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Ilse lay quietly, her gaze upward toward the sky, away from Valara. Her eyes were like dark bruises, her face gray with exhaustion. “So. What comes next?”
So many questions hidden inside that one.
“Our plans depend on the jewels,” she said slowly. “We must withdraw, certainly. The king is dead, but the king certainly has advisers, councillors, other mages. We cannot remain here in case they track us. But where depends on Daya and Asha.”
“We won’t have long,” Ilse murmured. “Nor will they.”
Her gaze crossed Valara’s. They both smiled faintly.
She was no bad ally, Valara thought. Clever. Stubborn. Subtle. She would do well in Morennioù’s Court. Already her thoughts were running back to her kingdom, and how she would present this woman to her councillors.
They helped each other to stand. Valara retrieved the sapphire. It burned like a tiny blue flame in her hands, and its song rose up clear and bright and joyous, each word as distinct as a bell tone. Rana, my brother. Rana, my sister, my cousin, my love, myself.
There it was again, a sense of regret. Of things left undone. Awkwardly, Valara ran her fingers over the sapphire, sensed the threads of magic and song, like a fabric woven in several dimensions. Asha, I’m sorry. We … We lost Rana. We had to leave too soon. Before the king’s mages discovered us. But we will go back for her. I promise.
No and no. Turn. Open your eyes and you will see her.
Asha spoke so emphatically that Valara glanced over to Ilse before she realized she had done so. The other woman stood still. Her eyes were wide, her expression astonished. She was staring at Daya.
“Did you hear?” Valara asked.
“I did. And … I think I know what Asha means.”
Without waiting for Valara to reply, Ilse made for the gap between the cliffs and the ridge overlooking the plains. Valara hurried after her, the sapphire held tightly in one hand. Its song had fallen silent, but the magic remained, its current pulsing in time with her own heartbeat.
“Ah.” Ilse exhaled. “I should not be surprised.”
Valara shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare. She could just make out a dark speck moving against the shimmering expanse of plains. A rider, galloping directly toward them. “It’s Duke Karasek,” she said. “The man who attacked us. I know his signature.”
They could not run. Karasek with his horse could overtake either one of them easily.
“We must go at once to Autrevelye—”
“No.” Ilse pulled Daya from her finger and handed her to Valara. “Take Asha and Daya. G
ive me enough time to distract this Duke Karasek, then attack with all your magic, and all the magic of the jewels. If he does have Rana, you will need their help.”
She drew her sword and strode down the ash-strewn mountainside to the plains. Even before she reached the lower slopes, the horse slowed to a canter and then came to a halt. Karasek dismounted and waited patiently. It was that patience that unnerved Valara. Since their first meeting, he had countered every action she took and guessed her every change in plans. That he appeared so soon after Dzavek’s death said he had guessed again, and arrowed directly from the Jelyndak Islands, to Rastov, to here.
Ilse paused a few steps away from Karasek. Valara murmured an invocation to the magic current. But far quicker than she anticipated, Karasek drew his own sword. Metal flashed against the dull sky.
“No!” Valara shouted.
Winds shrieked across the edge of the cliffs. The Agnau had turned pale, and its molten surface heaved as colossal waves rolled across its breadth. Daya cried out in shrill tones, Asha’s voice rose higher, blending with the winds. Sint unde waerest unde werden unde—
Valara shut out their voices. She raised her fist with Daya and Asha. “Ei rûf ane gôtter,” she cried out. “Ei rûf ane—”
A force—like a concentrated wind—swallowed her words. A dazzling light struck her face.
“Wir komen de gôtter.”
Valara blinked. An incandescent light illuminated the Mantharah and its heights. From its midst, two vast figures approached, their faces like suns, one with eyes like the stars, the other with great dark voids where eyes should be. First came Lir with Toc behind. The next moment their places changed. First and last, as the legends said. Together and separate—the paradox of magic.
Lir folded her hands around Valara’s numb ones. Toc clasped both of theirs within his. Together, sister and brother spoke in a language unlike any Valara knew. Their lips did not move, but their voices filled the air with rippling tones, like raindrops on a canopy of summer green leaves.
Asha thrummed. Daya grew heavy, an impossible weight.
Lir spoke a word. A light blazed. A shrill cry echoed from the Mantharah’s cliffs. Asha sang, and Daya’s darker voice rose into a glorious chorus of bright notes that tumbled and rolled together, pleading and crying and laughing.
