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Karasek dead. She felt a pang of regret, which puzzled her. She had known about his death weeks before. Or rather, she had guessed it. No one, not guards or prisoners, had mentioned him in Osterling. He would have been a prominent prisoner there.
I knew him, though. Long ago.
She wiped away the images from her past and glanced around. Ilse had built a small fire. When Valara stirred, she asked, “Did you discover anything?”
Of course the woman had recognized the magic.
Valara shrugged. “Nothing dangerous.”
Ilse tilted her head, as if she wanted to ask another question, but returned her attention to the fire without speaking.
Not long after, Galena returned with a woven basket of provender. They dined on stale bread and turtle eggs, served with cattails and fresh water. She insisted they douse the fire right away, and went on to list the many dangers they faced, from dogs to magical spells to the patrols themselves. Her voice had taken on a nervous quality, and Valara remembered she had not wanted to come at first.
Finally Ilse laid a hand on Galena’s arm. “We should sleep. We have a long march tomorrow.”
Galena twitched away from the other woman’s touch. “I’ll take first watch.”
Interesting, Valara thought. So much revealed in a few gestures.
They had assigned her a bed in the middle. She lay down on the mattress of pine branches, which creaked underneath. The rich tang tickled her nose; it reminded her of the hills above Rouizien on Enzeloc. From far off, she heard a bullfrog’s deep-throated song, the rill of water. Her thoughts winged back—as always—to Morennioù and Vacek’s soldiers. To her father’s council, now hers by default. If she could have transported herself back to Morennioù that instant, she would have done so.
* * *
SHE WOKE IN the middle of the night. Ilse was shaking her arm. “Your turn to watch,” she whispered. She said more, about keeping time by the moon’s angle, but Valara paid no attention. Here was the opportunity she needed.
She took her post beside the stream and waited for her companions to settle into sleep. It was the first quiet moment she had to observe her surroundings. The trees and marsh looked far different under the moonlight, their colors bleeding to silver and gray. Shadows blurred the distance, changed perspective. Sounds were different, too. Rain had fallen while she slept. Now she heard a constant silvery trickle from the trees onto leaves, a stronger rill from the stream.
She counted the moments to herself, well into the thousands, until she felt certain Ilse slept. Then, she rose silently onto her feet. The moon had reached its midpoint in the sky, and she could easily see the best path, but she moved cautiously nonetheless. Even one careless step might bring Galena awake.
The hillside dipped into a fold, not far from their camp, then rose steeply into a forest of pine and oak. Valara climbed until she reached a small clearing. Here the moon was hardly visible, and the musty smell of old leaves filled the air.
She sat with her back against one enormous oak. With practiced ease, she turned her focus inward, folding her thoughts upon themselves until she brought her mind to a single point, to a single moment.
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ane Lir unde Toc.
The magic current breathed to life around her. Its scent was fresh and sweet. Valara continued the invocation, to the gods, to the magic. From a distance, she heard Daya humming a discordant song, but she did not pause to wonder.
Komen mir de strôm. Komen mir de vleisch unde sêle. Komen mir de Anderswar.
The trees around her dissolved into a diamond-bright mist. Beyond the mist lay a thick darkness, almost a presence. It was like a fog-bound night on Enzeloc’s coast, when stars and moon were veiled and invisible.
The mist thinned to wisps and curls, for all the good that did. She stood in the midst of nothing, a void illuminated by a brilliant light. Even as the thought came to her, the light shifted, changed to an impossibly vibrant prism of color. She paused, uncertain. Though the familiar green scent saturated the air, this place was like none she had ever visited in Autrevelye, not even in lives before. No wheeling worlds beneath her. No sense of instability. All was too quiet and still, as though she stood in a bubble outside all worlds.
Because you do stand outside them all, Valara Baussay.
A tall figure strode into view—a woman with silver hair and a gleaming black face. When Valara fell back, the woman held up her hand. A long slim hand with eight fingers and nails curved into claws. Stop, the woman said.
Who are you? Valara whispered.
You know me.
There was magic in her song, a rainbow of hues in her words, and sharp sweet flavors with every syllable. She was a creature of Autrevelye, but unlike any Valara had ever encountered.
No, I am not of Autrevelye, though you abandoned me here a dozen lifetimes ago.
Cold trickled through Valara’s veins. Daya? Why did you stop me? We cannot stay in Veraene. They will take you and use you—
And you will not? I was captured and tormented. My soul was divided. You … you promised me freedom, all those years ago, but you lied. You left me and my brothers-sisters. And now you would battle your brother again over us. We are not things, Valara Baussay. We are one.
