feathers closer to her body, to give her enough wiggle-room to pull herself the rest of the way out. But a guardian’s wings were intensely personal and touching them was a liberty given to few.

“If one of you could push my wings closer to my back, I think I can pull myself the rest of the way out.”

“I’ll do it!” one of the younger males volunteered.

“I’ll help!” a female replied.

With broad smiles plastered across their faces, the pair ran around behind Judith. They pressed their hands into the meat of the wing, their touch sending rough waves of pain through the bones of Judith’s back.

“Ooh, so soft,” the female said, oblivious to Judith’s discomfort.

As soon as she felt the pressure around the hole diminish, Judith hurried to extricate herself the rest of the way. The youths stumbled back, their gazes rapt, as Judith stood and brushed off her leggings.

Though she still had to keep her neck bent to avoid pressing her head against the ceiling, she was able to shake out the sore muscles and cramped tendons. She fluffed her wings, and a few feathers fell to the floor.

The girl gasped. “Are you okay?” she asked, the gentle concern radiating from her figure.

Judith nodded, and picked up one of the errant plumes. “Yes, I will be fine. Would you like to keep it?”

The girl nodded, mouth open in awe.

“Then you may have it. It’s rare for a guardian to drop a feather, so take good care of it.”

“It’s my most prized possession.” The girl clutched the feather to her chest.

Judith glanced at the crowd around the room. At least a dozen had gathered, gazes rapt. Obviously, this group had never seen an angel before. Growing self-conscious under their scrutiny, Judith tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

“So, who is Felman?” Judith asked. “I’m told he’s the person I need to see to enlist the aid of the barbegazi.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JUDITH SAT ON a large floor cushion across from a wizened old man with a long white beard and white wool hat covering the tips of his ears. He sat in a chair, but they still managed to be about the same height.

He leaned forward, gaze scrutinizing. “So you’re the one who will control my afterlife, eh?” he asked. “Not quite what I expected.”

Judith sighed, blowing out a breath. “No, sir. I am a counselor in training. Eventually, I hope to work with the souls of children who died in traumatic circumstances, but the way things are going now, I may never graduate to full counselor.”

“Yes. I hear Apprentice Sanyare circumvented the natural order, to the consternation of the Moirai.”

“How did you hear that?” Judith would have expected the news to have been kept more secret.

“I have my ways. But enough of that. I understand our wayward apprentice has gotten herself into trouble, and you and Sanyaro need help extricating her from the mess.”

“Something like that,” Judith replied. “She’s being kept in Fenrir’s den, under the watch of his entire pack. Or so I’m told. Do you know where it is?”

“Not anymore.” He rubbed his forehead with one hand. “We haven’t been able to find it since his escape. If only Garamaen had killed the wolf when we’d asked him the first time.”

“Compassion is not a flaw,” Judith replied. Garamaen was already beating himself up enough, he didn’t need others second guessing his choices behind his back.

“Blind compassion, without logic, can be as damaging as blind prejudice. It’s taken me a great many years to learn this, and it’s something my father and my father’s father never understood. Perhaps we should have simply taken care of the wolves ourselves, all those many years ago.”

“Your kind is not without power. Why didn’t you?” Judith asked.

“Because we are a peaceful people. We did not drive away the elves when they arrived in our world, and now we have been displaced from our native lands. We did not fight the wolves when they began to prey on our people, because the wolves have been a part of this realm at least as long as we have. We did not want to kill Fenrir and his kind. But we were being killed.”

“So you thought to end your conflict with the wolves by bringing conflict to the elves.”

“Stability and peace. That is what we wanted. It’s what we’ve always wanted.”

“Well, your peace and stability are gone. I saw the village of Bjergtopp. I saw what the wolves are doing. How many have you lost by now? And what are you planning to do about it?”

Judith knew she was challenging an elder, a leader of the entire race of barbegazi, but someone had to snap them out of their stupor. If they didn’t take care of the problem, and soon, their inaction would have its own cost.

Felman grimaced but sighed. “What would you have of us?”

“First, I need to get my sword. Then, we gather as many fighters as we can and take the battle to the wolves.”

And once Judith rescued Rie, they could deal with the dual-souled general.

A pounding on the front door of the stronghold had every head snapping to attention.

“Quickly,” Felman rose, his diminutive stature put him at the level with Judith’s head. He grabbed at her arm, pulling her away from the door. “You must hide.”

“Where?” Judith asked, even as she rose to her feet. “There’s nowhere large enough to hold me, to keep me from prying eyes.”

“Back to the tunnel.”

“I barely fit.”

“There is nowhere else for you to flee. If the frost sidhe know you’re here . . . just go. Now!”

Already back in the storeroom, Vegard lifted off the trapdoor for Judith while his grandsire pushed her toward the hole. Judith was forced to comply. She slid down until she was on hands and knees, her head and wings tucked in against the ceiling. The barbegazi covered the space, sealing off the light and confining Judith to wait in the soft bioluminescent glow.

She listened. Steps crossed the threshold. Muffled voices with urgent tones whispered overhead. The door slammed. A shout of surprise.

Judith debated jumping up to assist if she could, but would that help or make things worse? Should she flee through the tunnels, hoping to find an exit? Or would she just get hopelessly lost? In the end, her indecision was her answer.

The hatch was thrown open.

“Come,” Vegard said. “It’s safe.” He didn’t sound happy about that.

Vegard pointed a hand at the door to the front room, his expression grim as he ushered Judith toward the cushions once more.

There, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands tucked neatly in his lap, sat Aegasson. Lying on the floor in front of him were a collection of bladed weapons, including Judith’s great sword.

“What are you doing here?” Judith demanded. And how did he come to possess Judith’s sword? And were those Rie’s khukuri blades with the red handles?

“Yes, please explain why you’ve come to my home carrying an arsenal of weapons and asking for the angel as if you knew she was here.”

Aegasson glanced up at Judith, ignoring Felman entirely. “Do you recognize any of these?”

Felman’s eyes narrowed at the insult to his authority, but he seemed more interested in hearing what Judith had to say than pursuing the slight.

“How did you come to possess my sword?” she asked.

“While you and Eira escaped, I made my way to the armory. I’m glad you were able to find your way here safely.”

“No thanks to you,” Judith replied. “You said you would help get us out.”

“I knew you would be fine. The barbegazi have an uncanny ability to move about the city without being seen. But we can talk about that a bit more later, perhaps. You said you needed your sword, and I needed my own weapons as well. When I saw these, I knew they must belong to you. No frost sidhe would carry blades lit with fire and flame.”

“The flames belong to Apprentice Sanyare, and I’m guessing her consort. Only the great sword belongs to me.”

“Ah. Should have guessed. Well, here it is for you to claim once more.”

“Why?” Judith asked. “You could have escaped and gone your own way.”

“Yes, and so I shall. But the general doesn’t need enchanted weapons at his disposal.” Aegasson turned back to Felman. “And I bring you a trade.”

Felman raised an eyebrow in a look of disbelief. “What could you have to trade?”

“Information. In exchange, all I ask is a place to hide and regroup, to gather allies to my cause.”

“Information?” Felman asked. “What kind of information could you have that we don’t?”

“Will you agree to the trade?”

“If your information is sound, then yes, we can find you a place to hide.”

Aegasson leaned forward. “The frost sidhe have gone up the mountain to capture Garamaen and trade him to the wolves.”

“What?” Judith demanded. Garamaen was supposed to stay in Bjergtopp and wait for her arrival with the barbegazi allies.

“They set a trap for him, drawing him to Fenrir’s lair with information about his apprentice.”

“How? He was alone at the village. How could they have baited him?”

“A frost sidhe messenger, with the location of Fenrir’s lair. How else?”

Judith pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You mean, like you’re doing right now?”

Aegasson grinned, a crooked quirk of his lips. “I suppose, but I’m not going to take you to Fenrir. I’m going to tell you how to ambush the frost sidhe. Without them, Fenrir will be easy enough to put down, even for the barbegazi. Besides, Judith promised she’d help me defeat General Maethor.”

Judith’s cheek twitched. “After I achieve my purpose.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, hoping Felman wouldn’t think she had conspired against the barbegazi with Aegasson.

“And here you are, with the barbegazi. Was that not your purpose?” Aegasson asked with a lifted eyebrow.

Felman’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched the goat head on his cane. “I gather you won’t assist in the venture.”

Aegasson’s smile vanished, his eyes growing hard. “I won’t risk my life or the lives of my mages in aid of Sanyaro.” Aegasson’s lip curled. “Or his apprentice. She might be my enemy’s enemy, but that doesn’t make us friends.”

“Then why give us this information? Unless you’re setting us up for the fall,” Felman said.

“I swear a solemn oath, I am not intentionally doing the barbegazi harm or leading you astray,” Aegasson replied, holding up his right hand, palm outward. “I’m simply trading information for a safe house. But time is limited. You only have a few turns to be in position or you’ll miss your opportunity. I don’t have time to gather my mages and join you, even if I wanted to. If you want to rescue Apprentice Sanyare you have to go now.”

“And you’ll be here, waiting to mop up the pieces,” Felman added.

Aegasson grinned once more, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “If you manage to kill Maethor—and I admit that’s a slim chance—then I’ll be ready to take leadership of the frost sidhe. If you don’t, I’ll be ready to finish the job. Either way, wouldn’t the barbegazi prefer to have an ally in the frost sidhe leadership?”

Felman lifted his chin. “We will do our part to protect our realm. Our native home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE BARBEGAZI WERE experts at camouflage. Not that Judith had much experience with the technique, but despite knowing exactly where they were, she couldn’t see a single one of them on the side of the mountain. The entire legion of hunters had hidden in plain sight, using the natural contours of the landscape and some careful redirection of snow to blend seamlessly with the scenery.

She suddenly realized why they all wore white wool, all the time. Though her gear was dull brown leather, made duller by the multiple trips through the tunnels, if anyone looked up they couldn’t help but notice her. She took solace in the fact that these creatures weren’t used to gazing toward the sky. All of the pinnacle predators were on the ground.

Still, she kept her back to the sun, where the frost sidhe would have a hard time spotting her in the glare.

Circling high overhead, Judith used the air drafts off the mountain to conserve energy. She’d left the cloak behind, choosing ease of movement and speed over protection from the cold. Luckily, the barbegazi had insisted on wrapping her arms in sleeves of thin wool. She was grateful. Without the extra bit of protection, she would be numb.

She returned her attention to their future field of battle. If Aegasson’s information was good, the general should be coming down the mountain with his prisoners on a sled at any moment. Judith and the barbegazi waited in the mountain pass, a narrow channel between steep cliffs that had clearly seen the crossing of a large group of men. Rocks and scraggly trees poked up from the terrain, giving Judith’s allies additional cover. It would be a good place to surprise the frozen army.

Hiding behind the obstructions and buried beneath mounds of snow, the barbegazi would find the perfect moment to explode out of hiding and into the fight. Aegasson claimed this was a standard frost sidhe ambush technique and would work equally well on his own kind as an enemy combatant. They weren’t used to staying vigilant in their own territory.

Still, it was a risky scheme. Judith didn’t expect Rie or Daenor to be in any shape to fight. If she understood Fenrir’s abilities correctly, the duo would be stripped of their magic and physically injured. So instead of trying to defeat Maethor here and now, Judith’s primary concern was to free Rie and Daenor—and Garamaen if he was also with them, but according to Aegasson’s contact he would have been captured and traded to the wolves—and get them all away from the battle to regroup, heal them if necessary after their ordeal in the caves, then deal with the dual-soul at their own time on their own terms.

There was a high likelihood that everything would go wrong.

Judith blew out a deep breath. At least she had saved Bren and rescued Eira from the prison. She’d left them safely ensconced in the barbegazi home, with plans to evacuate the city. Worst case scenario, she could still be proud of that.

The sled came into view, a large wood structure on wide runners pulled by six white harts, each at least twice the size of the largest of the frost sidhe warriors. Fuzzy horns arched high over each deer’s head, and Judith counted fifteen points on each of the animals. Much like the barbegazi, the deer’s feet seemed proportionally too large for their bodies, their two-pronged hooves covering an area larger than a dinner plate.

They ran at a full spring, the sled behind them sliding across the ice and snow with ease. A driver sat at the top, gazing out over the heads of his animals, while the general sat behind, bundled up like a disabled old man. Behind him, two soldiers kept watch over Rie and the man who Judith assumed was Daenor, his dark skin and white hair with pale red highlights giving away his identity.

The two prisoners seemed well enough, if gaunt and tired. But no bruises nor cuts marred their faces that Judith could see. They huddled against one another, their cloaks pulled tight to ward off the cold, but their hoods were thrown back. Judith wondered why, until her eagle-eyed gaze narrowed in on their necks and backs. They’d been bound with a metal collar, their hands tied behind their backs. That could be a problem.

Meanwhile, the rest of the army kept pace with the sled by sliding down the mountain with polished wood boards strapped to their feet. Moving much faster than anyone could run in this snow, they would have the advantage of speed. But would they be as agile as the barbegazi on their broad feet?

Fifty lengths. Twenty. The frost sidhe drew closer to Judith’s new allies. The sled moved into range. Past the first hidden barbegazi sentries, past the secondary warriors, into the midst of the mountain pass.

Arrows sailed into the air from the hidden pockets of barbegazi. The expert marksmen amongst the white clad halflings connected with their targets, at least half a dozen soldiers falling in the snow. Shouts erupted from the ranks of the frost sidhe. Shields formed of solid ice lifted above their heads to block the incoming projectiles. They split up, the wooden rails on their feet turning effortlessly. But unlike the barbegazi, they could only move downhill, not up. Not across. At least not easily.

The frost sidhe warriors drew their swords, racing as fast as they could toward the archers. The hidden barbegazi warriors exploded from the snow, flanking the frost sidhe. Blades found gaps in armor. Frost sidhe fell. Those that survived rotated backward to face the new threat but continued to slide away from their opponents. The secondary group of barbegazi erupted from their hiding places. More blood flowed.

Meanwhile, the sled continued its path down the mountain. The driver slapped the reins on the animals’ rumps, shouting for them to run faster. They slid and swerved around bodies living and dead. Barbegazi fighters jumped from a hidden blind in a small stand of ragged trees, no more than a length from the leading deer. The animals veered to the left, sending the sled skidding out to the side. The barbegazi shepherds drove the animals away from the rest of the frost sidhe forces, only a few determined warriors able to keep pace with the sled.

Archers rushed forward. They chased the frost sidhe, pausing only to take aim. But the frost sidhe had bows as well, and many were just as skilled as their smaller counterparts. The barbegazi had the advantage of agility, while the frost sidhe had strength and speed. Chaos reigned.

Now was Judith’s opportunity. She arched her wings above her back and dove. Icy wind streamed through her hair and tears froze in her eyes. She blinked, clearing her vision. The frost sidhe never glanced up, never saw her coming. At the last possible second she brought her feet forward in a kick that knocked the driver off the side of the sled.

He gripped the reins as he fell, pulling the deer off course. The lead deer reared, and the rest of the team bucked and skidded to a halt. The sled crashed into the hind legs of the rearmost animal, careening to the side and rolling over the creature. The traces tangled. The deer screamed, their voices harsh and panicked as they rolled down the mountain.

Judith flapped her way back up into the sky, circling for a better view. The animals—crying their pain and suffering—were half buried. At least one was dead, blood steaming in the ice. Another lay motionless with its neck at an awkward angle that didn’t bode well for the beast. The lead deer struggled to stand.

The sled itself was turned on its side. Judith worried that Rie and Daenor might have been injured, even killed, but they were the most protected by sitting low on the floor of the contraption. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw movement in shadows, Daenor’s red-streaked hair shining in the light of the late afternoon. Rie pushed herself upright next to him, looking dazed with blood streaming from a gash in her forehead. But she was alive, and that was all that mattered.

The guards had been thrown from the vehicle in its wild slide down the mountain. Unfortunately, the general managed to stay close. Now he jumped up, shouting commands and waving his sword in Judith’s direction.

“Archers,” Maethor screamed, a mad expression transforming the frost sidhe’s face from that of a sane soldier to a blood-thirsty daemon. No one answered his call. They were either engaged with the halflings in white or already too far down the mountain to help.

Judith dove again. She aimed for his head this time.

He lifted his sword. A spear of white ice shot from the tip. Judith swerved out of the way. A second spear passed just above her right wing. She flinched, but remembering Eliphaz’s instruction, didn’t change trajectory. A third would have caught her in the hip, but she dipped to the side, feeling the cold graze the edge of her leather leggings. She stayed on target, avoiding the strike with the least possible movement.

And then she was on him.

He thrust the blade toward her belly, but she deflected with a boot to his wrist. Slid her leg over his arm and around, trapping his weapon hand. She wrapped her arms and legs around his torso, heaving him up into the air with great beats of her wings.

Just three lengths above the ground, her wings grew heavy. Frost crept down her feathers and into the skin beneath. Ice crusted each barb. Her flight began to falter and her wings lost their rhythm. Grunting with effort, she gained another few feet before falling to the snow in a heap.

She lost her grip on Maethor, who sprang to his feet with a snarl. He lunged, tried to bury the blade he still carried into her gut once more. She kicked him in the knee as she rolled away from the sharpened point, which buried itself in the snow behind her back.

He cursed, collapsing onto his side, but he didn’t stay down. Using his sword as a crutch, he stood, balancing on his uninjured leg. Frost sidhe warriors with blades instead of arrows rushed to their commander’s side. Judith’s wings beat the air to loosen the ice and propel her toward the back of the sled as she ran lightly across the ice.

Two of the pixies were hard at work, freeing Rie’s and Daenor’s hands from their rope bonds. They must have been hiding nearby, perhaps had already been working on the thick rope. But they were out of time.

“We need to go!” Judith shouted. Grasping Rie’s khukuri blade from the rough leather belt she’d used to strap the weapons to her side, she sliced the remaining bit of binding from around her wrists.

“Hey! I almost had it,” a tiny voice chimed.

Judith didn’t have time to listen. She shoved Rie’s blades into the woman’s hands. Relief washed over Rie’s expression, the lines of tension smoothing away in an instant. But the frost sidhe were gathering. Already an arrow hit the ground at Judith’s feet.

“Watch out!” Rie shouted, arm outstretched. A look of deep concentration passed over her expression.

Senses pinging, Judith turned. A blade sliced down where her shoulder had been. She got her neck out of the way, but not her arm. The sharpened steel bit into the hardened leather bracer, cutting deep and drawing a trickle of blood from the skin beneath.

Rie launched herself out of the sled, tackling the warrior to the ground. The knife slashed up, but Rie blocked, twisted the man’s arm up overhead. She pinned him momentarily, bringing a knee into his leather and silver-plate-covered stomach.

Letting Rie deal with the soldier, Judith turned to release Daenor from his bonds, but the pixies had finished their task. His gaze was fixed on the field of battle.

A circle of warriors protected Maethor.

“The barbegazi can’t hold them much longer,” Daenor said, hand outstretched for his sword. Judith gladly passed it over.

