“There is a price for what you ask,” Natan said.
“I’ll pay it,” Ilvani said immediately.
Natan sighed. “You were always reckless, Sister.”
I have nothing left to be afraid of, Ilvani thought. “What does Tempus ask?”
Natan’s expression softened. “He wants you to be whole-to know that when you’re alone in the dark, you don’t have to hear the whispers unless you wish to. There are ways to silence the shadows, Ilvani, to see the deceptions in the void. The witches know. Tempus wants you to learn from them. You must find the strength to stand on your own for what’s to come.”
She read the sadness in his eyes and understood. “You won’t come to me again, will you?”
“I’m sorry,” her brother said. “You have everything you need, Ilvani. This last thing I can do for you, I do with joy.”
Ilvani looked down. Natan held his hands out to her across Ashok’s chest. She clasped them, and the sensation almost broke her, it hurt so much. She let one choked sob escape and bent to kiss his knuckles.
“I miss you,” she said.
“And I you.”
The golden light filled Ilvani’s hands. She looked up. Natan was gone, but the light spread from her hands to Ashok’s body and trapped the shadows.
Finally, Ilvani thought. Souls were precious as memories and as insubstantial. But for this one moment, she held them in her hands. She wouldn’t let them fly away.
She flung her arms wide to gather all the shadows.
Ashok awoke to warmth and disorienting silence. He was lying on the raft in the middle of the witch’s circle. Sree was gone. The landscape-the lake and surrounding forest-was serene and quiet.
Logically-if he could use the word-he knew he was dead, that this was some sort of spirit world, a mirror of Rashemen, but he wasn’t afraid. This was nothing like the realm of shadows where his father and brothers waited for him. And he wasn’t alone.
Ilvani lay asleep beside him, her head resting on his chest.
Ashok didn’t move, not wanting to disturb her peace. He felt her warm breath on his skin as she slept. The sky above them was full of slowly moving stars, turning and turning inward toward an inevitable vortex. They flashed red and blue, and they blazed brilliant white against the black field. Beneath the spiral, the moon rose, its crater face spilling milk white pools like waterfalls on the ground. Ashok felt utterly peaceful, but he wasn’t afraid of the sensation. His soul had never felt so fully a part of his physical form-whole and inviolate.
He wondered vaguely how long they would stay in this mirror world. Not long, perhaps, and in a sudden flash of knowledge, Ashok understood that he wouldn’t remember this other realm, its moon, and its gently flowing stars. Nor would he be able to recall this sensation of completeness. He wondered if this was the mythical Feywild spoken of by the witches. Or was he truly dead? Had he shed the physical realm completely to become a pure soul?
But Ilvani was there, an anchor in the peaceful, surreal landscape. Maybe she would be able to explain what it all meant. He was too tired to think about it now, so he let his eyes close. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he felt Ilvani’s hand touch his own. His fingers brushed her skin and the edges of a stone clutched in her palm. He held on to both and slept.
Ilvani awoke from the ritual to violence.
The treants came out of their madness, but not in time to stop their children from destroying the raft and breaking the ritual circle. Ilvani had the sensation of falling and heard the cries of the witches a breath before the lake swallowed all sound.
The freezing water shocked her back to full awareness. She fumbled at the clasp of her long cloak. The weight of the saturated fabric and chains threatened to drag her down, but she ripped the garment over her head and thrust it away.
She started to claw her way to the surface, when she sensed a presence near her in the water. It could have easily been an enemy, but something told her it wasn’t. Without thinking, she dived down and swam. The presence grew more distinct, and Ilvani reached out in the darkness.
She grasped a handful of wet wool, hair, and skin. A feeling of familiarity overwhelmed her. She remembered grasping Yaraella’s arms in her dreams, trying futilely to keep her from the storm’s grasp. Each time, she’d failed to save her. But she could save Yaraella’s child.
Ilvani pulled the girl against her chest and kicked toward the surface. The freezing water deadened her sense of touch. When her head finally broke the surface, Ilvani could barely feel the child she clutched in her arms.
She swam toward the dock, but her strength flagged. When she thought she would go under, hands caught her and hoisted her out of the water. She made out the dim outline of the dock by the torchlight. Someone spoke, and more hands came and took the child from her limp grasp.
Blankets fell on her, the heavy, warm weights settling against her skin and lulling her into a half sleep of exhaustion. Voices echoed above her-sometimes she could understand them, sometimes not.
“Are they all out of the water?”
“Yes, but at least one didn’t survive the ritual.”
“Who?”
“The hathran Sree. Agny is tending to the rest. Her magic won’t let them freeze to death.”
“Then our duty is to see to our own fallen.”
Ilvani thought she recognized the voice of the Rashemi warriors. She fought against unconsciousness, tried to speak, but her teeth chattered uncontrollably.
“What of the shadar-kai?”
“They live; they can see to themselves.”
“One didn’t. I saw his corpse.”
Laughter sounded. “Your eyes deceived you. The corpse walks and breathes. He’s treating the others’ wounds.”
Ilvani relaxed and stopped trying to speak. Ashok lived. Yaraella’s child lived. She thought she could ignore the voices now and sleep.
EPILOGUE
In the wake of the ritual, the rashemi left the Shadar-kai to themselves while they gathered to mourn Sree’s death. Ashok didn’t know how he survived the witch’s poison, but since he had, and knowing Ilvani had come out of the ritual whole and freed from Yaraella’s influence, Ashok decided to tell only Agny about Sree’s betrayal and Yaraella’s murder. She in turn could one day tell Elina, when the child was ready to bear the truth.
Beyond that, in Ashok’s eyes there was no justice left to seek. Sree paid for her crime, and according to some cryptic remarks made by Ilvani, Yaraella’s vengeful spirit had moved beyond the concerns of this world.
The morning after Sree’s burial, Ashok found Ilvani sitting beside the lake. Wrapped in his cloak-he didn’t remember her taking it again-she shivered against the wind coming in off the lake. Ashok sat down beside her. They didn’t speak for a long time. Ashok tapped the ice-covered surface of the shallows with his knuckles, watching the cracks spider out toward the middle of the lake.
Finally, he couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“I don’t remember all of it,” he said. “But you were there, this time. Weren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded rough, as if she’d been asleep.
“What happened?”
From the depths of his cloak, she exposed her hands, cupped them, and examined the scars on her arms.
“Not so useless,” she said. “My hands. I touched …”
“What?” Ashok said.
She hesitated, but then pulled her hands back inside his cloak. “The whispers are quiet now. The telthors are respectful. They know when to be still.”