know as he does, as the brother does, how to bind me stronger.
Its voice blurred into music again, as it spoke about the centuries in Anderswar, hidden. Working through plans, though its nature was not given to such. Absorbing magic. Thinking that if it had one chance, it would break from its prison. But not alone. Ilse heard three strong chords, followed by a long, long note that vibrated through her bones.
You must deliver us, Daya said at last.
I know, Ilse whispered. I promise.
She rested her head on her hands. The ring felt heavy on her finger. The strong green scent of magic filled the air, the sweet fragrance of wildflowers and new grass, an impossible contradiction to the frozen plains outside the Mantharah’s walls.
Death and rebirth. The eternal contradiction of magic.
She thought about a world without the threat of war. Removing the jewels would not accomplish that—she was not so foolish to think so—but it would make the wars much harder to carry through. Would Valara see that? She might tell herself that she only wished to defend Morennioù, but like Armand, like Dzavek, she might soon persuade herself to a different, more murderous course. Was that why she had not yet returned?
If I took the ruby, then I could bargain with her.
She rubbed her aching eyes with her knuckles. The fire had died away. The oats were as roasted as they would be. She chewed a few handfuls, drank the lukewarm tea to wet her throat, and felt the headache recede. The winds were rising again, a thin high keening. Snow hissed against the Mantharah’s walls, only to vanish into meltwater.
Running just beneath the windsong, she heard Daya speaking again. Go in spirit. Go through the world of flesh in spirit with me. We shall take Rana. We shall make the leap into Anderswar and back to here, to the Agnau. Then you shall have two of us, and Valara Baussay has no choice but to follow.
She remembered now. The oldest mages, the ones who served the chieftans of Erythandra in the northern plains, before they moved south to conquer and make an empire. It was part of their initiation, to walk in the spirit but remain in the ordinary world. There were no written records, of course, but the old tribes had handed down the stories, priest to priest, until those stories reached the days when scribes set them to parchment. If she left her body here by the Agnau, her spirit could glide the miles to Zalinenka, unseen by guards. She and Daya could take Rana and escape through Anderswar and thence back to Agnau.
Flesh in the spirit. And spirit in the world of flesh.
A sense of vertigo swept over her, recalling her first time in Anderswar and that disembodied sensation, as if she were floating in an ocean of mist.
A return to ordinary chores restored her sense of place. She buried the fire. Laid out her sword and dagger in their sheaths. Then she lay down on the warm sands and clasped her hands over Daya. “Komen mir, lâzen mir,” she whispered. “Lir give me courage. Toc give me strength.”
The current contracted around her, then blossomed outward. Her spirit rose to standing, her body shifting slightly as the two separated. She breathed deeply, felt the muted sensation of flesh against cloth-in-memory, and glanced around.
The world had turned translucent. Bright fires—other spirits—were moving about. Two bright sparks circled the opening between the cliffs—winter foxes on the hunt. From the south came a sense of many more. Rastov and Leos Dzavek’s castle.
Ilse turned south, and began the journey to Zalinenka.
* * *
VALARA RETURNED TO find Ilse lying motionless next to the Mantharah’s cliffs. Her eyes were closed, and her lips parted. In the Agnau’s extraordinary light, it appeared as though the other woman were speaking. Right away, she noted that Ilse wore the ring on her left hand.
She thought I betrayed her. She went to Zalinenka. Alone.
Valara wasted no time in fury or second thoughts. With the sapphire clasped in one hand, she lay down next to Ilse and spoke the words to release her spirit from her flesh.
* * *
ILSE WALKED FOR hours across the plains, through a world painted in grays and black and muddy white. Her passage left a glittering trail, visible to the spirit eye until she wiped its trace clean. In places, a companion set of tracks dented the snow crust. The tracks were slight, a powdery dusting of snow crystals swept