“This way!” Vegard sprayed the sled with snow in his hurry to stop. “We go to the cliffs. We can lose them in the mountain.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

GRIPPING THE HANDLES of the enchanted khukuri knives Garamaen had gifted her before naming her his apprentice and heir, Rie let the magic of their making take hold. Time seemed to slow. The blades wrapped their enchantments around her forearms, twining with her aura and enhancing her abilities. Within the span of a single deep breath, their healing power lessened the poison of Fenrir’s bite. She could almost feel the black tendrils being sucked down into the restorative energy of the blade and dispersed into the ether. The tension from the past few days, the aches and pains, and the exhaustion drained away with it. Even her injured shoulder felt better.

The blades were weapons attuned to Rie’s hand, enchanted for her benefit, and Garamaen had ensured she would have assistance in healing. This moment was what these blades had been designed for.

As the poison receded, Rie’s vision cleared and expanded.

Time snapped back into place.

“Watch out!” Rie shouted.

The general flung his hand forward, releasing an ice bolt from the palm of his hand. Meanwhile, a soldier raced forward, a dagger extended.

Rie threw her good hand up into the air, extending it palm forward as if to stop them all. She couldn’t stop the warrior from launching himself at Judith, but she could eliminate the ice bolt. Narrowing her gaze in concentration, Rie sent heat into the frozen water, forcing the molecules into motion. The icicle pointed at Judith’s back burst apart.

At Rie’s warning, Judith turned. The warrior’s blade missed its target, but still gained a hit on the angel who had come to their rescue. Adrenaline rushing through her system, Rie launched herself at the man, tackling him into the snow before anyone had a chance to react.

His blade made a wild swing at her face. Rie parried, slapping his blade away with her left hand as she made her own slice across his torso with her right. The steel of her blade met the silver-plate of his armor, doing little damage. The soldier countered with an elbow to her chin. Rie’s head rang as her jaw went numb. But she’d taken worse damage in the past and muscle memory was a good thing. Her right arm swung back across, this time finding the crack between helmet and chest plate with her khukuri knife.

Blood sprayed across her face as the carotid artery opened. The soldier gurgled a scream, but his knife hand slipped free of her grasp. His arm swung back toward her. Rie flinched but knew it wouldn’t be enough to get out of the way. She was forced to trust the amlug armor to protect her skin. Luckily, with rapid blood loss and limited oxygen to the brain, the soldier’s strike wasn’t as fast or as strong as it needed to be to cut through the dragon-hide.

Ignoring the diminishing flow of blood that steamed and melted the snow in a thick pool around the warrior’s body, Rie leaned in, pinning his arms until finally, heartbeats later, they went slack.

“The barbegazi can’t hold them much longer,” Daenor said.

Rie’s gaze looked up from the gory mess in front of her, taking in the scene. The frost sidhe were regrouping around their leader. Lumps of textured white and silver littered the pass, the bodies of the fallen soldiers on both sides already blending with the snow.

The temperature had dropped considerably in the last bell. Small snowflakes floated down from the sky in gentle contrast to the destruction on the ground.

The barbegazi had teamed up against the frost sidhe who had ventured too far away from the sled and their leader, but they were quickly losing ground. Their small stature and limited armor left the creatures more vulnerable than the heavily armed and protected sidhe.

If the frozen army had already lost forty percent of its forces in the Battle of the Arches, today’s skirmish would be catastrophic. She didn’t have time to analyze how she felt about that. She didn’t have time to feel anything.

“This way! We go to the southern cliffs. We can lose them in the mountain.” It took Rie a moment to recognize Vegard, Felman’s grandson and future heir to the barbegazi leadership.

“We’ll never outrun them,” Daenor said, defeat in his voice. Rie risked a glance away from the general to study Daenor more closely. Exhaustion and pain lined his features, his eyes slitted against the light of the Winter Realm sun.

“I can fly with one of you,” Judith offered.

“You’ll have to take Rie, then,” Daenor replied.

“We’re not leaving anyone behind,” Rie declared. She would not lose anyone else. Niinka was bad enough, and Garamaen was trapped in Fenrir’s dubious care. Bren was supposedly safe, but she didn’t know where she’d been taken or who she was with. She would not lose Daenor too.

Rie returned her gaze to the enemy. The general had both hands lifted, palms out and facing Rie and her team.

What was he doing?

A shift in the snow at her feet gave her an answer. Not a good one. Ice had crept over the corpse’s face, a layer that grew thicker by the moment. She tried to lift her foot, step away from the body that rapidly turned blue. Her foot refused to move. She heaved her leg upward. The ice didn’t crack. Instead, it crawled ever higher over her ankle and toward her knee.

“Quickly! Move your feet. Don’t let the ice encase you,” she cried, warning the others of the general’s plan. It was an indirect attack that would trap them as surely as any chain.

What they didn’t know was that her fire had returned with her blades.

Melting the ice was—if not easy—at least achievable now. She sent her energy down into the crystallized water, breaking apart the bonds turning the solid ice into loose slush.

When she could pull her boots out of the trap, she raced to Daenor’s side. Like Rie, he and the others couldn’t move. Worse, it had taken Rie so long to melt the ice on her own feet, Daenor’s legs were trapped nearly up to his knees. Judith had fared a little better. With Vegard’s help, they had already chipped one leg free, before it had frozen down to the sled, but her other leg was still solidly locked to the ground.

“One of the harts is still alive and uninjured!” a younger barbegazi woman with a bow shouted, excited.

It seemed the general had ignored the barbegazi, or maybe their bare feet were somehow immune to freezing, because none of them seemed to have been affected.

Rie turned her magic to Daenor’s legs, melting the ice as quickly as she could while the frost sidhe continuously poured energy into the freeze.

Meanwhile, the barbegazi woman slipped a small dagger from a pocket and cut through the sled’s traces, freeing the only animal that hadn’t been killed or severely injured in the crash. The terrified hart lurched upward, nearly bowling over the half-sized woman.

“Shh,” she reassured, gazing adoringly into the soft brown eyes of the animal. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now.”

“Onto the hart’s back,” Vegard ordered. “Both of you.”

Judith’s wings flapped upward with a great gust of wind.

Another ice spear shot in the angel’s direction. Daenor, gripping his sword in one hand, sliced the creation out of the air before it could reach its target. Judith lifted into the air.

Finally free, Rie and Daenor raced to the hart who sidestepped and stomped under the gentle hands of the woman. Daenor jumped, clearing the great white deer’s back in a single leap. Rie needed an extra hand up. Daenor leaned down, right hand gripping the girth strap while his left hand pulled her up behind him.

The hart snorted and stamped its huge cloven hoof, but otherwise didn’t protest their weight. To be fair, hewas big enough he probably could have carried Judith and two of the barbegazi as well. The chains still hanging from Rie and Daenor’s necks likely bothered it more than anything else. Rie grabbed up the links, at least keeping them from slapping the creature’s hide.

As soon as they were seated, the young woman shoved the reins into Daenor’s hand and skated after Vegard as he raced for the mountain.

A wall of ice and heavy snow rose up out of the landscape to block their passage.

“Turn! Turn!” Daenor shouted, leaning his body uphill.

Keeping her arms tight around his waist and the chains pressed between her stomach and his back, Rie lent her weight to the effort. The hart beneath them cut to the right, the movement so sharp Rie felt air beneath her seat. Squeezing her arms and legs tighter, she held on with sheer will.

They raced along the edge, uphill and away from the general and his soldiers, but the wall was growing faster, curving back on them and herding them away from their destination.

“This isn’t working!” Rie shouted over the freezing wind of their passing.

“I know!” Daenor replied.

Placing both hands on the grips of her khukuri blades, Rie willed the enchanted metal to bolster the reawakening magic trickling through her veins. Fire. Heat. Flame. She called the element to her, channeled it through her, and launched it forward with a thrust of her hand.

It wasn’t enough. The heat would never melt the ice fast enough to break a tunnel through the wall. Her strength was returning, but slowly. Soon they would be fully encircled, unable to go anywhere.

“Keep going!” Vegard shouted over his shoulder.

Rie’s eyes widened. The ground began to shift, creating a rough stone ramp up to the ice wall. The frost sidhe had grown the structure long and wide, just tall enough to prevent the harts from jumping. It didn’t take much to give them the height they needed to make it over.

Vegard ran up the small incline, jumped to the top of the wall, and over. The female was next. The hart followed without missing a step, springing over the wall with ease.

“Keep moving,” Vegard urged, skating across the snow faster than should be possible. The urgency in his voice pushed them all to greater speed, the cliffs rising black and tall before them. Vegard guided them into the caves without hesitation. Judith dove in after them, landing with a slide of gravel.

They came to a halt inside a cavern with a small trickle of water and smooth walls.

“Brace yourselves,” the barbegazi leader warned.

A crack of thunder, followed by a rumble that shook the entire mountain.

Rie’s eyes widened. “What is that?”

Vegard grinned. “Avalanche.”

A heartbeat later and white snow poured past the entrance to the cave, sealing the party inside.

CHAPTER THIRTY

RIE HUDDLED ON the floor, her head on her arms, her arms on her knees. A few of the barbegazi had taken up a guard position near the cave entrance, even though the exit was blocked with a solid wall of snow. Everyone else was scattered around the space, asleep or lost in their own thoughts, including Daenor, who snored on the ground next to her.

How had they gotten to this point? How had everything gone so wrong?

The barbegazi had risked their lives to save Rie and Daenor when she was supposed to be helping them. They must have known something had gone wrong for Garamaen—that Fenrir had trapped them all. Despite their reluctance to fight, they were a brave people. Rie would be forever grateful. But had her failure doomed them all? So many lives had been lost already, and Fenrir was still free.

Footsteps drew Rie’s gaze up from her melancholy. Judith sat next to her, wings tucked and crossed behind her to allow her to sit on the floor. For a brief moment, Rie was glad she didn’t have to deal with the awkward appendages.

“We need to talk,” Judith began.

Well, no kidding.

“Why are you here?” Rie asked.

Judith’s lips pursed and turned down in a frown. “It’s not my choice, but you’re lucky I was.”

Rie’s breath blew out in a sigh. “You’re right. Thank you for coming to our rescue. And for bringing back my knives.”

She patted the hilt of the khukuris safely ensconced in their thigh sheaths. They’d been working their magic on her for the last two bells, leaching the poison from her blood and healing her body.

“I’m not sure how we would have gotten out of there,” Rie added.

“With the state you are in, I don’t think you would have,” Judith replied. “Speaking of which, how are your tiny friends?”

Rie had tucked Gikl and Hiinto—the pixies Daenor had saved—into the warmth of her body heat, wrapping them against her skin with her cloak. She’d done her best to boost their healing, but she wasn’t trained in the art. The best she could do was help speed their bodies’ natural process. But they breathed and clung to life, so that was something.

Possn was pressed up to the curve of Rie’s neck, her wings trembling. The most timid of the pixies had somehow latched onto Rie and stayed there for the ride into the tunnel. Rie didn’t know when she had arrived or where she’d come from. Rie hadn’t even noticed her presence until she climbed up to her current seat. But she had survived, and right now that was what mattered most.

Niinka and Tiik . . . Rie couldn’t get the image of Niinka’s body being tossed through the air and into the snow out of her head. She didn’t want to think about it too hard, but neither Niinka nor Tiik had made it into the mountain with them. She couldn’t grieve. Not here, not now.

Rie swallowed down a hard lump of emotion. “They’re tough,” she finally responded.

“Good. They are loyal companions.”

“Yes. They are. And Bren? Where is she? Niinka said you took her to safety . . . ,” Rie trailed off, biting her lip to hold back the tears.

Judith, gaze seeming to read into Rie’s soul, nodded. “Yes, she is safe. Or as safe as I could make her. She’s with the barbegazi in the city, but they had plans to evacuate.”

Rie nodded, relieved. The baby was with her people and as safe as anyone could be. “So tell me then, what brought you here? Surely it wasn’t a vacation.” Rie’s lips lifted in a half-hearted effort to tease.

Judith pressed her lips together.

“I came to find you. I have new information about the lost souls, and I think it relates to our situation here.”

Rie lifted her eyebrow. “Oh?” she asked. She didn’t really want to talk about the lost souls or her mission from the Moirai, but maybe it would provide a distraction from the emotional pain that wracked her body.

“Have you ever heard of the Dual-Souled?”

Rie shook her head.

“Neither had I, until three days ago.” Judith went on to explain everything that had happened, up to and including her journey into the mountain pass with the barbegazi and frost sidhe.

“So you think General Maethor is one of these dual-souled?”

“Yes. His behavior is erratic, and according to Aegasson, it changed after they returned from the Battle of the Arches.”

“How do you know Aegasson isn’t a lost soul, misdirecting you?” Rie asked. If the general was a powerful lost soul, or dual-soul, then this quest had just gotten a lot more complicated. Though it would explain why Fenrir was suddenly set free.

Judith’s eyebrows dropped between wide gray eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“You’re not used to devious fae.”

“I suppose not, but why would he have helped us in the battle? Why give us an escape route?”

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in the altruism of the greater fae. They usually keep their own interests front of mind.”

“It might not matter now. We don’t even know who survived that battle out there. What should we do?” Judith asked.

Rie shook her head. “First thing’s first. We have to heal. And we have to get out of this mountain.”

On those words, Vegard approached. He’d obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation. “The exit is easy enough. The healing? I’m afraid that’s going to be up to you. Our healers can’t remove the poison from your consort’s veins. We can only make him comfortable while his essence is drained away.”

“That’s giving Fenrir a little more credit than he deserves. The poison only attacks the victim’s magic.”

“But when your magic is an inextricable part of your being?”

Rie hadn’t considered that. She’d lived without magic—or at least without much of it—for most of her life. Daenor had produced an inferno as a toddler. It would be harder for him to compensate.

“If you can get the ingredients Garamaen used to heal Solvi, I think I can mimic his method.”

“Solvi will appreciate that as well, I’m sure, since Garamaen wasn’t able to finish the process.”

“Then take me to her. I will do what I can for both of them, and we’ll see where we end up.”

“First, let me help you with the chains,” Vegard offered.

Rie lifted her chin, exposing the metal ring that still wrapped her neck. “I don’t know if you can. There was no key.”

“Not to worry,” Vegard replied, his fingers gentle as they probed around the collar. “These are pretty standard livestock collars, just a bit bigger than what we use for our goats. No one wants to keep track of a key, so there should be . . . ,” Vegard’s gaze traveled up to the ceiling, his head cocked to the side. Both hands wrapped around the device. “Yes, there it is.”

Three clicks and a twist later and Rie was free of the restraint. She rubbed her neck. The skin was raw and sore, but it felt wonderful.

“What a relief. Thank you.” She looked down at Daenor. Still asleep, he hadn’t shifted once during Rie’s conversation. “However, I think we should let Daenor rest.”

“Yes, we all need time to rest. And grieve. The mountain has taken a toll on all of us today.”

Rie flinched. “How many?” Rie asked, her voice a whisper.

“Thirty-two unaccounted for,” Vegard replied, his voice equally hushed and grim, “though many may have survived the avalanche if they weren’t too badly injured before we called the slide. We are a tough species.”

“So the avalanche was your doing?”

“Of course! We know our land. We know its strengths, and its faults, and where to apply pressure when needed.”

“I thought you controlled the snow.”

“No, our magic is more in tune with the earth than the ice. A proper shaking of the rock beneath can move the side of the mountain. But we are built to survive the cold in a way the rest of you are not.”

“Well, I appreciate your efforts. We would not have escaped without you. And now that the general is gone, we can focus on getting Garamaen back.”

“Oh, I doubt he’s gone.” Vegard replied.

“But he’s buried in snow,” Rie said, shocked. How could he possibly live through the force and chaos of an avalanche?

“He’s a frost sidhe,” Vegard replied with a lifted brow, as if questioning Rie’s intelligence. “It would be easy enough for one of his skill to redirect the flow around his body. And even if he were buried, he could easily tunnel his way out.”

Rie rubbed a hand over her face. If the general still lived, he would come after them again. He couldn’t let them survive. Not after what he’d done and what they knew.

“That’s probably a good thing,” Judith said, her voice resigned. “At least we know who to target as dual-souled. If the body was killed, the souls might go on to possess another. I’ve already seen it once.”

Rie shook her head. Their problems were only getting more complicated.

Vegard patted Rie on the shoulder in sympathy. “Sleep now, if you can,” he said. “We will leave in half a turn.”

Rie wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but whatever time measurement a turn was, she felt sure it wouldn’t seem long enough.

“One more thing,” Judith said before returning to her own seat on the other side of the cave, “you are the only one who can successfully separate the dual-souled and return the wicked to their proper afterlife. You tore them from the Daemon Realm. You made the connection. It is you who must deal with the repercussions.”

“I understand that,” Rie replied, the exhaustion leaching into her voice. “The Moirai made that all very clear.”

“No, I don’t think you understand. I can help you identify them, and I can help you fight. I can even give the soul its final death, but only after it’s been untangled from the original occupant and separated from the body.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Rie demanded. “I’m still an apprentice. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re going to have to figure that out. But you’re the last remaining soul besides Garamaen to carry both soulspeech and soultouch. Use that to your advantage.”

Rie shook her head as Judith walked away on that ominous note. Heal Daenor and Solvi. Bring the pixies back from the brink of a frozen death. Free Garamaen. And now, send the wicked half of the dual-souled back to the Daemon Realm.

They asked too much.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

IT FELT LIKE they were traveling into the bowels of the earth. The tunnels and passages always descended. Not even a sliver of sunlight pierced the darkness. Only the flicker of torch fire and the shuffle of feet guided Rie down the tube.

She ran a hand along one wall, feeling the smooth but uneven edge. These tunnels had been built taller than the one she and Daenor had traveled through to exit the city, but not by much. She’d already bumped her head twice on a stalactite that hadn’t entirely been smoothed away. But at least she didn’t have to crawl or waddle through the interminable depths.

“Who built these passages?” Rie asked. Their construction was clearly designed by sentient touch, unnatural in the curve and switchback formation.

“As I said before,” Vegard replied, “we are creatures of the land and mountain. We live in the caves and tunnels, not on the open tundras.”

“Where Fenrir is?”

Vegard’s lip curled up in a scowl. “Fenrir is a predator, more adaptable to different landscapes so long as prey is abundant. We are goatherds and farmers, reliant on our livestock, which require the mountains’ peaks and valleys.”

Daenor tripped on a loose stone, his body lurching forward. Rie caught him at the waist, helping him upright.

“I feel so muddled,” he whispered. “My whole body aches.”

“Fenrir’s poison is an invader in your system,” Vegard glanced at the dark elf who had become so important to Rie in such a short period of time. “Your body is trying to fight it, but it will ultimately fail.”

“How much farther to the city?” Rie asked.

Vegard chuckled. “We are not going to the city. You are being given a rare glance into our true stronghold, our home within the mountain. We are nearly there.”

***

One final switchback in this seemingly endless journey. Rie gasped. The tunnel opened into a massive cavern larger even than the frost sidhe city aboveground. A steaming lake covered with the same bioluminescent algae as Fenrir’s prison lair filled the open space in the center. Small boats manned by pairs of fishermen tossed nets out on the surface, then reeled them back in before they had a chance to sink. Thick swirls of blue-green light curled along the ceiling and walls, moving with deliberate slowness like great worms in the stone.

