The creature on the altar moans.
“Lucero?” The fletching of the arrow in his chest flutters in the breeze. Blood seeps from the wound. I wait for a reaction, some indication that his life leaves him. But the line between death and living death is too fine. One moment, he is staring up into the sky, and the next he is still staring, but with a little less light in his eyes. Or maybe I imagine it.
The difference is in me. For the first time since arriving in Umbra de Deus, my Godstone quiets. It flashes neither hot nor cold but resumes its usual mild pulsing. In spite of everything, I am calmer than I’ve been in days. I place my fingertips to my navel and send up a quick prayer of guilty thanks.
“What just happened?” Mara demands.
“He tricked me,” I say. “Drew me in so he could channel my power and destroy the whole city.”
Storm’s face has a sickly pallor. He can’t look away from Lucero’s limp body. “How long has he been plotting his revenge?”
“Probably a century.”
We stare aghast as Lucero’s corpse shrivels and grays, then deflates into dust before our eyes. The wind whisks away the top layer, revealing a sparkling Godstone winking at us from the ashy pile.
Storm and I exchange a look. We saw the same thing happen on Isla Oscura to the strange sorcerer there. Storm looks down at his feet, and I wonder if he’s thinking of the manacles around his ankles, hidden by his boots, formed when the zafira tried to claim him as its gatekeeper when the first one turned to dust.
At the sound of footsteps we whirl, drawing weapons as Invierno guards pour onto the balcony.
Mula stands closest to the altar. I whisper to her. “Grab that stone!”
Her tiny arm darts out, plucks Lucero’s Godstone from his dusty remains, and shoves it in a pocket just as Hawk and Pine follow the guards onto the balcony.
“I can’t outrun them right now,” I mutter to Hector.
“Then we fight. We can handle three-to-one odds. Just stay clear of that pit.”
They won’t capture me again, for fear that even a Deciregis is no match for a living bearer. The hidden pit was what gave them the advantage.
Pine looks at the dead boy on the altar, then focuses his oily black gaze on me. Fury flows from him in waves. “You have killed us all,” he says. “Without a source of power—”
“I have saved you all, you colossal idiot.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Not the best way to bargain for peace.
“What are you talking about?” Pine demands, but the earth still rumbles, and even before he finishes the sentence his gaze drifts up toward the smoking mountains. “Oh,” he breathes. “I felt the earth move, felt an explosion of power, but I thought it was the zafira being ripped away from us.”
“Your unwilling sacrifice triggered the volcanoes,” Storm says. “Her Majesty stopped the eruption.”
Pine whirls on his son. “You! You are ash in my mouth. A dung heap that steams in winter winds. The oily scum that covers—”
“Enough!” I yell as the earth continues to rumble and ash drifts down around us like sickly snow. “He is a prince of the realm,” I remind him. And then, coldly, “If you want to know the location of the gate that leads to life, you will reinstate him as your heir.” My limbs buzz with excitement, with power, and it has nothing to do with magic. This could work after all—if they would just see beyond their rage to what I’m offering.
“He lied to us,” Hawk says. “He said his first loyalty was to Crooked Sequoia House.”
Storm lied for me? I’m careful to keep the smile from my face. “I’m sure Storm is doing what he thinks is best for the house.”
“For all of Invierne,” Storm says. “Take us before the Deciregi. Her Majesty will repeat her offer to everyone. Even though the sacrifice is dead, our nation need not perish.”
Pine seems to coil in on himself, while Hawk gazes sadly toward the broken, ash-choked mountains. After a long moment of silence, Pine says, “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
I take him to mean an agreement between us is impossible, but then he adds, “They’re gone. Every single one.” He looks down at Hawk, and his metal-gloved hand reaches up to stroke her hair. It’s the tiniest gesture, but I twinge with discomfort, as if I’m witness to a very private moment. Pine whispers, “We are the only two left.”
“What are you talking about?” Storm demands. “Where did they go?”
