the dark red gleam inside the box, Ilse knew from Rana’s rising song that she had found the ruby.
Slowly she approached, hardly daring to breathe. Rana lay in a bed of white silk, its surface alight with magic. Its song beat against her thoughts, a complex pattern of dark and light notes. Her hand had just touched the ruby, when the door closed behind her.
“Andrej. You came back.”
Ilse plucked her hand away. Her skin contracted, as if her spirit still inhabited a body. Keeping her movements slow and deliberate, she turned around.
Dzavek stood at the entrance to the room. The outline of his face wavered, and through his eyes, Ilse saw the pale stones of the castle walls. He’d left his body behind, just as she had, and spirits in the realm of flesh could sense more than any guard.
“Milada,” he whispered.
His once-brilliant eyes widened. Age had clouded them, but it had not obscured the intelligence behind them. She remembered, from the distance of dreams and almost-forgotten days, how they had argued so passionately about Károví and its people, and whether the connection with the empire could be broken. She had not loved him—theirs was a marriage arranged by their fathers, both high-standing nobles whose families traced their lineage back to the old kingdom, before Erythandra had absorbed Károví into its domains. But she had always admired him.
“Leos.”
He smiled. “So you recognize me.”
“It took me some time. You expected Valara Baussay, of course.”
“Yes. Where is Andrej? He sent you to find Rana, of course.”
“Not directly,” she said, “but yes.”
“He was always persuasive,” Dzavek murmured. “Is that why you betrayed me in the end?”
She shook her head. “I never did, Leos.”
“Then why did you leave me?”
It was their old argument of loyalty and honor. She wanted to tell Leos that she had intended to serve both him and their kingdom, without betraying her own honor. She checked herself. In his eyes, the king was the kingdom. Her reasons were unimportant. Her personal honor meaningless. She had acted against him, therefore against Károví.
More than once, she reminded herself.
And so she simply said, “I left because I could not do otherwise.”
“We must each act according to our purpose,” he murmured.
He waved his hand, and ghostlike rings, silver and white, flashed their brilliant gems.
Though she heard no spoken invocation, the air thickened at once. She retreated from the pedestal, uncertain what he meant to do. It was then she heard the footsteps, slow and deliberate. Dzavek pointed toward the wall and a small door that Ilse had not noticed before.
The door swung open to reveal Dzavek’s body framed between the ivory posts. Dzavek’s spirit glided toward his body. For one moment, there was a doubled image. A heartbeat later, the two merged into one, sending a shock through the magic current. Dzavek blinked and drew a long breath. He passed a hand over his face. He appeared dazed and his skin gleamed with sweat.
Watching him, Ilse was reminded of Raul’s first secretary, Berthold Hax, in the days before his death. The face leached of warmth and color, the lines etched with the knife edge of pain, the strange distant gaze, half focused on this world, half on the void and journey to the next life.
He’s dying. He knows it. He knows he cannot escape death forever.
Dzavek walked unsteadily past Ilse to the marble pedestal. He gathered up Rana into his hands and closed his eyes. Though he did not move his lips, the current stirred. His face smoothed. The unhealthy gray vanished in the wake of a ruddy flush, and he stood straighter. It was like watching an invisible hand brush away the centuries.
“Leos…”
“No,” he said. “Do not argue with me, Milada. We have never agreed on these points. I do not wish to harm you, but I shall not let you betray me again.” His eyes opened to show them brilliant as before, but too bright, too intent. “I see you have Daya. Show me where you left your body. I ask you now. I will not ask so gently again.”
He advanced. Ilse took a step back, thinking swiftly what to do. She heard Daya’s faint song, a tremolo of minor notes. Underneath, almost inaudible, Rana’s deeper chords. What had been their song before the emperor’s mage divided their souls into three?
You know nothing about him, Dzavek had said.
It was then she understood. He had been the priest who entrapped a magical being inside a jewel. He had been the emperor’s mage, who