Carved out of the mountain stone, the buildings were squat and flat, no need for pitched roofs in a space that would never see snow or rain. Smooth-worn steps carried pedestrians from one level to the next. Circular pens near the outer reaches of the buildings held a few bleating goats.

“Welcome to Stronghold,” Vegard grinned. “The last great outpost of the barbegazi. The frost sidhe do not know of this place, nor, I think, does your great-grandsire.”

“How have you kept this a secret?” Rie asked. “There are so many of you.”

“Not so many as you might think, though we have space to house our entire population if it became necessary,” Vegard replied. “But it is easy to remain unseen when others dismiss you for your smaller size.”

Rie knew a thing or two about that. It was why the pixies had made such great spies.

“But why keep the surface villages, if you have this? Why risk Fenrir’s wrath?”

“Our goats can’t remain underground for long. They must have the challenge of the mountain peaks and taste the sweet grasses of the sheltered summer valleys.”

“But Fenrir—”

“Was imprisoned for two thousand years. This stronghold was built centuries before the first elves arrived, when Fenrir’s grandfather led the pack and we were prey to all of the predators of the tundra and mountains.”

They walked the path to the city, the smooth stone easier to navigate than even the paved roads of the Human Realm. The road was a rounded wash, carved into the rock with the passing of thousands and thousands of feet.

Some of the residents looked up as they passed, their eyes going wide at the sight of a human, a dark elf, and an angel. But Vegard nodded at each in turn and they returned to their work. Meanwhile, the barbegazi warriors who had survived the battle split off to find their homes and families.

Rie swallowed. Who would share the news of the dead?

“Vegard . . . ,” Rie began, but the words stuck in her throat.

The barbegazi leader turned to face her, his face grim. “News will travel. We will hold a grieving.”

“Why did you risk so many, just to save me?”

Vegard shook his head, his gaze returning to the fields and buildings before them. “We didn’t fight to save you. We fought to reclaim our place in this realm. It was time to make a stand and make a point. Lord Garamaen Sanyaro should never have been forced to deal with the wolves in the first place. We are strong enough to handle our own problems and make up for the weaknesses of our past leaders.”

“And your grandfather? Why did he call on Garamaen to once more solve the barbegazi problems in the first place?”

“Felman is of the old guard. Popular opinion has shifted.”

Vegard fell silent, and Rie let it drop. She wouldn’t dishonor the sacrifices these people made by further questioning their motives. She would find a way to thank them, once they figured out a way to rescue Garamaen, destroy the dual-souled, and end Fenrir’s threat.

A field of glowing blue mushrooms spread out to their left. Mushrooms were one of the ingredients necessary in Garamaen’s healing salve. Which reminded Rie of her task.

“The ingredients for the potion,” she said. “Do you have them here?”

“Yes. My wife gathered them for Solvi’s salve. We’ve brought them with us in hopes that Garamaen would have an opportunity to finish his work.”

Vegard led them around the edge of the lake, the blue-green reflection bouncing off of the companions as they traveled.

“Is Bren here?” Judith suddenly asked.

Rie’s gaze locked with the angel. It would only make sense for Bren to have been brought here if they were evacuating the city. Would they be allowed to see the child?

“She’s with a nursemaid, building up her strength and her weight. She will be fostered into a family with other children soon.”

“May I see her?” Judith asked.

“Of course. My wife can take you to her after you’re all done here.”

“Thank you,” Judith replied. She hesitated. “Is there any chance I could see her sooner? I feel responsible for her, especially after the rough trip into the city.”

Rie’s eyebrows lifted. “Rough trip?” Judith hadn’t mentioned that before.

The angel frowned. “It’s a long story, but Maethor took us prisoner when I was trying to take Bren to her people. It was a traumatic experience.”

Vegard nodded. “She nearly died, but Inghrit was able to nurse her back to health. She is still quite hungry. I will ask when it would be good to visit.”

“I’d like to check on her too,” Rie said. “After the healing.”

Vegard dipped his chin in acknowledgment, then led the way up a wide set of stairs, their treads curved in the center from frequent use. Three flights later, he pushed open a small wooden door.

Glancing up at Daenor and Judith, who were even taller than Rie, Vegard paused. “I think you’d better wait here. I’ll set you up in a common space to work and bring the baby there after you’re done.”

Rie nodded, nerves roiling in her stomach. It all became real. She was expected to perform a magic she’d only seen once to save the man she loved and an innocent woman caught in the crosshairs of Fenrir’s wrath.

Vegard pushed his way inside his home, the soft murmur of voices rising out of the open windows.

Rie turned to scan their surroundings once more. From this height, she could see all of the workings in the city, the farmers in the mushroom fields, the fishermen—or whatever you called people in boats harvesting algae on a lake inside a cave—on the water, the pens with a few mother goats and what looked like newborn kids, and the craftsmen in their open workshops spinning and weaving the thick white goat wool into bolts of fabric of varying quality.

Maybe someday she’d have the time to peruse their wares. Lhéwen—Rie’s warden and foster mother—would probably love to have some of the fabric for winter cloaks for the ladies of the high court. If she didn’t like the color, Rie bet she could have it dyed to fit the specifications of each client. The pure white would be a perfect base for the pastels preferred by the noblewomen.

Daenor, standing with his back straight and hands clasped at his back, swayed a bit from side to side. His skin had grown ashy and his eyes held a glazed look that had Rie worried.

“Daenor,” she said, trying to draw his attention, but his eyes remained fixed forward into an unseeable distance. “Daenor,” she said again. She touched his sleeve. His head turned slowly and his eyes took several heartbeats to focus on her face.

Rie reached a hand to his cheek. His temperature had dropped considerably, his skin clammy and cold. Rie swallowed down her fear. They needed to fix him, and fast.

“Vegard!” she called into the stone entry.

“Yes, we’re coming.” A few moments later and the barbegazi heir appeared, a woman with bright blue eyes and a ready smile close behind him.

“We need to hurry,” Rie said, taking some of the baskets from the woman’s arms. She glanced once more at Daenor, hoping they would understand her meaning. “Where do we go?”

Vegard nodded, and hustled up the stairs a few more levels to a flat open space where a few children were playing some kind of game with colored rocks. At the sight of Vegard and his companions, they all dashed away, but peered around the corners of nearby buildings to watch the proceedings.

Judith helped guide Daenor up the stairs. His legs functioned, but his consciousness had fled. Vegard and his wife arranged the baskets in a semi-circle while Rie removed her cloak and Daenor’s coat, then led him to the center to sit next to her. She pulled his shirt over his head, as if he were a toddler being readied for bed. He didn’t protest. He didn’t say a word. He just gazed at the world with empty eyes.

The skin of his collarbone was an angry dark red, infection having set into the bite marks over his shoulder and neck. Why had he not said anything? He’d been so focused on Rie’s health, she’d never realized his own wound was festering.

Rie searched through her memories for Garamaen’s treatment of Solvi, her vision switching over to the magical plane. Black threads had invaded every inch of Daenor’s system, like roots beneath his skin. The area around the bite was solid black, extending down his chest and nearly to his waist. Though his aura still beat against her senses, the color had faded and thinned, his fire magic being eaten away.

Rie dropped the berries into the mortar with three drops of water, mashing them with the pestle in a clockwise motion. She began to hum, the sound emanating from the back of her throat almost without her intention.

Good, a voice whispered in her ear. Focused as she was on her goal, she almost didn’t hear it. Now the mushroom.

Who was that? Where was the voice coming from?

You are my child, I will guide you.

Was that the soul of Angeni? Garamaen’s human wife and the shaman who had taught him this treatment in the first place?

I was once known by that name, yes. But you must hurry. Daenor barely holds on, and Garamaen needs your help. He will not survive long in Fenrir’s paws. The wolf already takes his vengeance, and my love is close to giving up.

Rie swallowed. So much at stake. So much rested on her shoulders.

With Angeni’s instructions echoing in her brain, Rie completed the salve.

Now, when you rub the salve into the wound, it will hurt him. You must not let him stop you. Not until the poultice has burned itself out. Use all of what you have mixed.

Rie’s heartbeat fluttered. She was going to have to hurt him to heal him, but what if he protested? What if, in his addled state, he didn’t realize who she was or that she was trying to help. Would she be able to control him without hurting him further?

Pushing aside the fear, she tried to meet Daenor’s eyes. He wouldn’t look at her, his gaze clouded and uncertain. But he’d followed instructions so far. She prayed to all the gods that she could bring him out of this.

Scooping the thick mixture out of the bowl, Rie felt its weight, the density somehow more than it appeared.

“Stay still,” Rie said. “Don’t fight it.”

Daenor didn’t respond, not even a flicker of an eyelash in her direction. It was now or never. Rie pressed the salve to the wound. In her magical Sight, the mixture burned like a furnace, the poison its fuel.

Daenor screamed, his back arching away from the pressure and the pain, but Rie kept the clockwise circular motion, rubbing the thick concoction into every crack and crevice of the bite. Daenor shoved at her. Rie straddled his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist. She hugged him with her left hand even while her right continued its motion. The guttural wordless chant vibrated against his chest as she pressed her cheek to his healthy side.

She wasn’t letting go, and she wouldn’t let him either.

Slowly, his body stilled. His breathing came easier. Rie checked the magical plane once more. The black had receded, still thick in his chest, but no longer reaching down into his legs. The poultice had nearly burned itself out, only a few embers remained to consume the poison. She wouldn’t stop until every last one faded.

Daenor’s hand caressed Rie’s back. She lifted her chin to gaze into amber eyes. A relieved smile. Rie held back the tears with effort, her heart near to exploding.

Finally, the poultice was done.

Rie touched Daenor’s face, a watery smile spreading across her own lips.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Tired,” he replied. “But I can think again.”

“That’s a good sign.”

A very good sign. He should rest. In a few hours, you will need to repeat the treatment, Angeni said.

Thank you, Rie mentally replied. Please stay, I have more questions for you.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I WILL STAY, but you must treat the girl next. The poison still eats at her, and she is in pain. Angeni replied.

Rie looked up, realizing for the first time that they weren’t alone. Vegard sat with Felman and Solvi not ten paces away, watching Rie and Daenor with avid interest. Judith rocked Bren in a swaddle, while a woman looked on, her own child tucked into a sling not so different than the one Rie had made to hold Bren. Children gaped at the scene from behind the corners of the buildings, awe written on their faces.

Cheeks flushing, Rie untangled her arms and legs from around Daenor. For a brief moment, he tried to hold on, then perhaps realizing their situation for himself, he let her go.

“Solvi, it’s your turn,” Rie said.

“You won’t sit on me, will you?” the girl asked.

The assembled crowd chuckled, releasing the tension that had built up in the small open space.

“Don’t fight me, and I won’t have to,” Rie replied with an embarrassed shrug.

With Angeni’s help, Rie once more crafted the poultice and treated Solvi’s face. Compared to Daenor’s, the invasion of Fenrir’s poison had been minimal, and it hadn’t seemed to progress much since Garamaen’s first treatment, at least not as fast. Though her face was still physically black and blue with bruises, the black tendrils eating through her magic had mostly remained contained to the injured cheek and side of her head and neck. Nothing had moved below her collarbone that Rie could see.

When the embers died down, the poison was trapped in the wounds themselves, even the longest tendrils no longer reaching below her chin.

“How is your magic?” Rie asked after wiping Solvi’s face with a cloth. She supposed it was a little insulting to wipe the girl’s face clean for her, but she couldn’t help the action. Solvi was so small and fragile, she almost seemed like a toddler needing a bit of extra attention.

She closed her eyes. “I can feel the goats in their pens again.” Her shoulders relaxed and a beatific smile spread through the good side of her face. The wounded side hardly moved.

“The physical wounds are beyond me to heal,” Rie said, reaching out to touch the slack skin with gentle fingertips. “Is there anyone of your kind who might help?”

Vegard shook his head as he came up to stand behind Solvi, a protective arm around her shoulders. “Our healers can clean and bandage, cure infection and ease pain, but their abilities are mundane, not magical. They have done the best they can for her.”

“Send her to Éostre in the Autumn realm then,” Rie replied. “She will help, I’m sure.”

Éostre is a good choice, Angeni chimed into Rie’s ear. She taught me much after Grandmother died.

Rie couldn’t respond to her ancestor out loud, but as far as she knew, Éostre was one of the most powerful healers in all the realms.

“Maybe,” Vegard said. “But now I’m certain you’re hungry. My wife has prepared a great delicacy for you. Goat milk and lichen stew. We will eat in the communal hall if that seems acceptable.”

Rie yawned, her jaw cracking. The day was catching up with her.

“Yes, but first I’d like some time to . . . ah . . . meditate on the day.”

Daenor glanced in her direction with a lifted eyebrow. She’d tell him about Angeni later. Right now, she didn’t want the barbegazi thinking she was any crazier—or scarier—than necessary. She was already in enough trouble for interacting with the souls of the dead.

“Do you have a quiet private space I can sit?” Rie asked

“Of course. You may use my home, if you don’t mind crouching. We can set out pillows for your comfort.”

“That would be wonderful,” Rie replied.

Vegard’s home was indeed comfortable. Decorated in what Rie had come to understand was the standard white fabric made out of the goat hair, rugs, tapestries, and cushions lined every flat surface. The front parlor room was easily large enough for Rie and Daenor to sit next to each other, and Vegard’s wife had even taken it upon herself to light a small fire in the grate.

“I apologize for the size of the fire. I’m sure you would like a little extra warmth, but our hearth is for cooking. We don’t need much heat,” Vegard said.

“This is fine,” Rie replied. “Better than fine. I truly appreciate all you have done and provided for us.”

“Then I will take my leave to prepare the communal hall for the grieving.”

On those grim words, Vegard turned and left the dwelling, closing the door behind him.

As soon as Vegard was out of sight and hearing range, Daenor slumped, leaning his head against her shoulder.

“What’s this all about?” he asked.

“Shh,” Rie replied. “I need to be able to hear her.”

“Hear who?”

“Angeni, my great-grandmother and Garamaen’s human wife.”

I was a lot more than that you know. In my time, I was a great shaman, much sought after for my wisdom and guidance, as well as my skills with the herbs of the forest, Angeni said.

I apologize, Rie replied. Of course I know that, Greg has told me quite a bit about you, and about your children. But Daenor will not know you as the Shaman.

I understand, Angeni said. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it now and then.

Rie hadn’t expected a sense of humor from her grandmother. How did you find us?

I’ve been watching you for some time now. I’ve watched you grow and change over the years, become a talented warrior and a good person. I must say I’m quite proud.

Thank you, Rie replied. But why haven’t you said anything, until now?

Alive or dead, love does funny things to us. But the truth is, you didn’t have soulspeech until recently and I’ve been busy trying to keep Greg’s spirits alive.

What do you mean? Rie asked.

Garamaen is ready to give up. To give in. He’s tired. I haven’t been willing to leave his side.

Then why now?

He needs your help. You are the only one who can pull him out of this death spiral he’s in.

Rie got a sense of Garamaen lying on the floor of a cave, bound in chains at neck and wrists. She couldn’t fully See the image—there was too much interference from the wolves, but she could feel the despair and resignation.

Don’t you want to be reunited with him again? In the afterlife? Rie asked.

A part of me does, yes, but another part—the larger part I hope—knows he is needed by more than just my soul. The realms will need the guidance of a strong seeker of the truth in the coming years. Sanyaro is more than a title, it is a calling. Don’t you sense it?

Rie blew out a breath. Of course she sensed it. It was a drive to see the weak protected and justice served. To fight chaos with order and discord with harmony. The only real question was whether she was strong enough to live up to the role.

I have only ever seen him like this once before, when he first came to the Human Realm, Angeni continued, not waiting for Rie’s response. Interestingly, he came to us after he’d lost his hand to Fenrir and was infected with the poison. Same as now. I fear the bite does more than strip you of your magic, it strips you of hope and your will to live.

Rie glanced over at Daenor, who rested with his back to a wall and his sword in his lap. Already, his color had improved and his gaze was alert. He must be feeling better if he was keeping watch, protecting her as she communed with the spirit of her grandmother. But the most notable difference was the determination and resolution that marked his expression.

Rie could see what Angeni meant. She’d even felt it herself in that cave, though it hadn’t seemed to affect her as strongly as Daenor.

Returning her gaze, Daenor lifted an eyebrow in question.

Your man is strong. Stronger than most, both physically and emotionally. He will survive. Two more treatments and he’ll be back to full strength, Angeni said.

“Angeni says you’ll survive,” Rie grinned. “You just need another poultice or two.”

“Ah. Good. Looking forward to being burned from the inside out,” Daenor replied.

Rie grinned, the sarcastic remark releasing the tension trapped in her shoulders. It was a good sign that his humor had returned.

“Has your fire returned at all yet?” Rie asked.

Daenor gazed down at the shining steel laying across his legs. A thin flicker of orange flame licked across the metal, then died.

“It’s there, but it feels trapped, like it’s being smothered by a thick blanket.”

Rie set her chin. “We’ll set it free.”

But you must also rest, Angeni warned. Though it’s not magic in the way that the elves use it, the healing still requires a great deal of energy.

So I need to rescue Garamaen urgently, but I also urgently need to cure Daenor and Solvi of their bites, and also rest.

I didn’t say your task would be easy. Rie could hear the laughter in Angeni’s voice, even if she couldn’t see the woman’s smile. Or that it would make sense. But if you want to become Sanyare in truth, you will have to make choices like this and worse. And do it quickly.

Rie pursed her lips and gave a single decisive nod. Then we must prepare.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

IT HAD BEEN two full cycles since they’d arrived at the city within the mountain. While Judith wandered the cavern and played with the baby, the others had rested . . . and grieved. A few more injured barbegazi stumbled in from the battle, but many had been lost. Even knowing their souls would have returned to the Daemon Realm, Judith empathized. The living would never see the dead until their own mortal end. She did her best to reassure and comfort the few who came to her for a peek into the afterlife. It was the least she could do.

The worst part was the bodies of the dead couldn’t yet be recovered. Buried under tons of snow, the barbegazi would have to wait until the final spring melt before they could be found.

On the brighter side, the healing was going well. Judith was impressed with Rie’s skill, though she suspected she had assistance from the Daemon Realm. Technically, Judith should probably report the breach to the Moirai, but she had no proof. She couldn’t see this soul, so she suspected Rie hadn’t called her. Someone else must have. Namely, Lord Garamaen Sanyaro.

And if Sanyaro was still alive and well enough to aid Rie at a distance, Judith didn’t want to interfere. Especially given the nature of Apprentice Sanyare’s task.

It had taken several more treatments, but Rie had finally removed the last traces of Fenrir’s poison from Daenor’s and Solvi’s wounds. Their magic had returned in full, and their physical health had improved with sleep and food.

Even the pixies—the three that had survived—were doing better, flitting and darting around the immense cavern when they weren’t irritating everyone around them. Thanks to the magic of her enchanted khukuri knives, Rie looked fit and fresh, better than anyone else who had fought in the mountain pass.