Pine looks at me, dead-on. “We were betrayed. Months ago, we agreed as a council to lure you here. To capture you and make you our living sacrifice. But the others conspired in secret. Their plan was to lure you here as a distraction.”
“Oh, no.” My stomach churns, and my heart begins to beat erratically.
“Yes. The other eight Deciregi remain bent on avenging our people. The moment we reported that we had captured you, they left for Basajuan. They took their sworn animagi with them, even their acolytes. They will conquer Basajuan easily without you there to interfere. I wouldn’t be surprised if they razed it to the ground.”
Mara gasp echoes my own horror. Cosmé. Jacián. All our friends.
My sister might be there by now too. Alodia will have brought a diplomatic escort, not a military one. Cosmé has been building her garrison since becoming queen, but it is not yet at full strength. Even if it was, no army could hold back all the animagi of Umbra de Deus, led by the most powerful sorcerers in the world. And once Basajuan falls, Orovalle and Joya d’Arena will quickly follow.
A hand settles on my shoulder, and Hector says, “Elisa, we must go now.”
I nod, but to Pine I say, “Will you let us leave? On the understanding that I will do what I can to save your people and bring you to the zafira?”
He winces. “Yes.”
“Your Eminence, do know that if I make it back to Basajuan in time to save it, I may destroy the Deciregi. You two might be the only ones left. And if that happens—”
Pine and Hawk are already nodding. “Yes, yes,” Pine says. “We will discuss terms. You leave us no choice.”
“I plan to offer full access and safe passage through my country in exchange for a cessation of hostilities, utter compliance with the laws of my land while in it, reinstitution of Storm as your heir, and . . .” The idea hits, and I almost gasp at its pure simplicity. “And a marriage union between a prince or princess of Invierne and the match of my choosing.”
A slow smile breaks over Pine’s face, revealing pointed teeth and deep self-satisfaction. “I’m sure my son will be delighted to do his duty and marry whomever you choose.”
My return smile is just as smug. He thinks he has trapped me by offering up someone he views as expendable, but he has played right into my hands. “I accept! I promise to make a good marriage for him.”
Storm is staring at me, his green eyes wide with horror.
“Will you guarantee us safe passage out of Umbra de Deus?” Hector asks.
Hawk shrugs with seeming nonchalance and says, “We probably could not stop you. We are no match for one whom even the Eyes of God obey. And without our living sacrifice, our own power is a shadow of what it was.”
I study her, trying to parse what she’s not saying. “I’ll repeat the Lord-Commander’s question. Will you guarantee us safe passage out of Umbra de Deus? A yes or no will suffice.”
Pine frowns. “Yes.”
“And will you promise not to pursue us as we travel to Basajuan?”
“I promise.”
“You promise what?”
“I promise that I will not pursue you as you travel to Basajuan.”
“Will you pursue any of my companions or anything that we carry?”
“No.”
“Will you send someone else to pursue us on your behalf? Or will you inform someone so that they can pursue on their own behalf?”
“No.”
“And will you stop anyone who tries to pursue us?”
“N—Yes. Yes, I will.”
As we grab torches and enter the tunnel leading to Crooked Sequoia House, Storm sidles up to me and says, “You have learned to bargain like an Invierno.”
“Storm, about that marriage agreement—”
“I am your loyal subject.”
23
WE leave the city escorted by Pine’s own guards. We are not disguised this time, and everyone stares as we pass on the road. They give us a wide berth and whisper to one another as our carriage rattles along, not just because we are foreign, but because of the dangerous speed at which we travel their winding, narrow highway. Or maybe because of the ash still floating down from the sky. It mixes with light rain and turns to thick sludge, collecting on every street and rooftop.
Storm’s sister, Waterfall, accompanies us. At the last moment, the Deciregus decided he wanted an additional representative in our party—on “the unlikely possibility” that we are successful in saving Basajuan and will indeed be able to parlay.
He wants a spy, and I’m perfectly happy to comply. Waterfall will know exactly what I want her to know.
