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“Live, mortal man,” I whispered, frost pluming from my mouth, “all desire and worth bound to my will until heart stops, bone crumbles, and breath fails.” A sour odor crept through the air as I fed magic to Saverian’s spell and pressed my bleeding thumb to Voushanti’s cold lips.

His eyes locked with mine, resentment and shame flaring scarlet in his depths. Though every instinct prompted me, I did not turn away.

The moment passed. The enchantment resolved. I removed my hand.

Voushanti wiped the last traces of blood from his mouth with his sleeve, averting his gaze. “May I go now? His Grace awaits his torturer.”

“Heed this command, Mardane: Obey Prince Osriel exactly in this dread matter. In all else protect him unto the limits of your life…no matter his orders.”

The warrior bowed curtly, stepped past, and vanished into the gully.

I did not follow. Osriel did not wish any to witness what he was to endure at Voushanti’s hands. No matter Kol’s intent to yield the power Osriel needed, the prince could not be certain of it. Only a long, slow bleeding into the earth would generate magic enough to raise his revenants, and so he must initiate his grotesque alternative early on this still, cold morning, hoping that I would bring him news of Kol’s aid before he was too weak to pull back.

Did Kol’s challenge fail, Osriel would use the word trigger bloodwitch to summon Saverian to carry out her grim assignment. He had refused her plea to set up a second trigger in case he changed his mind. Furious, she had disobeyed his command to stay away, hiding herself and a supply of medicines, surgical instruments, and blankets in one of the stone sheds left by those who had mined Dashon Ra. From there she could observe Osriel throughout the day and ensure he did not fail too quickly.

Osriel’s first scream rent the brightening morning. I shuddered. What faith he must have in the mardane. Voushanti had to take the prince to the precise juncture of torment without death, to induce him to forget hope, that Osriel’s despair might create power for redemption. Faith and honor, love and duty…I could not deny the virtues that drove the prince and his servants. But with every breath, in every bone, I knew this horror was wrong.

So I did not go to Saverian, though I hated the thought of her lonely vigil. And I did not drag Osriel away from his torment or Voushanti from his cruel task. The only way I could prevent the dread conclusion of this harsh beginning was to take up my own part in the day’s events. By midday I must be back to the Well, where Stian would be waiting to take me into the Canon. The situation of Dashon Ra, the silhouette of its rocky parapet against the sky, the thinness of its air, and the gouged and damaged bowl carved from its heart already lived in my memory, ready to bring me back here again.

“Who’s there?” Two warriors stood watch at the bottom of the rock-gate stair. They whirled and presented arms as I descended, clearly surprised to see anyone approaching from the direction of the heights. It was ginger-bearded Philo who challenged me, along with Voushanti’s other faithful lieutenant, the dark-haired Melkire.

I lowered my hood. “At ease, friends. It’s just Valen.”

The two men lowered their swords. “Should have known you would be a part of all this strangeness, pureblood,” said Philo. “Perhaps you can tell us why we’re posted here behind the hall and kitchens, instead of in the field.”

“We’ve heard reports that the Ardran prince and Sila Diaglou herself are but half a day out in hard pursuit of Thanea Zurina,” intruded Melkire.

“The Ardran prince…Perryn rides with the priestess? Does Bayard, too?” It could be disastrous if Bayard brought a Moriangi legion here.

“The messenger said no Moriangi regulars rode with Sila yestereve,” said Philo. “Only Prince Perryn and a handful of Ardrans. It was their route worried him the most. Zurina is leading them straight for the eastern approaches, showing them the secret ways not even the Aurellians could find. If they come upon Renna from the backside, they’ll drop these rocks right on our heads.”

This bursting unease from two well-disciplined warriors but reinforced my beliefs about this day’s battle. Naught would be held back today—no secret, no life, no soul. Ronila and Gildas would unravel their plots, too, and like these two, I didn’t know whence the attack would come.

“Zurina is no fool,” I said. “She’s surely got her reasons—and her orders. And certainly Thane Boedec and his warhost will be ready to meet whatever comes. Does Voushanti know that Perryn rides with Sila?”

“Aye,” said Melkire. “He received the report.”

“Good. Stand fast and have faith in your prince and your commander,” I said. “Guard them well, warriors. And may your gods do the same for you.”

“Godspeed, pureblood,” said Philo. “It gives us heart to know you are with us.”

I wished I had more reason to be optimistic. And this matter of Bayard…

A few steps took me to a patch of bare ground behind the bakehouse. Though lacking a sample of Max’s own blood, I squeezed a few drops from the fresh cut on my thumb and used it to touch earth with magic. Whether it was the half-Cartamandua blood or merely the heightened alertness of this day that fed my skill, I located him quickly.

Spirits and demons… Max had crossed Caedmon’s Bridge into Evanore. Bayard’s legions could not be allowed to join Sila’s. So great a host could overwhelm Osriel’s fragile trap, or break too quickly through the defense Voushanti would mount for Osriel. Osriel must not be forced to take action before Kol’s release of power at the change of season.

I pelted through the halls and passages of Renna. In a great show of noise and sparks I burst a bar on the wicket gate, then promised the quaking gate guards dogs’ faces if they failed to let me out. Bayard wouldn’t listen to me. I needed to see Max.

Out on the open hillside, I stripped and bundled my clothes, tying them over one shoulder, and touched earth again. Carefully I recalled the landscape of the southern bridge approaches—a steep descent from the mountains over treeless slopes, leveling out only within the last quellé. As certain as I could be of Max’s position along that road, I headed northward along Renna’s rutted road to the point where it began its steep descent. Holding the two landscapes in my head for similarity, I worked the shift…

Two riders pulled up sharply when I stumbled through a washed-out rut ten paces in front of them. Unfortunately, they were but the first of a sizable vanguard and neither of them was Max.

One sidewise glance and I dived off the road, tumbling farther than I liked down a precipitous slope of rocks and scrub into what appeared to be a snow-choked gully. I landed facedown and skidded farther yet, digging in my toes as my head and shoulders crashed through brittle branches and crusted snow. When I came to a stop, my head hung out over a precipice of at least a thousand quercae. My stomach plummeted the entire depth; thankfully, my body did not.

I held still, stifling my gasping breaths, while fifty other horsemen passed by and the two riders argued with each other about exactly what they had seen, and whether the slope was too dangerous to explore. As my legs began to cramp from my desperate hold, another man joined them.

“A naked demon glowing with light, you say?” said the newcomer, snorting in sarcasm after their lengthy description. “More likely a boulder tumbled off the cliff. Speak such foolishness again, and I’ll conjure tails on your backsides.”

“Aye, master.” The clank of harness and whuffling of horses was followed by departing hoofbeats. But only two beasts had gone.

“Are you falling out of the sky now, Valen? Pardon if I don’t come down to join you.”

I crept backward crabwise. Once I found a firmly rooted branch to rest my foot on, I turned around and scrambled upward. “I need to talk to you, Max.”