Now Judith sat on a low stool, surrounded on all sides by allies and warriors. Rie had called the meeting, but the entire city had been on edge since their arrival. It was time to excise the rot in this realm and remove the wicked souls from their stolen homes. If only the others would see it that way. But Judith feared the barbegazi would hesitate to wage open battle on the frost sidhe, and Apprentice Sanyare would choose her mentor over the safety of the realm.

“We’ve taken a breath. We’ve healed and rested. Now it’s time to rescue Garamaen. He’s at the mercy of a sadistic wolf set on vengeance. We can’t leave him there,” Rie said, to no one’s surprise, least of all Judith’s.

Judith studied her ally. The woman’s violet eyes drew you in, made you want to listen, while her obvious physical strength and diplomatic grace captured attention. She stood at the head of the long communal table, her spine straight but without the formal rigidity of so many who pretended to social graces. She exuded charisma. Everyone wanted to help her, Judith included, despite the trouble she caused.

Judith fought not to curl a lip, disgusted at her own reaction. The woman was an ally, yes. Maybe even had the potential to be a friend. But she pretended to greater wisdom and authority than she should claim. Yet, Judith had to admire Rie’s composure, and she wished that she could project that same diplomatic air . . . but these people didn’t follow her the same way they followed the human.

Was it the wings?

Judith placed her hands on the table, drawing attention to her next words. “The way I see it, we have two main problems. First, Fenrir and his wolves have Garamaen, and that must be remedied. But we also have to deal with the general. It is my belief that his body contains two souls, his original born soul, and the essence of one of the wicked that escaped in the Battle of the Arches. We know he returned to Crystal City. We cannot let him resume power.”

“Garamaen needs to be handled first,” Rie argued.

Judith shook her head. The woman was short-sighted. It was how she’d gotten them all into this mess in the first place.

“If the general is allowed to continue as he is, the current situation will only get worse. We can assume he was the one to free Fenrir, and they are working together. It is also reasonable to assume that he doesn’t want Garamaen free, that he sought Fenrir’s help to bring us all here to this realm. He needs to be dealt with first, to eliminate the possibility of once more joining forces with the wolves. If he is what I believe, we need your soultouch to separate the conjoined souls and my sword to send the wicked to its final death.”

“The general has already fallen back behind the walls of his great city. Getting to him will be near impossible,” Rie replied. “And I still can’t See his future. No matter how hard I try to call a vision, it won’t come. Meanwhile, Garamaen is being tortured. If we can free him, he can help us with the general.”

“How do you know he’s being tortured?” Judith asked. “If you can’t See the wolves, can’t lead us to their den, how can you know how he’s being held?”

Rie paused, for once hesitating. “I’m in contact with Angeni, his human wife and my great-great-many-times-great-grandmother. She says he is barely holding on. We don’t have time to waste.”

“You underestimate the wolves,” Vegard interrupted. “They won’t be easy to kill, and they won’t be anxious to let Sanyaro out of their control. This is not just Fenrir’s vengeance, it’s the entire pack who has been exiled. Besides, it’s likely they’ve moved on to a new den. A search could be long and fruitless.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” Rie demanded, an edge rising in her tone. It seemed she wasn’t always calm and composed. Somehow, that was gratifying.

“We set our own trap. Draw Fenrir and the general out,” Judith replied.

Rie lifted a hand and waved away the idea with a shake of her head. “They’ll see through an ambush. The general is too smart to leave his city unguarded.”

“We could force an evacuation, as they’ve done to us,” Vegard suggested. “We have the power to pour an avalanche over the city.”

Rie shook her head. “No, there are too many innocents, there would be too much collateral damage.”

“The frost sidhe are tough, built for the cold as we are,” Vegard argued.

“There are children in that city!” Rie exclaimed. “I will not intentionally harm innocents.”

“What if we attack from the inside?” Judith asked, a grin lifting the corners of her lips. Aegasson was in that city somewhere, gathering supporters to end the general’s madness. She would need to convince him to support Rie, at least enough to join his efforts with their own. But they all had the same purpose in mind. Surely he would see the plan’s logic.

“We could scare the people into hiding—into safety—then remove the protection of the army and draw Maethor out on his own.”

Rie’s gaze narrowed with intrigue. “And how would we achieve that?”

“I met a man in the frost sidhe prison—”

“What were you doing in prison?” Rie interrupted.

“I was nearly shot down trying to return Bren to her people. But that’s beside the point. The point is, I know someone who is already working against the general, building support to overthrow his leadership of the city. If we find him, perhaps we can pinch Maethor between our forces and the mutiny from within.”

“Do you know where to find this man?”

Judith turned to look at Vegard. “Felman gave him a safe house in exchange for the information about Maethor’s plans. Do you know where your grandfather would have put him?”

Vegard shrugged. “We can ask him.”

“So we find this frost sidhe rebel, we convince him to help us, and then what?” Rie asked. “It still doesn’t solve the problem of rescuing Garamaen. Without Sanyaro in his hall, peace between the nine realms is lost.”

“Once the wicked soul is removed from his mortal body, Maethor will theoretically return to his prior self. If that’s true, he can be reasoned with, and surely convinced to turn against Fenrir,” Judith replied.

Rie frowned. “There is no love lost between me and the frost sidhe. I doubt Maethor will choose to aid me or Garamaen in any way after the loss at the Arches.”

Daenor smirked at Rie, a teasing light in his eyes. “After months becoming entwined with an invader that you called forth, you might be surprised what he would do to prevent that from happening again.”

Judith stiffened, horrified that they would even consider using the souls of the wicked to torture the living. “The souls serving their time in the afterlife must remain there until called for rebirth by the Moirai. There will be no second chances if Rie disrupts the system again.”

“Yes, yes. I know that. But he doesn’t.” A lopsided grin tugged at Daenor’s cheek. “A man will do many things to save his soul.”

***

While Rie and Daenor prepared for the confrontation at the gate, Judith snuck back into the city through the underground tunnels that acted as the barbegazi thoroughfare. Judith knew Vegard was careful to choose the routes with the widest passages, but she was anxious to leave the confines of stone and stretch her wings in the sky once more. Already, it had been nearly a week since she’d seen daylight. She was beginning to forget what it felt like to have the sun on her feathers.

Vegard tapped three times on the ceiling. Then twice more. And three times again. Clearly some kind of code, because a trapdoor opened above their heads. Aegasson peered down into the opening, sword bare in his hand, but not pointed at them. Not yet.

His eyes narrowed. “Judith. I’d assumed you were dead since you clearly weren’t successful on the mountain. Why, in all the nine, are you here?”

“I need your help,” Judith said, hands held out to the side in a show of non-aggression.

“I’ll be leaving now,” Vegard said, turning to head back the way they’d arrived. “I hope I see you after all this is done, Judith.”

Within heartbeats he disappeared down the dark tunnel.

Aegasson kept his gaze trained on Judith, hardly deigning to notice the barbegazi’s departure.

“May I come up?” Judith asked, deciding polite would be the proper way to handle this meeting.

Aegasson offered a hand, pulling her into the enclosed goat shed while continuing to speak. “I told you, I won’t aid the enemy, even when the enemy is also my enemy’s enemy. It doesn’t make us friends.”

Lean muscles flexed beneath a thin gray shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest and lifted a white-blond eyebrow at his uninvited guest.

Judith stretched, ruffling her feathers to relieve some of the tension from the dark confined space. Unlike most barbegazi buildings, the goat shed had been built to accommodate the height of the frost sidhe, so Judith didn’t have to duck either, which was a nice change.

“I understand that,” Judith replied, looking around the small room. “I do. I understand that the frozen army lost a lot of good people in the Battle of the Arches, but that wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t even Apprentice Sanyare’s fault. She was trying to end the war before it began, trying to stop a potential genocide and enslavement of the human race. She was naive and reckless, but not callous.”

A narrow cot was pushed against one wall, a large pack stashed beneath. The frost sidhe’s armor was carefully arranged at the foot of the bed.

Judith’s attention flipped back to her host.

“Apprentice Sanyare is a fool, and too young to hold such power. The humans were never at risk. Their technology has moved beyond us,” Aegasson replied.

“Regardless, it was Othin’s decision to form an army. It was Thanur’s decision to join him. It was Maethor’s choice to follow. Rie did what she felt was necessary to protect an entire race of people.”

With a start, Judith realized she actually believed that. She felt some of her own suppressed vitriol toward the girl dissipate.

“We are bannermen to the Upper Realm. We cannot survive without their imports. We had no choice but to support Othin in his war,” Aegasson said.

“There is always a choice. Now you have a choice. Help me return Maethor to his sanity and free Sanyaro from the wolf’s den. Save this realm from the destruction of its leaders.”

“And how would I do that?”

“You said you had men and women who would follow you, who saw Chaos coming and would choose you over General Maethor. Did you find them?”

Aegasson’s eyes narrowed. “And if I say yes?”

“Then call them to arms. Tell as many non-combatants as you can—as you trust—to evacuate the city or find shelter underground. We attack at midday tomorrow.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

RIE’S CLOAK SWIRLED around her legs, the wind tugged at her hood. The city gates were closed, as expected. The archers on the wall, also expected. What wasn’t expected were the pair of wolves standing on either side of Maethor.

“That explains my lack of visions,” Rie murmured, her khukuri blades already held in her hands.

“It certainly does,” Daenor replied. His expression was grim and determined, his knuckles white on the hilt of his blade.

The general watched them from the top of the wall. The wolves snarled, the sound carrying over the four hundred yards or so between the city wall and the duo with bared steel.

“Lay down your weapons and accept defeat,” Maethor taunted. “You’ll never make it to the portal in time to flee this realm. You are trapped.”

Rie frowned. This wasn’t how she’d imagined this confrontation. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, but she also hadn’t anticipated standing in front of the gates like a fool for bells.

“Where is Judith?” Rie mumbled, keeping her words low for Daenor’s ears alone. Judith was supposed to raise the signal that would order the barbegazi avalanche that would foment chaos in the city. Rie and Daenor were only supposed to be a short-term distraction to keep Maethor’s attention away from the people at his back.

“She’d better get here soon,” Daenor replied. “If I stand still much longer, I may become one of those ice statues the frost sidhe use to decorate their buildings.” He paused. “You don’t think they’re actual people, frozen solid as punishment, do you?”

“I doubt it. The ice looked too clear and blue to have a solid core.”

Unlike the wall. Solid steel, Garamaen had said. And buried as deep as it was tall. There would be no breaking down the obstacle.

“You’re probably right. That’s a bit too gruesome for the common folk, anyway. But I wouldn’t put it past Maethor.”

“He’s being ridden by a wicked soul,” Rie replied. “A soul that may have spent a thousand lifetimes in torment, denied a new body and a second chance.”

“His choices in his past set his future.”

“Perhaps. But now we have to deal with him.”

“Can you sense the wicked soul?” Daenor asked, the question curious, not judgmental. “I mean, are you sure there are two souls in there and we can’t just outright kill this guy? Because that would certainly be much easier.”

“Not at this distance,” Rie replied. They were just out of range of the archers, but that also meant they were out of range of her soul-speaking abilities.

“Too bad.”

It would make everything easier if they didn’t have to get close to Maethor to exorcise the wicked from his system. But Rie didn’t know how to send a soul back to the Daemon Realm, except by touch, and even then, she didn’t know how she would determine which soul was righteous—or at least right—and which should be removed.

Soulspeech and Soultouch. That’s what Judith had said was required for this job.

“I’m giving her a quarter of a bell,” Rie said.

“And then what? We turn tail and run? Or do we rush headlong into an ambush?”

Rie blew out a breath. Her impatience was getting the best of her. “You’re the one who was complaining of turning into an ice statue.”

“Just small talk. I’ve been burning a bit of extra heat, and this coat is actually quite warm. All things considered, I’m doing all right. How’s your shoulder?”

“Good enough.” Rie rolled her shoulders back and down, releasing the tension from the mostly healed right side. The muscle remained a bit tight but wouldn’t hinder her movements in a fight. “But we can’t stay out here forever. They have to be wondering what we’re doing.”

The sun had risen high above the city, the appointed time for Judith’s arrival. Midday. And already it began its descent. At least they had one thing going for them, the sky was clear and the sun was bright. Maybe even too bright, its reflection sparkling in the white of snow and city.

“There,” Daenor said, nodding his head toward the bright blue sky.

The outline of gray wings against a fluffy white cloud. It was the signal. The time had finally arrived.

Daenor held out his sword in a straight line from his body, lighting the blade with bright red and orange flame. A second signal to the barbegazi that all was ready. Rie’s own khukuri knives twirled, anxious to slice their way through battle.

The earth began a slow rumble, the sound like a distant thunderstorm that refused to end.

Rie jogged forward as the ground began to shift and shake. A path cleared before her, the snow sifting away from her feet even as she picked up the pace. She let out a wild war cry, running headlong toward the wall and its occupants.

The first of the archers let loose their arrows. With a thought, the shafts burst into flame, burning away to ash before coming close to their targets.

Three hundred lengths. Two hundred.

The earth shook harder, the wall itself seeming to undulate and sway from the movement at its foundation. Rie and Daenor couldn’t defeat such an engineering marvel, but the barbegazi’s strength was in the earth. Strategic tunneling and an earthquake, and the wall began to crumble.

An archer fell, tumbling over the side of the violently shaking edifice. Screams as a section of steel caved into a sinkhole that had been excavated beneath it. The arrows stopped flying, the frost sidhe more concerned with finding a way off their deathtrap than in attacking the two people sprinting toward them.

The final one hundred-length dash.

Almost no one was left standing on the steel and ice structure of the city’s fortification. At least five lengths of wall had completely fallen into the earth, another ten were bent and misshapen.

The earth stopped shaking. A distant crack echoed down from the mountain peak, the sound like a gunshot. The clock had started.

Rie and Daenor dodged their way over and between dazed bodies and newly exposed steel struts. But Rie had lost sight of the general. She had to find him before the snow buried them all.

***

Judith swooped and dove, spinning between buildings and away from arrows aimed at her heart as she followed Aegasson through the streets toward the rear gate of the city. It was the same gate she had entered through with baby Bren, the same gate that had been barred from the inside.

The entire city was shaking now, the ice buildings quickly cracking and falling to the earth. Judith regretted seeing the civilians struggling to escape the chaos, unable to help them. She prayed the gods would be kind and grant them safety, or if not, at least a mercifully quick death.

Already, she heard the voices of the dead filling her ears, and the quick silence of the reapers coming to claim their charges.

But Judith followed Aegasson and the two dozen men and women who had chosen to side with him against their general. All had prepared for this moment. They knew the plan. And yet, Judith could see the concern flitting through their eyes.

“Watch out!” Judith shouted as a smaller building tumbled to the side, toward the soldiers on the run.

A woman wearing the silver battle regalia of the frozen army lifted a hand, blasting the building with a gust of icy wind that propped the structure long enough for the soldiers to pass and the civilians to get clear. The building crashed to the ground behind them.

The ground was shaking now, so strongly Judith could see the waves in the earth. Fast on their feet and agile despite the heavy plated armor they wore, the small unit of warriors spun and dodged, hurdling the obstructions in their path. Judith had to admit she was impressed. If she were forced to run instead of fly, she would surely end up on her hands and knees from the force of the earth’s movement.

Luckily, she had wings. Strong wings that would carry her through even the harshest gale. Or so she told herself.

A city block from the wall, the first of Maethor’s soldiers was found. Struggling to stand upright and maintain his post, he almost didn’t see Aegasson until the rebel was upon him. The soldier managed to shout a warning before Aegasson’s blade found a gap between helmet and chest plate. A single stroke and the man was choking on his own blood.

Judith grimaced, shying away from the evidence of the destruction her choices had wrought.

This was war. The wicked soul occupying Maethor’s body to blame. He had chosen this path, not her, not the soldiers at her side. They only fought for what they believed in, for the safety and security of their realm.

An archer took aim at Aegasson. On instinct, Judith dove, knocking the bow away. The archer shouted and tumbled to the ground, shock written on his face.

They all had forgotten to look up.

Judith slid to a stop on the ground, her wings lifted above her back. When the man moved to rise, she swatted him back with her wing. Grabbing his bow, she broke the weapon in half, tossing it aside.

“Go,” she said. “Take your family and run. This won’t end well.”

The man nodded, scrabbling backward on his hands like a crab.

The shaking grew stronger. Men and woman of the guard came running from all directions. Judith could hardly keep her feet. She jumped, her wings thrusting through the air with great downbeats.

Aegasson and his team struggled against the crowd, letting those who made no move to attack pass, and quickly dispatching the few who would have fought. They were looking for one man. One man alone.

But where had Maethor gone?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“THERE,” RIE SHOUTED as her khukuri slid up and between the plates on a soldier’s chest armor. She spun to the side, pulling the knife free as she spotted the general beneath her opponent’s armpit.

The soldier she fought gasped but didn’t stop. His sword came around in an uncontrolled swing aimed at Rie’s shoulder, but she easily ducked out of the way. A quick left-right low-high slice from her knives, and a kick to his backside sent the man tumbling into the blood-stained snow. He didn’t get up.

General Maethor had moved away from the wall, keeping a distance from the sinkhole that had dropped the steel into the ground. He’d positioned himself with his back to a single-story stone building rimed with icicles and frost, but otherwise without the decoration of the central ice sculptures the frost sidhe preferred.

If it weren’t for the sidhe-appropriate height, Rie might have thought it was a barbegazi building. The pale white face with wide blue eyes and high pointed ears that peered out of the corner window proved otherwise.

Rie scowled. Just what she needed: innocent bystanders within reach of a wicked soul bent on her destruction.

A wide stone avenue, slick with snow and ice, separated Rie from her quarry. That, and the pair of wolves plus a perimeter of guards. The general was well-protected. He glared at Rie through the veil of his defenses.

Rie checked the magical plane, searching for any sign of the dual-soul nature that Judith believed he possessed. As soon as his aura came into view, the truth was obvious. The original soul was slowly being suffocated, the cool clear blue of his energy blanketed by a gray film that squeezed and twisted the life out of the body. Though she couldn’t see the souls themselves, Rie knew without a doubt that the original soul had been strong enough to withstand being ejected from its mortal trappings by the invader, but not strong enough to resist the lure of the wicked soul’s desires. The original soul was being manipulated and changed.

Now, the body that was once Maethor, snapped its teeth and pointed its sword at Rie. A spear of ice shot toward her. Rie sent heat into the water even as she dodged out of the way. The icy projectile exploded into a heavy mist, moments before reaching the space Rie had occupied.

Another projectile—this one aimed at Daenor’s back—followed the first. Rie’s magic wasn’t fast enough to intercept this one, but Daenor was. Almost without looking, he twisted his flaming sword in the air, cutting the icy shaft through the middle while he bowed from the waist. The two pieces split apart, sailing harmlessly overhead.

The face in the window disappeared. At least that was one less body to worry about for the moment. They would still need to get Maethor away from the building and out into the open. Rie needed to get close enough to touch Maethor, and Judith needed space to swing her giant sword without risking collateral damage.

“Where is Judith?” Daenor asked the question that had been poised at the tip of Rie’s tongue.

The angel should have been here by now. Could something have gone wrong?

A volley of arrows shot toward Rie and Daenor from the roof of a nearby building. Rie burned them to ash, shooting a fireball of her own toward their position. She didn’t have much fuel, but she had managed to gather a few small branches for ranged warfare, using them sparingly in cases when the opponents were otherwise out of reach.