Pine provided us with fresh packs and supplies, and Hawk gave us warm, supple cloaks against the biting winter air. Near the edge of the city, we bought fur-lined gloves, a new pair of boots for Mula, and head scarves made of wolverine hair, which the vendor assured us would shed frost in any temperature. It’s surprisingly familiar; preparing for extreme cold is not so different from preparing for desert windstorms.
The other Deciregi have more than a day’s start, but Hector agrees that it is not an insurmountable lead. We might encounter them on the way. We might even arrive in Basajuan ahead of them. We will plan for both possibilities.
The ashy rain becomes snow as we turn off the highway and onto the mountain trail. The clouds are so low and dirty that they threaten to choke the tops of the pines. The icy air feels like tiny knife blades as I draw it into my lungs.
The thickening blanket of ash and snow makes the world unrecognizable, but Waterfall is able to guide us to the exact spot where she first encountered us. We climb the slippery slope and find the glade where we left our mounts. Two dark horses peppered with white shy away as we approach.
“It’s me, Horse,” I say in a soothing tone. “I told you I’d be back.”
At the sound of my voice, Horse whinnies and tosses her head. She trots forward eagerly, shoves her nose into my chest, and roots around for a treat. I laugh, running my fingers through her long forelock, surprised at how relieved I am to find her unharmed.
We saddle our horses and prepare to mount up. I haven’t needed help mounting Horse in a long time, but Hector insists on lifting me into the saddle, and I decide it’s all right to let him. Once I’m settled, his hand slides from my waist to linger on my thigh. I reach down to give it a squeeze.
With his free hand, he rubs at a nonexistent spot on my saddle and says in a muted voice, “I’m sorry I deliberated, even for a moment, about whether I should marry you. When you dropped into that pit, I . . .”
“Well, we’ll have no more of such foolishness,” I say harshly, to cover the wavering in my voice. “We’re getting married, and that’s that.”
He flashes me a quick grin, squeezes my knee, and steps away to mount his own horse. I stare after him, at his broad shoulders and the curling hair that has grown long enough to peek around his winter cowl. If I could skip the upcoming journey, the inevitable battle, even the wedding, just to get to the marriage part, I would do it. I never want to say good-bye to him again.
We ride against the wind, seven of us now, heads bowed over the necks of our sturdy mountain horses. Soon the snow is deep enough to cover our horses’ fetlocks. The ash clouds cause night to fall early, and we are forced to stop too soon.
We make camp at the base of a cliff, so that the wall traps the warmth of our campfire and reflects it back. It is nearly impossible to hammer our tent pegs into the frozen ground, but we do it. Fortunately, the tents are steeply pitched, and snow only collects a little before sliding off and tumbling to the ground in great puffs.
Mara makes a bland but hot soup of softened jerky, dried onions, and pine bark, but I haven’t slept or even rested since escaping the pit, and I have no appetite. I eat less than half the bowl before giving the rest to Mula, who slurps it down eagerly.
I drag myself into my tent and slip into my bedroll. It’s freezing, and my teeth chatter. I know my bedroll will eventually warm to my body, but I don’t feel like waiting.
Thank you, God, for sparing the lives of all my companions while we were at the enemy’s door. I hope it’s not asking too much, but if you could just help us get to Basajuan before the Deciregi do, I would appreciate it.
The truth is, I’m not sure if God looked out for us, or if we won the day ourselves. I’m not sure of anything about him anymore. The stone inside me bears his name, but it turns out that Godstones existed here long before my people brought the knowledge of God to this place.
Even so, my Godstone spreads warmth throughout my body, and I fall asleep praying.
Mara shakes me awake in the morning. I blink bleariness from my eyes and struggle to my feet. I stretch stiff limbs and shake the snow from my braid, which never quite made it inside the tent with the rest of me.
Everyone else is ready to go; the horses are saddled, the tents are packed up, the fire stomped out. “We let you sleep as long as possible,” Mara says, handing me a fried corn cake that has gone so cold the honey she dribbled on it has crystallized.
“Thank you,” I say around my mouthful of breakfast, but unease fills me. I don’t want to be the one holding us back. “Don’t let me sleep late tomorrow.”