An unnatural gust of icy wind blasted Rie in the face, sending her skittering backward into Daenor, who caught her with a hand on her waist. Together, they turned to face the new threat.

The pounding of footsteps followed the path of the wind, a squadron of at least twenty frost sidhe men and women running up the street toward them. Some wore the armor of the frozen army, others were dressed in simple leathers and furs. All wore expressions of deadly intent.

The beating of wings in the air, followed by the scattering of snow, and Judith landed between the new force and Rie’s position.

Rie grinned. These weren’t enemy combatants, as she’d feared, they were allies. She turned her gaze back to the general. His eyes had grown wide, and his mouth moved with words Rie’s couldn’t hear. His head twitched to the side, then back.

A few of his guards looked over their shoulders at their leader. Their brows furrowed and frowns turned down the corners of their lips. Whatever he was saying, it didn’t seem to give them confidence.

The leader of the eccentric mix of frost sidhe behind Judith stepped forward. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and his gaze never drifted from the possessed leader of the frost sidhe.

“Look at him,” he murmured. “What is he doing?”

Maethor’s head turned from side to side in a rapid twist that had grown even more pronounced in the last moments. His mouth moved and spittle flew from his lips. The guards wearing concerned expressions rose from their ready stances and stepped away.

“What’s happening?” Rie couldn’t hear anything over the rumble from the mountain.

Which reminded her, time was limited. The barbegazi had given them just half a bell before the wall of snow reached them. Half that time was already gone. They needed to be inside the tunnel before the city was buried.

Rie’s hands tightened on her knives. “It’s now or never.”

With the wolves so close and involved in the battle, she couldn’t read the future. She didn’t know the best action for the best outcome. She was running blind. But she’d had a lifetime of experience going with her gut instinct and she trusted it wouldn’t fail her now.

She raced forward, Daenor and Aegasson quick on her heels. Judith launched into the air. Rie pushed all possible speed into her legs, letting her subconscious mind direct her steps. Ice spear after ice spear sailed in her direction. Rie ducked and dodged, staying out of the way, not bothering to interfere or intercept.

The first guard’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Rie used a pile of debris as a launching pad, springing up into the air and twisting over the guard’s head. Her khukuri sliced out, finding a seam in the plate armor. Damage, not fatal. She landed inside the circle.

Another sword swinging toward her unprotected neck.

Rie turned, ducked under the blade. The frost sidhe wielding the weapon bared his teeth at her in a vicious snarl, sanity having fled his gaze. Twisting her body, Rie coiled for her next strike, blades whipping out in a centrifugal motion that added speed and momentum. The soldier brought his weapon back up just in time, deflecting the weighted blow from Rie’s knives. He threw an elbow into Rie’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her lungs and sending her staggering backward several steps.

The soldier lunged forward to pursue, but Daenor was there, his sword lit with blue flame. He stabbed straight through the leather and silver plate, his sword melting through the layers to reach the spine. The soldier was stopped in his tracks, head and arms falling forward with the force of the blow. Daenor twisted to the side, bringing his weapon up at an angle. Cauterized from the heat of the blade’s passing, the man’s waist gaped wide, his internal organs no longer attached to the rest of his body.

“Buka will prevail,” the man gasped.

Rie touched his foot where he fell. A flash of fear and torment, darkness and despair. He was a wicked soul. The reapers wouldn’t be coming for this one. Concentrating on the soulstrings, Rie snapped the final lines with a thought and sent the miserable creature back to the Hollows where he belonged.

Rie sought the magical plane, viewing the dim gray auras of the formerly damned. Every single one of the remaining soldiers on Maethor’s side of the field had been possessed at the Battle of the Arches. The rest had either fled the battle at the first shaking of the earth, chosen to leave their warped and twisted commander to his fate, or lay dead or dying in the snow.

Already engaged with another of the soldiers, Daenor spun his way through the fatal steps of the battle dance. Aegasson and his mages stopped the magical attacks before they could materialize. Judith fought on the rooftop, her wings giving her the ability to move from building to building without losing her ground.

Rie allowed herself one single heartbeat to regret the innocent lives lost, then set all emotion aside. To save the rest of this realm, she had a job to do.

Rie found her feet and began moving toward Maethor. Another frost sidhe lunged from the left. Rie lit the fur he wore around his collar on fire with a thought. The man screamed, his hands coming up to slap at the blaze around his throat. With a quick step into his range, Rie sent his twisted soul back to the Daemon Realm where it belonged. The empty shell of a body dropped to the ground, unmoving.

Rie surrendered herself to the battle, letting her subconscious mind direct her movements. Duck, spin, slice. Another wicked returned to the Hollows. Roll, stay low, block a strike, kick the knee, man down.

She lost her cloak somewhere in the mess, the buckle releasing its hold. No matter, the heat of battle was on her, the cloak unnecessary. Her black amlug leather armor steamed in the cold, khukuri knives glowed with the imbued magic of their enchantments. Few warriors still stood with Maethor, and those that did were grinning with their own bloodlust.

Step, twist, dodge. Reverse grip downward slice through flesh to bone. A touch to the arm and the soul was gone.

Aegasson stepped up to Rie’s left shoulder, his aura frigid with the crystalline reflection of the ice in his magic. Daenor stood to her right, his heat penetrating the cold even from a distance. Only the wolves stood between them and Maethor, whose gaze seemed poised to send more icy daggers in Rie’s direction.

“Kill them,” Maethor commanded the wolves, pointing at Rie with a bony finger. “Take their magic and rend them limb from limb.”

The wolves stepped forward, their snarls audible even over the clash of weapons, and the gale and blaze of elemental magics.

“What are you, glorified attack dogs?” Rie taunted the wolves. She spun her knives in casual preparation. “Will you respond to every whim of your frost sidhe master? Play fetch and drop his slippers at his feet?”

The growls grew louder while the ruff around their necks puffed out in an aggressive display of dominance.

“Would you serve the frost sidhe, as the barbegazi have done? Let them rule over you?” Rie continued. She knew that wasn’t entirely fair to the barbegazi people who had only sought peace and security, but the comparison to their enemy might sway the wolves against their current course.

Black Sock remained poised for a fight, but Lil’s head came up, her eyes narrowed. Though her lip still curled, the snarl was subdued and her ears turned in thoughtful consideration.

Had Rie influenced the small female? Was she rethinking the wisdom of the pack?

“I order you to kill her now!” Maethor shouted.

While Lil hesitated, Black Sock lunged, his lips pulled back in a snarl. Rie parried with the flat of her blade, slapping his muzzle out of the way with her left hand as she sliced across his neck with her right. Fur flew, no blood.

“For Niinka!” Gikl shouted in his bell-like voice. He launched himself from his hidden position on Daenor’s vest, arrowing directly into the wolf’s black and gray fur. Hiinto and Possn were close behind. Where Rie’s blades had missed the skin, the pixies wouldn’t be deterred. No more than three heartbeats later, blood sprayed in a wide arc from the wolf’s neck. Rie didn’t wait to see what else they would do to the creature that had killed the leader of their swarm. As much as she wanted to witness pixie justice, Rie had more pressing concerns.

She sprinted forward, rushing toward Maethor with his blade of ice. Lil stayed out of the fight, turning for the gap in the wall and the freedom of the mountain. A small corner of Rie’s mind prayed she could outrun the avalanche coming toward them. The rest of her attention focused on the enemy before her.

“Judith!” Rie screamed, calling in her ally. Their orders were to send this soul to the nothing, to keep him from causing further damage to the Hollows or any of the nine realms. The nine realms would be watching. She wouldn’t let him escape.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

JUDITH SPUN, KNOCKING the archer from his perch on the wall with the well-placed blade of a wing.

“Judith!” Rie shouted from the ground below.

The woman was sprinting toward Maethor, the way momentarily clear, Daenor and Aegasson fast on her heels. But to defeat Maethor, to complete their mission, Rie needed Judith’s sword. Steel alone would not send his soul to the nothing. Even the enchanted blades the other warriors carried wouldn’t harm the wicked creature sitting inside the frost sidhe’s body.

With two quick steps, Judith launched herself off the building, diving down in a direct line to the general.

Maethor’s neck twitched, bending at an odd angle. His face contorted into a visceral grimace that showed too many teeth for the humanoid form. His hands shot out, palms facing outward. A wall of ice exploded upward in front of Judith. She pulled up, but she was going too fast. She hurtled headlong into the solid construct. Her body crumpled to the ground, stunned.

Shaking off the shock and the bruises, Judith looked up at the wall. The ice rose high into the air, gusts of wind carrying swirls of white from the surface. Judith leaped, pushing her body straight up with great downstrokes of her wings. The wall kept growing, outpacing her efforts to rise above and over the edge.

Eventually, Maethor would run out of sky, but there had to be a better way to reach him. Judith circled around, taking the larger view. The wall rose in a semi-circle around Maethor. It separated him from the rest of the world, but he had nowhere to go. There was no retreat unless he could jump three stories in a single bound.

Unless . . . there was a chance he could raise himself up on the same ice he used to block their view, similar to what the barbegazi had done in the mountain pass. Could the wall simply be a distraction, not a last-ditch defense?

Judith swooped to the ground. Daenor pressed his sword to the wall, using the heat of the flaming steel to melt the ice and cut his way through. Rie glared at the wall with furious intensity, as if she were trying to melt the ice with her mind. If so, it wasn’t working.

Aegasson glanced over his shoulder as Judith landed. “The coward refuses to fight. But his time will come. He can’t hold the wall forever.”

“He doesn’t need to,” Judith replied. “He’s going to go over the city wall on the other side.”

All three heads snapped in Judith’s direction. Her nerves jangled, but she held her ground. She was sure she was right.

“If he can build a wall like this in an instant, he can certainly lift himself over the lower city wall on a ledge of ice and snow.”

“Where is he getting the fuel?” Daenor asked.

A rumble like a fast-approaching stampede of animals had them all turning toward the sink hole and the gap in the wall.

“Our time is up,” Rie proclaimed. “Into the tunnels, now!”

There was no chance Judith was going back underground. While Rie and the sidhe sprinted toward the sinkhole and the hidden escape route beneath the city, Judith lifted into the air. As she crested the city wall, her eyes widened. A wall of snow raced toward them, dwarfing the surrounding buildings and shattering anything and everything in its way. The barbegazi had said they would bury the city, but their explanation hadn’t been forceful enough.

This was a killer. This was the hand of Perses, reaching down to brush the city away. It was like watching the end of the world.

Judith prayed to all the gods, asking for speed to bring Rie and her comrades to safety, even as she pushed herself higher into the sky.

The snow reached the sinkhole first. Amazed, Judith watched as Aegasson lifted a single hand toward the avalanche while still running, two of his warriors doing the same. The snow rose up in a dome over the hole, as if propped by a clear glass wall. It gave the team another breath to jump into the hole and escape underground.

Relieved that the sidhe were safe—or at least safe enough for now—Judith pumped her wings. She knew exactly when the frost sidhe released their hold on the ice, for the snow suddenly poured over the hole like a wave breaking over a rocky beach.

A cloud billowed up from the ground, clumps of snow and ice pluming into the air. The cracking of ice was deafening. Entire buildings crumbled beneath the weight of the mountain’s offering. Judith rushed to get above the destruction, angling away from the leading edge of the flow, but the taller buildings were in her way and the cloud rose hundreds of feet into the air. Soon surrounded by the airy plumes of the avalanche, she couldn’t see anything around her. All she could do was push herself ever higher, trusting the strength of her wings to carry her out of the white nightmare.

Breath burning through her lungs, Judith threw the last of her reserves into the power of her wings. Gaining a few dozen more feet of altitude, she was finally clear of the threat. She circled above the city, horrified. At least half of the frost sidhe buildings were knocked over or completely covered by white powder. She prayed once more, that any innocent civilians left in the city had been spared, or at least had the means to survive or escape the devastation. They were frost sidhe, after all.

Turning with a final sad glance at the crystalline edifices now in ruins, Judith headed out over the plain to find the wayward wicked soul who thought to avoid the Moirai’s justice.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

RIE JUMPED DOWN into the sinkhole, awed by the power of Aegasson and his frost sidhe mages. Together they held back the edge of the avalanche, preventing the snow from rushing into their escape hatch before they did. She didn’t pause, taking the drop in stride and sprinting away from the opening. Their power was impressive, but the power of the avalanche was much greater. Eventually, the barricade would fall.

Though the initial sinkhole cavern was larger than expected, the subsequent escape tunnel was not. The barbegazi hadn’t had the time—or probably the inclination—to expand the tunnel for their larger-sized guests. As the ceiling dropped and the floor rose to meet it, Rie was forced to crouch, running bent over at the waist, hands brushing against both walls for support. At least this tunnel wasn’t as small as the escape hatch they’d used out the northern gate when they first arrived.

She hustled down the passageway, Daenor, Aegasson, and the rest of the frost sidhe close behind. As soon as the masters of the ice released their hold, the entire sinkhole filled in behind them. There was no turning back now.

“What is this place?” One of the female frost sidhe asked.

Rie had forgotten that the frost sidhe didn’t know of the existence of the underground tunnels. She hoped Felman and Vegard weren’t too upset that their secret was exposed. After all, Aegasson was helping them defeat Maethor and Fenrir.

Rie was shocked when Aegasson beat her to an explanation. “Welcome to the tunnels of the barbegazi.”

“I’d heard rumors, but never believed them,” an unfamiliar man’s awed voice replied.

“You knew of this?” the woman asked. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I swore an oath.” There was no inflection in Aegasson’s voice, yet Rie knew if the barbegazi had given him access to the tunnel, there must have been more to it than that. Felman was too shrewd a politician to give this big a secret away for free.

Rie kept crawling. They had more important things to worry about than the barbegazi secrets and Aegasson’s deal. If Maethor had managed to escape the city and outrun the avalanche, he would be headed in this direction. They just needed to find an exit from the tunnels that wasn’t completely obstructed by snow.

“How many of your team made it?” Daenor asked, his voice controlled.

Rie glanced over her shoulder to try to read his expression, but he shook his head. Was he uncertain of their companions? Angry at their inability to bring down Maethor? Hopeful that their small army would be big enough to do some damage? Just doing his job? She couldn’t tell.

“Five made it to the tunnel, another three ran for one of the buildings. They may have survived. The rest . . . I’m not sure,” Aegasson admitted, his tone grim.

“It’ll have to be enough,” Daenor replied.

“Enough for what?” Aegasson asked.

“We’re going to take back the mountain. All of it.”

“The barbegazi will help,” Rie said. This was their home. Their environment. They would do what was necessary to reclaim their lands.

The question was, would the frost sidhe be allowed to remain? The barbegazi were redisovering their strength. Since they were no longer content to be ruled, Rie had a feeling Aegasson’s actions would determine that outcome.

Finding a rhythm in the crouched run, Rie’s breath grew steady, her pulse pounding beneath her skin with a silent drumbeat only she could hear. The sound was reassuring.

Movement in the shadows up ahead brought her up short. Daenor, quick on his feet as always, stopped before knocking her over, but placed a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. The others crowded in behind him.

“What is it?” Daenor whispered.

Rie shook her head, lifting her fingers to her lips in the universal sign for quiet. A shuffling, followed by a grunt met her ears.

“This way,” a voice said from the darkness. “Help us clear the snow, and you have an exit.”

“Vegard?” Rie asked, surprised. They’d said he and a team would be ready to help if necessary, but Rie hadn’t expected him to anticipate their movements. Yet here he stood, in front of a square opening in the wall. The stone slab cover had been pulled into the tunnel from the surface, but only a trickle of snow had fallen into the space. The rest was so tightly packed Rie thought it would take a mechanical chisel to break it free.

“Who else would it be?”

“How did you know we would be here?”

“Calculated guess. We watched the battle from a lookout point,” Vegard said. “Maethor crossed the wall like it wasn’t even there, then fled on foot. When the avalanche hit, he was already on the outskirts of the runout zone.”

“So he got away,” Rie said. It was a statement that hit to the heart of the matter, and chilled Rie to the bone. As if she weren’t already cold enough.

“We’re tracking him, now,” Vegard replied. “He won’t get too far too fast on foot. He doesn’t even have his skis. But we’d still better hurry. The only problem is the avalanche buried our best exit.”

“Allow me,” Aegasson said.

Vegard peered over Rie’s shoulder, past Daenor, to meet the gray-blue eyes of the frost sidhe commander.

“Hello again, Aegasson.” The words were cordial, but cold. Rie could sense the underlying suspicion and distrust, but Vegard motioned Aegasson forward toward the wall, then gestured up at the hole in the ceiling. “I hope you’re strong enough to shift the snow up there.”

With a tilt of his head and a negligent flick of his fingers, Aegasson cleared the snow from the exit.

“I am strong enough for more than snow removal.”

Vegard grunted. “You’ll need to be. Maethor is running, but his personality seems to be fracturing.”

“He’s been insane ever since the battle. This is no surprise,” Aegasson replied.

“Perhaps not, but if Judith is right—and I think she is—then his behavior will become even more volatile, and more dangerous,” Rie said.

“He is the commander of the frozen army,” Aegasson replied. “He’s always been dangerous.”

“But where he might have hesitated to kill his own soldiers, he won’t any longer. The wicked soul inside has grown too strong and doesn’t care about the men and women under his command,” Daenor replied. “Just look at how he used them in the city, pitted them against you in a petty civil war.”

“All I’m saying is be careful,” Vegard added.

“You’re not coming with us?” Rie asked, her brow furrowing. How were they supposed to track Maethor without the assistance of the barbegazi?

“His tracks will be easy to see in the snow, and I can’t risk any more of my men and women. As it is, we will need to help rebuild the city and bring back the goats.”

Always with the goats.

“You will help rebuild?” Aegasson asked, shock written in his tone.

“It’s our city too, our livelihood is in that market as much as yours. Of course we’ll help rebuild.”

“But you destroyed it. You set off the avalanche.”

“Yes, but the Crystal City can be rebuilt. And the barbegazi rock structures remain. Why do you think we constructed our buildings out of durable stone instead of the pretty but less functional ice?”

Aegasson paused, confusion and uncertainty lacing his next words. “Because you don’t value art? Because you don’t have the ability to craft structures out of ice? I hardly thought about it before.”

“You might want to change that,” Vegard replied. “In any case, we already have people in the city helping to dig out the survivors. I trust you’ll be able to get rid of Maethor once and for all.”

“We won’t fail you this time,” Rie swore. Sanyaro’s mistakes would not be repeated. Nor would her own.

“I’d appreciate it. And Aegasson?” Vegard asked.

“Yes?”

“Our deal still stands. Once Maethor is dealt with, you need to meet with my grandfather. He has some words for you.”

Aegasson lifted his chin in imperious disdain. “I hold to my oaths.”

A stamp and a snort outside the opening had them all turning back to the tunnel exit.

“Your mounts have arrived. You need to get moving.”

Pulling herself out of the tunnel with a push from behind from Daenor, Rie blinked against the sudden bright white light. Standing in front of her in a line were six of the giant harts that had pulled the sled on the mountain. The nearest shook his head at Rie, showcasing a rack of fifteen points and snorting a billow of steam into the frozen air.

The beast stamped his hoof once more. A young boy stepped out from behind the hart.

“He’s ready when you are,” the boy said, not meeting Rie’s gaze. “Hop on and he’ll track the general across the snow.”

“How far has he gotten?” Daenor asked, next to pull himself out of the ground.

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know, but Sunny will get you there.”

Knowing how fast the harts could run, Rie didn’t doubt it, especially if Maethor remained on foot. Even with his magic solidifying the ice, he wouldn’t be able to run faster than the beasts who were born and bred for this land.

“Thank you,” Rie said. Dropping her hands to her sides, Rie took a running start and leaped onto the hart’s back. Sunny didn’t flinch, didn’t even twitch. Not until she settled did he move a muscle. But as soon as everyone was sitting and secure, the herd sprang forward as if launched from a cannon.

Rie leaned forward, grinning into the fur of Sunny’s neck. She hadn’t been able to appreciate the ride the first time, sick and injured and exhausted as she’d been. But now, chasing after the enemy who stood alone, Rie let the exhilaration wash over her along with the biting wind.

They raced up the slope of the mountain, following Maethor’s footsteps like beacons in the fresh snow. He hadn’t even bothered to attempt to conceal his passing. A rookie mistake. Or, more likely, the unknowing mistake of the wicked soul. Rie took it as a sign that the original soul’s influence was fading. That may or may not be a good thing.

A shadow crossed the snow in front of her, the outline of wings. Rie glanced up. Judith flew overhead, her wings pushing her forward in pursuit of their common goal. The angel tipped her wings in greeting, but there was no point in speaking. Nothing would be heard over the pounding of hooves on ice and the bitter wind.

In less than a half bell, they could see Maethor’s outline on the horizon. The harts were gaining on him. But where was he going? He’d chosen to flee uphill instead of down, which meant he was running against gravity. Why? Could he be hoping to make it to Fenrir’s lair? Were the wolves his only remaining allies?

Gods above, she hoped so.

After all that had happened, after all that he’d put her through, she was ready to end this. To end him.

The wicked would go to the nothing, and the innocent would be set free.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CLOSE ENOUGH NOW to see the breath puffing into the air in front of Maethor’s face, Rie urged her hart onward ever faster. The animal’s muscles moved with sinuous grace beneath her, his breath pouring from his mouth in steady grunts.

“Let’s get him,” she said. “Almost there.” The words were lost in the wind, but the hart still seemed to understand them. She could feel him push harder, springing forward with the last of his energy reserves.

Maethor in turn redoubled his efforts. With every step, snow billowed from his feet like the wake behind a fast moving boat, creating stiff moguls in the landscape. If Rie had been running, it would have certainly tripped her up, but the hart jumped the obstacles like they didn’t even exist. His stride never faltered or changed. Rie spared a quick glance over her shoulder to see how the rest of the herd was doing, but every single animal moved smoothly over and around the snow pack, keeping pace with their leader.

Rie grinned. Maethor was running out of tricks.

On that thought, Judith swooped in for the strike. Head down and wings arched high overhead, she slammed into Maethor with a powerful kick that was quickly becoming her signature move. With a powerful thrust of her wings she was back up into the air.

Knocked to his side with the power of the strike, Maethor was slow to get up. He hadn’t remembered to look up. Before he could rise, Rie jumped from the back of her hart and tackled the frost sidhe into the snow.

Her vision shifted to the magical plane. The dual-souls were deeply entwined, their essences touching and intermingling. It almost looked as if the souls had chosen to merge, blending their energy together.

With a grip on the back of Maethor’s neck, Rie mentally yanked the two souls apart, watching them writhe and spin. Maethor’s body contorted and he let out a blood-curdling scream of pain and torment. Rie didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Too much was at stake.

Daenor and Aegasson jumped from their own mounts, landing on Maethor to hold his body still as Rie worked. Unraveling the soulstrings stole a surprising amount of her own energy, so she was grateful for the help.

The color of their energy was a clear indicator of which soul was which. The original soul still retained its blue color, though it had faded some from the influence of the dim gray essence of the lost soul. Interestingly, both souls fought the separation, the blue clinging to the gray like a child to its mother’s leg. Meanwhile, the wicked soul writhed against Rie’s hold, slippery and near impossible to grasp.

But Rie was nothing if not determined. The escape of the wicked souls had been her idea, their possession of the enemy guided by her hands. This was her mess to clean up and she would not fail.

Mentally grasping the lost with one hand, Rie pulled the wicked from its stolen body while pressing the original soul deep into its core. The souls clung together like sticky taffy. Unable to gather the leverage she needed, she imagined wrapping the lost around her wrist and began to wind and pull, stretching and softening it for the final separation. With a great heave, Rie snapped the wicked soul’s connections to the body.

With a pop of displaced air, the writhing gray formless mass of the lost soul hovered in front of Rie, expanding and contracting as if with breath. An area near the top began to take shape, the face a well-remembered visage that had haunted her since her first foray into the Daemon Realm. Lank hair hung around empty eye-sockets and high arched cheekbones, but the entire left side of the remembered face was crisscrossed with deep scars. Shoulders and arms appeared next, the body taking shape as the soul regained some semblance of personality.

“You,” Rie whispered.

A slow grin spread across the wicked’s incorporeal face.

Maethor bucked against Aegasson and Daenor’s hold. Daenor grunted as a fist connected with his stomach, but together he and the frost sidhe kept the general from reaching his weapons. They pressed him to the ground even as he gnashed his teeth and twisted back and forth against their weight.

Rie couldn’t watch what was happening. The wicked soul snapped out toward her heart with a spike of misty plasma. She braced. Mentally reinforcing her magical armor, she imagined a suit of steel encasing her body and each of her allies in the valley. The soul would not have the opportunity to claim her for his own. Nor would she let him claim any of her allies. Even the reluctant ones.

The tendril hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest. Rie stumbled back, keeping her feet, but barely. Another spike punched her shoulder, and another aimed at taking out her knees.

Rie had brought this creature out from the Daemon Realm. He had been her connection, the leader she’d dealt with, the soul who had done her bidding. He’d taken Maethor’s body, converted or convinced the frost sidhe to join with him. And now he was free once more, without the restrictions or restraints of the battle, and without King Aradae to herd his will.

Rie had been maneuvered like a pawn on a chessboard. Now, to send him back to the Daemon Realm where he belonged, she needed to touch his essence. And he knew it. He gave no quarter. Each strike pounded into her shields, slamming her body and recoiling. The soul was fast. Faster than she was. Faster even than the pixies. She couldn’t get a hold.

Unable to fight back physically, her khukuri blades useless against the already dead, Rie was quickly losing ground.

***

Judith dove. She landed in front of Rie with one hand and one knee on the ground for stability. Her wings stretched out behind her, shielding the human from the efforts of the dead.

She’d seen this creature before. Had known his evil would not be contained once free of the Hollows. Even now, separated from his stolen body and vulnerable, he was not weak. Incorporeal tentacles struck her wings and shoulders, their piercing barbs a shocking pain. Judith welcomed the sting. This evil creature could now be destroyed.

Judith drew her sword. The steel sang. Imbued with the venom of Cerberus, the hellhound who protected the gates of the Hollows, it was the only weapon that could harm the incorporeal. Designed to control the less cooperative souls, the blade would send them back to the nothing, the final death.

For once, Judith wouldn’t regret the loss of opportunity. This soul deserved to be extinguished from existence.

A spear of solid ectoplasm shot toward her, faster even than the whip Eliphaz had used in training. Judith slid to the side, dropping her right shoulder while bringing her sword up to parry. The tentacle sliced off and fizzled away, the nothing taking its energy home.

A second spear punched out toward her. Then a third. Judith ducked and turned, keeping her body as motionless as possible while still avoiding the blows. Each strike resulted in a further loss of the soul’s essence. Fury turned the soul into a whirling dervish of barbs aimed at Judith’s head and chest. She ducked and dodged, but a few hit home. Stinging pain radiated from each strike that met unarmored skin.

Judith spun through a complicated set of maneuvers, her wings spread wide to push the soul back while maintaining her protection of the mortals at her back. Her sword pointed at the core of the creature before her, slicing up and across, then back again.

A shout at her back, Judith felt more than heard Rie scramble toward Maethor’s body. Determined to end the twisted, irredeemable creature before her, Judith ignored the flurry of activity behind her.

***

Maethor writhed on the ground, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth. His body convulsed, flailing against the loss of the wicked soul who had controlled him for so long. He howled. Frost spread out from his skin.

Daenor cursed, letting go of Maethor. As quick as that, the dark elf’s fingers had turned blue. Rie rushed to his side. Wrapping his hands in her own, she warmed them gently but quickly, returning blood flow to his extremities. The last thing he needed was to lose all his fingers to frost bite.

To keep Maethor contained, Aegasson lay his entire body on top of his former commander, clinching him around the neck and one leg. Like a wild animal desperate to be free, the general thrashed against the hold. Maethor growled and gnashed his teeth. Aegasson grunted and clinched tighter. Maethor’s arm came loose. He elbowed Aegasson across the face, smashing his nose and drawing blood.

Confident that Daenor wouldn’t suffer any long-term damage from the flash freeze, Rie jumped toward the fight. Knowing she too was susceptible to the ice magic, she pushed heat into her hands as she pinned the loose arm. Bigger and stronger than her human form, the frost sidhe was nearly able to shake her loose. She pinned his wrist with her knee.

Two of Aegasson’s mages jumped on the pile as well, helping to pin the general’s legs. Even with four people on top of him, Maethor wrestled to get away. He kicked and shoved, and the team struggled to keep him pinned.

A blade appeared in Aegasson’s hand. “Enough. This ends now.”

“No!” Rie shouted. If Maethor’s soul was let loose from his mortal body, there would be no containing him. If a reaper didn’t appear immediately—and somehow she thought the Moirai would be slow to dispatch help—he could cause all kinds of havoc.

It was too late.

Aegasson, his body still pressed over top of his commander, rolled to the side. In a single swift move, he sliced the dagger across Maethor’s neck. Blood, viscous and hot, sprayed across Rie and Aegasson, painting their faces and armor red. Rie pressed her hands over the wound, but the artery had been severed. There was no saving this man.

Maethor’s eyes rolled back in his head. Turning her vision to the magical plane, Rie heard the ping-ping of the first two soulstrings severing. His heart and breath had stopped. Only one string remained. When the brain stopped functioning, the soul would be loose.

She reached for the final string. She could grab it, send him to the Daemon Realm before he was let loose.

Too late. The final string plucked and the soul of Maethor rose from his body, a grin as wicked as any of the souls in the wastelands stretching across his incorporeal form.

Rie reached for the ectoplasm, stretching her mental fingers in an attempt to touch his soul. Soultouch, it was one of the skills buried in her ancestry, and yet it was one of the most difficult for her to access.

Maethor dodged out of the way, cackling in maniacal hysteria. Rie gaped as he flashed toward the wicked soul, still fighting with Judith. The angel had whittled away much of the lost soul’s substance, but he still retained his skeletal grin and wicked purpose.

With a gleeful twirl, Maethor twined his soul with the wicked once more. The energy of the unified soul expanded, forming a single body with two heads. Maethor retained the long hair and pointed chin of his remembered form, while the lost soul had degraded to a decaying skull with sagging skin that oozed where the remembered scars had split open.

Together, they disengaged from the fight with Judith, sliding away from the reach of her sword.

“Enough of this,” Maethor’s head said. “We needn’t fight you any longer.”

The wicked picked up the thought. “Now that we’re free of that weak form, we have bigger game to catch.”

Weak form? Rie thought. Maethor was one of the strongest of the frost sidhe. Who could they target that was bigger and stronger?

She didn’t have a chance to ask. The combined essence sped away up the mountain, the trail of ectoplasm barely visible against the untouched white snow.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

“QUICKLY! FOLLOW THEM!” Rie shouted.

Judith immediately launched into the air, the downbeats of her wings blowing snow into Rie’s eyes.

Rie lifted a hand to block as much of the debris as possible while she turned, looking for the hart who had carried her here. Luckily, the beast seemed to have sensed her need, for it was running toward her with the herd. Either the beasts had been trained particularly well, or they were more intelligent than Rie had at first assumed. Perhaps both. After all, if wolves in this realm had learned how to speak the common tongue, wasn’t it possible for other animals to at least understand the language?

Regardless, Rie was glad for their assistance. If they’d been scared away, there was no chance they would be able to catch, or even follow, Maethor, The Wicked.

“Follow whom?” Aegasson asked, incredulous. “Maethor is gone. My job is done.”

The hart skidded to the side, giving Rie a chance to jump onto its back before it had even stopped moving. She gripped its side with her legs, keeping her seat as the animal shifted beneath her, ready to spring away.

“Maethor’s soul has joined with the wicked. They’re heading to the wolf den. If they join with Fenrir, what do you think will happen to your realm?” Rie demanded. “Do you think they’ll be content to fade away onto the tundra? Do you value the barbegazi so little that you don’t fear their decimation? And what happens when the wolves decide to take on more challenging game, like the frost sidhe?”

“The city is in ruins. I have to go help rescue the survivors.”

Rie snorted. “An excuse. There are many who can help dig out the survivors, and the barbegazi are already assisting. We can’t leave Maethor free. The wicked soul must be stopped before he claims another powerful body.”

“We must go!” Judith shouted from the heights. “He’s getting away. If he makes it to the cliffs and canyons, we could lose him in the caves.”

Rie turned the hart toward their destination. “Do what you must,” she finally told Aegasson, “but if you want to lead this realm, you will need to look beyond your own short-term interests.”

Pressing her heels into the giant deer’s sides, Rie launched forward, chasing the soul who would tear down this world if he got the chance. Daenor followed on his own animal, keeping pace to her right. With a glance over her shoulder, Rie was glad to see Aegasson jump onto the back of yet another deer, though the rest of his mages strapped skis to their feet and headed down the mountain.

She must have struck a chord with him. Perhaps the call to lead had done it. She would need to remember his desire for power and influence.

At least one frost sidhe would join the battle. They would still be outnumbered, but they might—just might—have a chance of saving Garamaen.

The harts raced behind the incorporeal form of the wicked soul, keeping pace but not quite able to catch up.

“Where is he going?” Daenor shouted over the wind of their passing.

“Toward the cliffs,” Judith replied. Her view would be much clearer from her height than the rest who rode on hart-back. “There must be a cave.”

“He’s going after Fenrir. He must be.” The wolf’s magic was anathema to the fae, but the dead might be different. Even the wolves had souls. And if they weren’t hardened against possession . . . .

“That will make this easier,” Aegasson said. “Our enemies will be in one place.”

Rie couldn’t agree. Even if they were lucky enough that Maethor couldn’t possess Fenrir, Rie and her team would be outnumbered and underprepared. They’d chosen to deal with Maethor first precisely to prevent this scenario.

“Priority one will be to send Maethor to the Daemon Realm,” Rie began.

“No, I will strike him down to the nothing. There is no room for the truly irredeemable in the Hollows,” Judith replied. “His existence will end here.”

“I approve,” Aegasson replied, a vengeful smirk crossing his features.

“I will cut him down,” Judith added.

Rie was taken aback. She glanced up at the woman who flew overhead with a determined set to her chin. Rie never would have thought the angel would intentionally condemn a soul to the nothing. She was too compassionate, too forgiving, too focused on rehabilitation. What had changed?

Judith met Rie’s gaze. “He is corrupt, and his rot will corrupt others. He must be stopped at all costs.”

“Then the second priority will be to get Garamaen away from Fenrir. If we have to fight the wolves, we use physical strikes and obstacles. Don’t even bother trying to affect the wolves with magic.”

“And why did you need me again?” Aegasson asked.

“You’re good with a blade, you can build ice walls and obstacles, and hopefully you’re motivated to protect your home realm. Plus, there are only three of us.”

A buzzing met Rie’s ear. The pixies had finally caught up. Rie blew out a relieved breath that they were okay.

“Make that six,” Rie modified, “but we still need your help. There are dozens of wolves in those caves, and a wicked soul anxious to take a new form.”

The pixies landed on the hart’s shoulder, crawling into the creature’s thick wool and huddling together for warmth. They, at least, still had their cloaks on. The heat of battle was still on her, but when it faded, Rie knew the cold would be devastating. Until then, she pushed a little more heat to her core and hoped they made it to the cave in time.

“I hope you’re not too full,” Rie said, her voice pitched for the pixies’ ears. “We’ve got more work ahead of us,” Rie replied.

“I’ve got room,” Hiinto slurred, his voice blood-drunk and sleepy. “There’s always room for fresh meat.”

Rie hoped he was right. They needed all the help they could get.

They approached the cliff face to find an asymmetrical hole that looked as if it had been chiseled out of the wall by a giant. Straight square edges lined the outer edge, narrowing into a deeper black cavern.

“He went in there,” Judith said.

“It must be the back entrance into Fenrir’s cave,” Rie said, turning back to look out at the valley landscape. It looked like the scene she and Daenor had walked out into, led by Maethor, when they’d been traded for Garamaen. Only the hart’s tracks marred the otherwise fresh snow.

Could the wolves have remained in the same cavern as before? Had they been so certain of their victory, they hadn’t even bothered to change locations?

“Garamaen is in there.” Rie was certain. And with that certainty came another realization. Her eyes grew wide. “Maethor’s not after the wolves. He’s after Garamaen.”

If he could possess one of the most powerful lords of the elves, he would be near invincible. And if Garamaen was as weak as Angeni claimed, he would be hard pressed to resist. However, Fenrir’s bite would have eliminated Garamaen’s powers . . . did Maethor hope to cure the bite? Did he even know how?

Daenor cursed, the sound a growl of comprehension. But it was all speculation. And it didn’t matter. They were going to stop him.

“Quickly.” Rie urged the hart forward, but the animal refused to move into the black of the cave. She dismounted, collecting the pixies from their makeshift nest and placing them on her shoulder.

“Daenor, you have the best night vision. You lead. Hopefully some of the phosphorescent creatures live in these walls, but you can guide the way with your sword if necessary. Judith will go second with her sword, and I’ll be third. Aegasson, protect our backs. Fill the tunnel with ice if you have to, but don’t let anyone or anything sneak up on us. And don’t get bitten.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aegasson said, snapping an ironic salute in Rie’s direction.

Daenor turned on him in a flash, his sword in hand and alight with flame. He pointed the tip of the blade at Aegasson’s throat.

“I don’t like your attitude.” Daenor’s voice was pitched dangerously low. Rie had only heard it sound like that once before. “One of the strongest, most honorable men I know is in there right now. We are outnumbered and outmatched. Listen, and follow orders, or so help me I’ll make sure you don’t come out of there alive.”

Aegasson’s eyes narrowed. The flame went out with a hiss, frost smothering the fire. “Do not threaten me, half-breed. You may be a prince, but I will lead this realm on my own merits.”

“Then you’d do well to remember who helped you get there. She may be human, but one day she’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

Rie appreciated the vote of confidence, but now was not the time. “Fall in line or get out. We don’t have time to waste.”

Daenor hesitated another heartbeat, then took his place at the entrance to the cave. Judith—who hadn’t said a word during the entire incident—stepped up behind him. Rie wondered briefly what the angel thought of the fae and their squabbles. Were the immortal guardians immune to these kinds of power-struggles? Somehow, Rie doubted it.

At Rie’s nod, Daenor stepped into the dark.

CHAPTER FORTY

AS BEFORE, THE cave was dark and dank, the smell of minerals and sulphur heavy on the air. They must be closer to the hot springs than Rie had realized. Either that, or the smell had somehow grown stronger.

Daenor proceeded with caution, keeping his blade low and lit only enough to see where to place each footstep. They couldn’t let the wolves sneak up on them, but they also couldn’t let the light damage their vision in the dark. They crept forward, each step a soft susurration. Rie grimaced at the sound, loud in the odd silence of the cave.

Until a howl split the air, shattering the calm.

Rie hurried forward, running into the soft fluff of Judith’s feathers. The angel spun, but her furious visage quickly smoothed as she examined Rie’s expression. Whatever she saw, she must have realized the urgency that drove Rie forward.

“Calm yourself,” Judith urged, her voice washing over Rie with soothing cadence. “Rushing headlong into battle is a guaranteed way to lose.”

“That can’t be good,” Rie replied. “We have to help. We have to stop him!”

What she couldn’t say, was that if Garamaen was already close to giving up, giving in, he wouldn’t put up a fight against the possession. He might not be able to. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her mentor just months after having found him.

“Look to the future, what do you see?” Judith asked.

“Nothing. The wolves interfere with my Sight. You know this.”

“Then if you don’t know the future, don’t expect the worst. We’ll make it.”

Rie shook her head

“We’re wasting time,” Daenor said from the front. “It can’t be much farther.”

Judith tipped her head down the tunnel. “I will take the lead, then. My sword is the only offense against the dead.”

They strode forward once more, less concerned now about the sound of their approach. The closer they got, the more clearly they could hear the sounds of struggle. Rie didn’t know how the wolves were fighting the wicked, but the snarls echoed down the chamber.

The group came to a halt at the entrance to the underground lake. It was a different tunnel than the one they had used when imprisoned there themselves. This tunnel was hidden by a column of mineral deposits that reached from floor to ceiling, narrowing in the center but wide at the base.

Rie dropped to a crouch to hide behind the obstruction, Daenor and Judith following suit. Aegasson stayed hidden in the shadows of the tunnel. The lake spread out before them, spreading from wall to wall, the blue-green phosphorescent light dancing in shivering patterns on the stone. Across the sparkling water, Garamaen was bound in the same manner as Rie and Daenor had been.

However, it wasn’t Garamaen’s figure that drew her attention. It was the three women standing before him, and the circle of wolves who surrounded them all.

“Can you see that?” she asked Daenor, the words whispering from her lips.

“The wolves circling around Garamaen? I see it.”

“No,” Rie paused. “The souls.”

The soul of Angeni stood before a slumped Garamaen, twin daggers in her hands. To either side, her daughters Una & Nashota brandished their own vaporous weapons. All three women wore expressions of feral concentration as they fended off Maethor the Wicked as well as the wolves.

Seeing the spiritual on top of the physical worlds was like watching one of those three dimensional movies the humans were fond of. The disassociation made Rie’s head hurt, and yet she couldn’t look away. Rie watched entranced as a wolf’s forward momentum was arrested in mid-air and his physical body was thrown back toward the far side of the cavern as if by magic. Which, she supposed, in a way it was.

“What’s going on?” Daenor asked, shock and confusion coloring his words.

“It’s like what your father can do,” Rie whispered. “He controls the body through the action and elasticity of the soul. Angeni and her daughters are doing the same, keeping the wolves away from Garamaen.”

The wolves lunged forward, one or two at a time, staying out of each other’s way but targeting Garamaen’s prone form. Every time they got too close, Nashota’s bo staff, or Angeni’s blade, would find its way into and through the monster’s physical form. The weapons didn’t pierce the physical skin, but shoved the soul away, pulling the body with it. As souls, it seemed the women were stronger than they appeared.

Garamaen, meanwhile, lay senseless on the floor. His clothing was torn and bloody. Deep lacerations and puncture wounds seeped rivulets of red. His face was crossed by four angry slashes, the flesh swollen with infection.

Angeni had not been kidding when she said Garamaen was barely holding on, but she hadn’t expressed enough urgency. Unless the wolves had done this in the last day, she should have demanded their immediate departure for his rescue.

But Angeni and the daughters were losing ground to the wolves. Their forms began to flicker and fade. Garamaen’s head lolled back.

“Judith—” Rie began.

“I see it,” she snapped.

“We need to get across.”

Judith glanced at the ceiling, and the stalactites that blocked the way. “I don’t have enough room to fly.”

Maethor had pushed forward, the tendrils of his substance snaking around the sisters toward Garamaen.

“He’s losing the connection!” Una shouted. Rie could see through her form, yet the wide eyes and fearful expression were unmistakable. “If he loses consciousness again, we can’t protect him.”

“And so you won’t!” Maethor cackled, not realizing the fellow soul wasn’t talking to him. “Your master is weak, while mine has set me free!”

Is that what Rie had done? Was that the true meaning of her actions at the Arches? Had she been so blind not to realize that the souls would find a way to march across the realms? After all, the only realm that would be protected would be the Shadow Realm, with its control over the souls of the dead. And King Aradae had been the one to convince her of the need.

She’d been a fool. Once more, her inexperience and lack of foresight had condemned her.

“Move aside,” Aegasson commanded. He pushed forward to the edge of the lake, dipping his fingers in the gently steaming water. Ice spread from the tips of his fingers, turning the surface of the lake to solid ground. As soon as the freeze passed the halfway mark, Aegasson turned to Rie. “Go,” he said.

Khukuris in hand, Rie rushed forward, sprinting across the rough ice. She didn’t wait to see if the others would follow, and she didn’t pause to check her balance. Her only goal was to protect the man who had protected her from the moment of her birth until his injury at the tribunal. The man who had gifted the enchanted blades in her hands. The man who had let himself be stabbed with a poisoned knife to give her the opportunity to escape and fight another day.

Garamaen would not die this day. She wouldn’t let him.

Rie’s vision shaded to red as her heart pounded in her ears. A battle cry echoed off the walls of the cavern, sending ripples across the water and shaking the foundations of the stone. She didn’t realize it was coming from her own throat.

The pixies shifted and launched themselves into the air, adding their own shrill voices to the cacophony.

The wolves turned as one toward the new threat. With a final surge of speed through her legs, Rie launched herself into their midst, spinning and twisting in a vortex of razor sharp blades. The weapons found their targets, blood arcing across armor and stone.

Fire blazed behind her, the steel of Daenor’s sword lighting the room in fierce red light. He followed in her path, protecting her back as she had once done for him.

Smashing a gauntleted arm across the bared teeth of a wretched slathering animal, Rie brought a blade into the belly of another. A kick to the side of a third sent him sliding away to crunch into a wall.

Rie became a senseless machine, every action aimed to inflict maximum damage, to reach Garamaen’s side before his last protectors faded away to their places in the Daemon Realm.

Wolf after wolf fell to Rie’s knives. She cut a path through the pack like a snake through tall grasses.

A gust of wind startled Rie out of the berserker rage. Judith sprinted to Garamaen’s side, her wings held wide and sword ready. She sliced through the tendrils of Maethor’s soul that had managed to attach themselves to Garamaen’s prone form.

Angeni and her daughters were nearly gone, their figures barely an outline in the space around their fallen husband and father.

“We can’t hold on,” Angeni said, her voice a raspy whisper on the wind. “It’s up to you, now.”

Their souls disappeared.

Maethor shouted in triumph, his twisted form surging forward toward his prey.

Judith’s sword swung in a wide arc, the blade a blur of hardened steel. Rie knew how deadly that sword could be, had seen it in action in the wastelands, and knew the angel could wield it with the greatest of ease.

“I will send the wicked to their final end,” Judith shouted at Rie. Judith flared her wings, defiance written on her face. “Don’t let the wolves interfere.”

Rie ground her teeth but had no choice. She would just be in the way if she tried to fight at Judith’s side. Though she could send the wicked to the Daemon Realm, she couldn’t destroy the soul completely. Only Judith’s sword could achieve that. But the battle raged around her.

Daenor had one wolf trapped with its back to the cavern wall. The creature lunged, Daenor twisted out of the way, bringing his fiery sword across the beast’s neck. In the same motion, he threw a fireball at a wolf on the other side of the room, knocking it away from Aegasson who had been pinned to the floor. The frost sidhe rolled over, stabbing his knife into the creature’s eye.

A third wolf was rolling around on the ground, yipping and whining as his fur flew in tufts. He gnawed at his own skin. Though she couldn’t see them, Rie assumed the pixies were hard at work on that one.

Meanwhile, Fenrir stood near the cave entrance, his eyes narrowed in fury. Four of his remaining wolves stood between their leader and the battle surrounding him.

With a wordless scream, Rie lunged toward the wolf. His guards moved to intercept. She dodged one, kicked the other. Rolled to avoid the slash of claws.

An ice spear pierced the first creature’s side, but the giant wolf simply growled and snapped the frozen shaft between four-inch fangs. Daenor threw a fireball at the beast, blasting him back toward the cavern exit.

Falling back toward the center of the cave, Rie, Daenor, and Aegasson regrouped. The remaining wolves faced them, Fenrir at their rear.

“You will not save him,” the wolf growled. “You are too late. He walks the dead road, in truth this time. I have made sure of it.”

Rie snarled. Pulling the last bit of straw from her vest pocket, Rie flicked it toward the wolves, igniting a fireball built of fury and fear. In a heartbeat, the inferno grew from a fist-sized orb to a missile the size of a small car. The wolves dashed from the cave, as the flames hit the wall where Fenrir had stood. Rocks tumbled into the tunnel. The wolves got away.

***

The twisted corrupt soul before her was a mass of hooks and tentacles, all aimed at claiming the body of one of the most powerful elvish lords as his own. The damage Maethor could wreak with Garamaen’s powers was immeasurable. Knowing the possible futures, being able to predict the actions and movements of anyone he cared to watch, that by itself made the risk too great to bear. Add on the ability to speak with the souls of the Daemon Realm, pull souls through the veil or send them to the afterlife, control fire and the energy of those around him . . . Maethor would be unstoppable.

The only thing that prevented Garamaen from conquering all nine realms was his desire to live a simple life and an aversion to power. He didn’t want to control people. And that was what saved him.

Judith clenched her jaw, determination pulsing through her veins.

“You cannot take this body,” she said, her voice calm and sure. She sounded stronger than she felt. But she wouldn’t let Garamaen fall. Judith shifted onto the balls of her feet.

“I can and I will,” Maethor grinned, his dual-heads showing too many teeth. His form expanded beyond what should have been possible, stretching out to surround Judith and Garamaen, blocking them from the rest of the room. With a snap, the edges of his form split into hundreds, perhaps thousands of thin threads, each with a barb on the end. If the barbs were able to snag a place in his skin, they would wriggle between and beneath the cells, coring into Garamaen’s essence until the wicked ejected the native soul and took possession of the body.

Garamaen didn’t have the energy left to fight. He would succumb if even one of those barbs achieved its purpose.

Twirling her sword in front of her, Judith prepared for the battle of her career.

Like lightening, the threads of the wicked launched themselves at and around Judith. She couldn’t dodge them all. As sharp as needles but twice as painful, the barbs struck her skin and bounced away, unable to make a connection. Any that slipped past her guard were quickly severed before they could take root in Garamaen’s prone form. Judith twisted and lunged, her sword in perpetual motion while her wings acted as shields. The blade sliced and severed the soul’s threads, their forms burning to ash and drifting to the nothing.

This wasn’t working. There were too many threads. Judith would never save Garamaen by defending him. She needed to take the offensive. Judith dodged to the side, avoiding a thicker tentacle that might have knocked her over if it connected. She turned, slicing the appendage free while lunging forward toward the center mass of the corrupt soul, where the heads merged.

Maethor laughed, sliding back on a cloud of insubstantial plasma. Judith’s sword missed. She lunged again, but Maethor kept out of the way. She lunged again. If nothing else, she was driving Maethor away from Garamaen’s weakened form.

A thunderous rumble and a crash, cut through the sounds of battle. A woman’s tormented scream reverberated off the cavern walls. Everything seemed to freeze. Even Maethor turned, shocked out of combat. But the scarred face of the wicked soul grinned, its lips pulled wide in a display of desiccated tissue.

Rie stood with her hands fisted on the grips of her blades, knuckles white as she screamed at the tunnel out of this cavern. Except, the tunnel was no longer there. Dust drifted in the air as rocks shifted and settled, blocking the entrance.

With a start, Judith realized the wolves had gotten away. A heartbeat later and she realized the wicked soul was on the hunt, and she couldn’t reach Rie in time.

With a snarl and a shift to the side, the wicked soul wrapped a tentacle thicker than Judith’s wrist around Rie’s throat. The scream cut off. Daenor and Aegasson stared at their leader, unable to see what was happening, the disembodied form invisible to those without soulspeech.

Rie’s eyes bulged. Her hands scrabbled against pressure around her neck. If she fell unconscious, her wards would lose their power and the soul could take possession.

Judith swung toward him, but Maethor slid out of the way, putting Rie’s body between them and using her as a shield.

“You’ve given up on Sanyaro so soon?” Judith taunted, hoping the twisted souls would somehow be convinced to let go. Maethor was an opportunist, that much was clear, but he was also fixated on power. “She is only an apprentice.”

“Garamaen is nearly dead. His body won’t survive a possession, not anymore. But this one will be next to lead,” Maethor replied.

“Besides, I’ve wanted to take her since the first day I saw her.” The empty skull of the wicked chuckled with ill-humor, his voice the sound of dry grass in the wind.

But in all the excitement, the corrupt had forgotten one crucial factor. Rie had the power of soultouch. The gates might not accept the lost soul, separated from the weave of life, but the former general was fair game.

Still choking on the appendage around her neck, Rie’s scrabbling fingers began to seek purchase in the soul. When her fingers were finally enmeshed in the plasma connected to Maethor’s head, Rie whispered a word.

The soul screamed another ear-piercing cry, but the twisted weave of his form separated. With a pop of displaced air, Maethor was gone. Judith lunged forward as Rie spun out of the way. Her sword plunged into the core of the lost. She sliced upward, cleaving the creature in two halves.

The soul burned from the inside out, dissolving into the nothing. Ash drifted into the air. All that remained was the scarred face, until it too burned away on the wind.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

RIE RUSHED TO Garamaen’s side, dropping to her knees to put her hands on his body. Her vision switched to the magical plane, and she could See the damage that had been wrought on his spirit. His aura, like his clothes, was torn and tattered, the once-bright golden hue a dim flickering ember. The poison of Fenrir’s bite had smothered and infiltrated every last inch of his energy. His breath was shallow, his body covered in still-bleeding wounds. His face was a wreck of torn flesh, his bottom lip hanging on by a sliver of skin to reveal the gums and teeth beneath.

This was beyond Rie’s ability to heal.

A heaving sob broke from between her lips. Daenor came to kneel behind her, his hand on her shoulder. Judith and Aegasson kept back, for which she was grateful.

Rie pulled the heavy fur coat around Garamaen, covering some of the worst wounds as she struggled to maintain her composure.

Garamaen’s left eye cracked open. “I never could See my death until this moment,” he whispered, the sound a hoarse croak that tore through Rie’s last remaining shields. “But now I see it in your eyes.”

Rie broke down into heaving gasping sobs. She dropped her head to his chest. His hand came up to rest on her hair, the weight heavy with the effort.

“How will I be sorted?” he asked. Rie couldn’t see his face with her own buried in his coat, but she guessed the question was aimed at Judith. “Do my good deeds outweigh my terrible choices?”

“I cannot say,” Judith replied. “I am not a sorter.”

“No, you are a counselor. So, counsel me. I’ve lived thousands of years. My soul is heavy with the weight of the decisions I made. Fenrir is only one of the many choices that fell in the gray.”

“You are an honorable man. You do not need counseling from me.”

Garamaen coughed, blood splattering on the stone floor next to his face. Rie wiped his cheek with the corner of her sleeve, tears streaming down her face.

“Sit up, Rie.” Garamaen urged her upright with a weak push to her shoulder. “Lift that bit of fur there. You have a patient.”

Garamaen slowly lifted his hand to point at a bundle of black stuck between a head-sized rock and the stone wall.

“Careful,” he said, coughing once more. “She’s weak.”

With gentle fingers, Rie pulled the bundle from its protected place, unwrapping the fur. She gasped.

Wrapped in her tiny cloak and additional layers of warmth from Garamaen’s own coat, Niinka lay curled in a fetal position. Her wings lifted and lowered with the steady pace of her breath.

Hiinto zipped to his sister’s side, landing on Rie’s finger with a bounce. “Niinka!” his voice chimed with excitement.

Niinka cracked an eyelid. “Took you long enough,” she whispered.

Her brother grasped her hand as Possn and Gikl crowded in.

Rie smiled from behind her tears. “You saved her. How did you save her?” she asked.

“Scooped her from the snow.” Garamaen coughed again, the blood spatter getting thicker. “Couldn’t cure the poison, but I healed the injuries before I faded. Needs the ritual.”

“I can do that, now.”

Garamaen smiled. “Angeni told me. She . . . impressed.” His words were fading, his energy flagging as the poison leached the last of the magic from his system and his internal injuries took over. “Tiik was here too. Went to find you.”

Rie’s breath hitched. Was it possible that Tiik had also survived? “Where did he go?”

“Barbegazi . . . city.” Garamaen struggled to get the words out.

“He may have been caught in the avalanche.”

A buzzing sound approached. Tiik thumped into Rie’s back, nearly knocking her off balance. “You’re here. Thank the gods, I found you, and you’re here,” he chimed. Tiny claws gripped Rie’s earlobe as Tiik leaned into Rie’s neck.

Tears flowed freely down Rie’s cheeks, relief warring with regret.

Still cradling Niinka in her hands, Rie bent to kiss Garamaen on his forehead. The mobile pixies fluttered away. It was time to say goodbye to Lord Garamaen Sanyaro, Rie’s great-great-many-times-great grandfather, mentor, and protector. He’d earned a bit of peace.

“Rest now,” she said. “You’ll be with Angeni soon. She’s waited a long time.”

A bittersweet smile spread across Garamaen’s face. The twang of the first soulstring breaking its hold sounded loud in Rie’s ears. His heart had stopped. One final breath, and the second string broke.

Tears dripped from Rie’s chin, her own heart breaking as her last living blood relative passed from the mortal world.

His soul rose up from his damaged form, his remembered body whole. The bloody gashes were gone. The pain no more. He even regained his hand, lost so many thousand years ago to the very wolf who claimed his life today.

You’ll do well, you know, Garamaen said. But make it your own, just as I did. Forge the role you want to take, don’t let them force their rules and restrictions on you.

I’ll try.

Garamaen’s soul glanced at Daenor, who watched Rie with fascination. He couldn’t see the afterlife the way she could, though she knew he could feel that she was using soulspeech.

If I were you, I’d keep that one around. He’ll challenge you without taking over.

Rie’s lips trembled in a wet smile. That’s good advice.

Garamaen suddenly looked to the left, at something Rie couldn’t see. Seems my escort has arrived. He turned back to face Rie. Good luck. You know where to find me.

With that, the third and final soulstring broke and Garamaen disappeared.

Rie bent at the waist, a renewed bout of sobs wracking her body. A hand rubbed circles on her back. And then, out of nowhere, the warmth of wings wrapped around her.

Judith embraced them all as Rie cried. Her wings seemed to absorb all of the emotion, the final release of Rie’s battered and bruised soul.

Garamaen was gone, but he was with Angeni and his daughters. He had earned a long rest. And Niinka was alive, a surprise and a blessing, Garamaen’s final gift to his apprentice and heir.

Meanwhile, Maethor, The Wicked, had been destroyed. Rie had rectified her mistake and there would be no coming back for the leader of the lost souls. There might still be others out there, but she would find them, and she would end them.

Just as she would find and end Fenrir. The wolf may have escaped this battle, but she wouldn’t let that stand. She couldn’t. She had made a promise to the barbegazi, and she would make another now: the wolf would die for the lives he’d taken.

But first she needed to heal. They all needed to heal and rebuild. The cost of this battle had been too great, and the survivors wouldn’t walk away unscathed. They needed time.

Rie didn’t know how long she sat warmed by embrace of others, but her tears had long since dried when she finally shifted to sit up. Judith lifted her wings, unwrapping her position while Daenor leaned back.

Rie was shocked to see the streak of tears on both their faces, Rie’s pain reflected in their eyes.

“Are you okay?” Daenor asked, his hand still warming her back.

“I will be.”

“Good. Then can we get out of here?” Aegasson asked from across the cavern. He sat with his back to the wall, a bored scowl crossing his features. “I have people to rescue and a city to rebuild.”

“What about Fenrir? We can’t let him get away with this,” Daenor growled.

“The tunnel is gone. We can’t chase him now, we don’t have the energy or the resources. But we’ll be back, and he will pay for what he’s done,” she paused. “Besides, Aegasson is right. An entire city is still in danger. But . . . ,” she turned toward the frost sidhe, “. . . Aegasson, you should probably meet with Felman first. I have a feeling he and his heirs will have a few words of input.”

Aegasson frowned. “I suppose. But after we make sure anyone who was buried is found and recovered. Frost sidhe can survive the cold, but we still need food and water.”

Rie turned back to the body of Garamaen. “We should take him home.”

“I will carry him,” Judith replied. “It is the least I can do for a man who gave himself to save others.”

“Thank you.”

You weren’t supposed to thank the fae, or a debt would be owed. In this case, however, it was deserved.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

THEY EXITED THE way they came, and the harts had remained just outside the cave. The leader of the herd approached Rie with deliberate steps, his head lowered. It almost seemed as if he knew what had transpired.

Rie extended a hand, brushing her fingers over the soft velvet of his nose. He nuzzled her hand, then used his head to push her toward his back.

“It seems they’re still willing to give us a ride,” Aegasson said. “How did you manage that?”

Rie shrugged. “Does it matter? We need the help.” The hart nudged her again, and she pulled herself onto his back. She shivered, the cold wind needling its way through her leathers and underlayers as if they weren’t even there.

“Here,” Judith said, carefully laying Garamaen on the ground and removing his coat. “He no longer needs this. You’ll freeze without it.”

“I can’t take his coat,” Rie replied, her voice cracking. “It’s too much, too soon.”

“You must,” Judith replied.

“Take it,” Daenor urged. He had managed to retain the mountain man’s fur coat that Garamaen had lent him, while Rie had lost her cloak in the fight. “He would want you to have it.”

Swallowing a lump of emotion that wanted to tear down the carefully reconstructed walls holding back her tears, Rie accepted the heavy fur and wrapped it around her shoulders. The garment smelled of him, the scent of the sea and the wind. The scent of home. Her throat constricted against the bittersweet pain.

They would take the time to grieve and bury him. Then, she would find Fenrir and she would kill him.

“Judith, I can take him, if you like,” Rie said, patting the space in front of her. The hart would have an easier time with the weight, or so Rie thought.

“No, I will carry him with respect and honor,” the angel replied. “It is a dignity he deserves, not to be flung across the back of an animal.”

Rie dipped her chin in agreement, unable to say anything further for fear of losing her careful hold on her emotions. Rie’s gaze followed the winged figure as she took to the sky. Judith carried Garamaen’s body across her arms, like a child being carried to bed.

“Let’s go,” Aegasson urged from the front. He and Daenor had already mounted their own animals, and he was anxious to return to the city and his people.

He might not be so anxious when he realized that the barbegazi would no longer be content to take orders from the frost sidhe. All the same, Rie let him lead the way down the mountain.

The harts kept an easy pace bounding over the snow. Lulled by the rocking motion of their gait, Rie let her thoughts drift and fade. She didn’t want to think about anything, and so she didn’t.

Until the wreck of a city came into view.

A flurry of activity swarmed the buried city, barbegazi and frost sidhe both working to extract the unfortunate individuals buried beneath the snow.

Rie swallowed down a mouthful of bile. She had done this, or at least she had put it into motion. An entire city, perhaps an entire civilization destroyed in one brutal attack. She’d needed to capture and destroy Maethor and the wicked soul residing within his body, but did the end justify the means? Looking at the consequences of her choices, she wasn’t sure. Could she be considered any better than Maethor? At least he hadn’t wantonly killed his citizens.

A shout rose from a portion the of the wall that poked above the snow. A figure waved at the group as they slowed to a walk.

Judith landed next to them to walk the last dozen lengths to the city.

“At least they’re not shooting at me this time,” she murmured.

“I think they have bigger problems right now,” Rie replied, her voice sounding bitter and heavy, even to her own ears.

Judith glanced at Rie, her gaze speculative. “Before I came here, I saw you as reckless and naive, too focused on your own needs and goals to consider the wider implications of your actions. But I realized something since working with you. You might be reckless and naive, but your driving motivation is to help others, to give people a chance at liberty and respect.”

The angel nodded toward the bustle ahead, keeping her voice low so the men wouldn’t hear. “You didn’t choose to bury this city, you gave the barbegazi a chance to stand up for themselves. There were consequences. There always are. And perhaps this was one of the gray decisions that will mark your soul as Garamaen’s marked his. But you’ve done good here.”

“And sown strife,” Rie replied.

“Perhaps. But perhaps not. Look at how the barbegazi are working with the frost sidhe.”

Rie gazed out at the teams spread across the city. The barbegazi shuffled across the snow, their hands spread wide and their feet sliding without losing contact with the frozen surface. Every so often one would give a shout, and a frost sidhe or two would come running. The barbegazi would move on while the frost sidhe began manipulating the drifts to dig out the survivor. As they watched, three more victims were uncovered.

In another location, the barbegazi were removing stone blocks from the wall of a building, freeing a group of frost sidhe from inside. They looked whole and hale, untouched by the destruction, except for their unconventional building exit.

Judith remained silent after that, letting Rie ruminate on her words. Or maybe having nothing else to say.

When they finally reached the exposed section of wall, the group dismounted and clambered over the ice-encrusted iron.

The guard clasped Aegasson’s hand. “Welcome back, sir.”

“Where are we with the recovery?” Aegasson asked.

“Progress has been slow, but steady. The barbegazi volunteered to help.”

“Volunteered?”

“Yes, sir. A man named Vegard approached with the offer. He is directing the search.”

Aegasson lifted an eyebrow and pursed his lips in a dissatisfied frown.

Rie smiled. Vegard was playing this game close to his chest, and playing it well. Did the frost sidhe even know that it was the barbegazi who had caused the avalanche in the first place? She couldn’t be sure. Regardless, Vegard was fixing the problem he had created, and earning a healthy dose of respect and appreciation in the process.

“Where is he?” she asked. “We need to speak with him before we leave.”

The soldier’s eyes narrowed as his gaze scrutinized her face. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Daenor stiffened but it was Aegasson who stepped in the way to forestall any violence.

“She is not our enemy,” Aegasson said.

“She led the Shadow Realm against us.”

“No, Othin led the invasion into her realm, and Maethor led us to follow him. She is not our enemy. But I have taken care of one of the men who was.”

Rie lifted her hands in a sign of peace, hoping to emphasize the message.

The soldier’s gaze turned to Aegasson, confusion written across his expression.

“Take us to Vegard and we can sort this all out,” Aegasson continued. “She and the dark elf won’t be staying much longer in our realm.”

He said it with authority, perhaps anticipating his own rise to power. Rie wondered if he would be able to realize that goal, but decided it wasn’t her place to interfere, one way or another. She would leave and let this realm settle its own affairs.

With one more skeptical glance, the soldier turned and walked down the hill toward the center of the city.

Vegard had set up a headquarters of sorts near the remains of the central spire. To get there, the group had to trudge through heavy snow without snowshoes or skis. Luckily, Aegasson was more obliging than Maethor had been. With palms pointed at the snowpack around them, he froze the top layer with a rough crust of ice that managed to provide enough stability and grip that they neither slipped nor broke through the surface. If Rie didn’t look at her feet, she would almost say they were walking on a gravel path.

At last they reached a crowd of workers, Vegard at their center. He was directing the barbegazi rescuers to fan out in strategic search patterns, while the frost sidhe followed behind. To Rie’s surprise, even the frost sidhe were willing to listen to the diminutive man.

“You said I would need to speak to Felman,” Aegasson said, interrupting Vegard’s latest set of instructions, “yet here I find you instead, ordering my men and women as if they were your own. Is this the true reason you helped us escape the city? So you could fill the power void in the absence of a frost sidhe leader?”

“You object to the search and rescue of the buried citizens of this city?” Vegard asked, his eyebrows lifting so high they almost hid beneath his white hat.

“I object to the usurpation of authority. You can’t even speak for your own people, and yet you stand here commanding mine.”

“My grandfather has fallen ill,” Vegard replied, tension tightening the skin around his eyes and lips. “My father is with him. I am next in line to lead. Someone had to take control in the chaos.”

The reflection off a frost sidhe helmet caught her attention. The light refracted, piercing her eye in a painful explosion. She was thrown into a vision.

Aegasson and Vegard argue as the setting changes around them. The snow covered city. A mountain cave. A long hall draped in blankets and padded with cushions. Frost sidhe and barbegazi wait to be heard.

Rie gasped. Her eyes focused on Vegard, then Aegasson, who still argued. Their future could be communal and supportive, each guiding their people toward a collaboration of sorts, a joint leadership of the realm. But first they had to learn to see the common ground.

“Who am I to judge the fitness for barbegazi rule?” Aegasson sneered. “But no barbegazi will lead the frozen army.”

“Of course not,” Rie interrupted, drawing the angry gazes of both men. She chose her next words carefully. To be Sanyare was to know the truth. But knowing the truth was only half the battle. “We all must work together. Lives depend on it. Not just in this moment, but for the future as well.”

An almost-audible ringing poured through Rie’s heart and soul as she finally understood. It wasn’t just frost sidhe and barbegazi lives at stake. Her responsibility was to all the nine realms, and all the peoples of the nine realms. The process of peace started here, today.

“The two of you will lead your people. This is fact. How you lead your people is decided with each choice and every action from this point forward. The old leadership is gone. Their beliefs and biases can be buried with them, but only if you choose to do things differently, now.”

Aegasson’s jaw clenched and unclenched while he stared at Rie. “Maethor would never combine forces with the barbegazi.”

“Maethor preferred to stick his head in the snow and pretend that the rest of the races didn’t exist,” Vegard said. “At least, until he needed us for something.”

“Even you admitted he wasn’t fit to lead,” Rie added. “Garamaen gave some good advice, some of which I’ll give to you now. ‘Forge the role you want to take.’ Don’t let outdated perspectives drive your future.”

Aegasson blew out a breath, then held out a hand as a peace offering. Vegard looked skeptical, but he grasped the offered palm.

“Tell me what’s been covered, and where I’m needed most,” Aegasson said. “Once the people are safe, I will lead the mages to dig out the city.”

Rie’s lips pulled up in a clouded smile. This just might work out after all.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

THE BRONZE FACE seemed to mock her, even as it mirrored her own features. Greg must have finished it just days before they’d left for the Winter Realm. Now it sat on a table, waiting for its creator to decide its final placement.

Rie didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t know what to do with any of the art—finished and unfinished—that had been left behind in his combination studio and bedroom. Instead, she sat as lost as the sculpture of her own face, staring blankly straight ahead.

She was supposed to be cleaning out his things. She couldn’t bear to touch anything.

She was supposed to be making arrangements for his memorial, a diplomatic affair that would bring the highest ranking lords and ladies from across the nine realms together to pay their respects. She didn’t even have a location selected. There were too many variables, too much noise to sort through. Her overtaxed brain couldn’t handle it.

Niinka’s wings gently opened and closed, brushing against Rie’s neck. The leader of the pixies had hardly strayed from that position since arriving home. Her tiny hand stroked Rie’s earlobe, both offering and taking comfort. She’d changed since the events in the Winter Realm, her boisterous nature muted and hollow. Rie hoped that with time she would recover, but the truth was they had all changed. Nothing would be the same.

Steps approached from behind, a creak in the hardwood floor as Daenor sat, a leg on either side of Rie’s body. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, rested his chin on Rie’s other shoulder.

“It’s a perfect likeness,” he murmured into her ear. “We should put it in the sacred circle with the others. I’m sure that’s what he intended.”

“Maybe,” Rie replied. She couldn’t commit to anything.

“I have an idea,” Daenor continued, pulling his chin off her shoulder and urging her to turn around.

Rie complied, swiveling in place so she stayed wrapped in the warmth of his care. “What’s that?”

“The market of the Winter Realm is still being rebuilt, but the frost sidhe need supplies. The Shadow Realm has long wanted a neutral market for the nine. We need a place to say goodbye to Sanyaro, and it wouldn’t hurt to honor the fallen at the Battle of the Arches.”

Rie lifted an eyebrow, waiting for the punch line.

“Let’s build a pocket of fae in the canyon lands. Neutral territory where all races can trade. We can dedicate it to the memory of Garamaen and consecrate it with the scattering of his ashes.”

“In the Human Realm? We can’t risk it being noticed.”

“We bring in a squad of blood sidhe to glamour the area. In return, they gain non-lethal hunting rights throughout the realm.”

Rie shook her head. “Too much conflict. How would we police it?”

“Luckily, you have a former guard commander at your disposal.”

Rie considered. Garamaen had said to make the role of Sanyare her own. What if that meant tearing down the walls between realms? Expanding interaction instead of separating opposing forces?

“Plus, trade includes more than just goods and services, it’s also information,” Daenor’s voice hardened. “It would be easier to monitor news of giant wolves and possible lost souls from our own base of operations, rather than trying to chase it all down from realm to realm. There are still some debts that need to be paid.”

Though he didn’t show it as overtly as she did, Daenor was equally determined to rectify the mistakes of the past. And he had a good point.

Othin would oppose a market outright—he already had—but his power had been weakened. With new leadership and damaged armies, the Winter and Summer Realms no longer supported the high king. Garamaen’s sister Éostre led the Autumn Realm, and she would probably support the idea. The Spring Realm was a question, the masters of air an elusive set, but the Dwarven Realm would surely be interested in a new audience for their metals and gems.

“It will change everything,” Rie murmured, still rolling the idea around in her mind.

“Change is a necessary part of growth.”

The End

Now that you’ve read Sanyare: The Winter Warrior, are you curious about Lord Garamaen Sanyaro? Would you like to know more of his history, and how he learned to heal Fenrir’s bite?

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Injured and alone, believing his death is near, Garamaen faces exile in a foreign land. But when a young shaman finds him, things don't go to plan. When the undead rise to destroy his saviors, can Garamaen find the will to live . . . and free them from terror?

Shaman is one of The Early Adventures of Garamaen Sanyaro, a collection of short stories I’ll be working on over the next year or two. Each story gives the reader a little more insight into Garamaen’s character, and how he came to be known as Sanyaro, the Truthseeker and Mediator of the Nine Faerie Realms.

Shaman is exclusively available to The Sanyare Chronicles newsletter subscribers. Subscribe now to join the team and instantly download your FREE copy!

Thank You for Reading!

I hope you enjoyed reading Sanyare: The Winter Warrior! If you don’t mind, would you take a moment to leave a review?

Reviews are the lifeblood of indie authors. Without them, our books are overlooked and buried in the bowels of the Amazon search engines. It doesn’t take much time or effort to leave a review, just a sentence or two with your opinion is enough to give the social proof that a book is good…or not.

So, if you have a couple of minutes, please consider leaving a brief review on Amazon or Goodreads. It doesn’t have to be glowing, only honest. Every review helps.

Acknowledgments

This book would never have been finished without the help of a few wonderful individuals.

First, to my husband: Without your support, I wouldn’t have begun writing, let alone chosen to pursue independent publishing as a career. It’s been a slow journey, and we’ve made some sacrifices, but we both know I’m happier for it.

Next up is my copyeditor and little sister, Kimberly Peticolas. I’m so thrilled to have you as a part of my publishing team! This has become a family endeavor, which is so cool. I’m proud of you for starting your own business, and impressed by your dedication and attention to detail. I know you don’t take it easy on me, and for that, I’m grateful!

Which nicely leads to my fantastic parents, John and Jan Peticolas, subject-matter expert and proofreader extraordinaire. I truly value your input into these books and your support of this crazy dream. Thank you for teaching me to take critique with grace, and for never holding back on honest, insightful opinions.

To my developmental editor, Katie McCoach, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your guidance and hard work on this series. You always bring new insight to the characters and the story, and my books would not be as good without your input. Thank you!

I also couldn’t have done it without my beta readers, Tamima and Jeanine . . . I couldn’t do it without you!

Last but not least, thank you to the Terrible Ten for the inspiration and motivation to keep on pushing. You know who you are.

About Megan Haskell

Legend has it, I was born with a book in my hands. When I was a kid, my mom would ground me from reading in order to get me to do my chores. To this day, I can readily ignore the real world in favor of the imaginary one lurking between the pages of my current addiction. My dad — also an avid reader — introduced me to Tolkien in my late elementary years, and I never looked back. I love escaping to worlds where magic and monsters are real, especially stories with kick-butt heroines and dangerously attractive heroes.

Despite my voracious book appetite, I didn’t start creative writing until I was working as a number cruncher in a big accounting firm. With an hour plus commute by train every day, and a demanding left-brain occupation, I needed a mobile creative outlet. A pen and paper are about as mobile as it gets! As the pages began to fill, I quickly moved onto a tiny laptop, and a writer was born. Now I get to create my own fantasies!

I am also the Content Director for O.C. Writers, A Network of Published and Aspiring Authors. We offer resources and events for both new and established authors in the Orange County, California area and online. If you’re a writer, come check us out at OCWriters.Network!

I currently live in Southern California with my wonderfully supportive husband, two daughters, and a ridiculously energetic dog. You can often find me behind the computer screen, working into the wee hours of the night when the house is quiet.

To stay informed of all the latest happenings with me and my books, join my monthly reader newsletter at MeganHaskell.com.