Hexed

Dedicated to

My Lady Mielikki

ONE

I STARED AT THE PORTAL, WONDERING IF I really wanted to do this. I’d been running from this moment for almost six centuries. I’d been running from my memories for just as long. Now, even though I wasn’t sure how, I had to return to the place where my downfall had taken place—and right what went wrong.

If I can. If I am truly innocent. But what happens if I find out I did it? What happens if I find out that I really did kill Vikkommin and forever lock his soul within a shadow, to roam the northern lands, crazed like a wild, magical beast? What. . . what if I am the monster the temple Elders thought I might be?

Camille, Smoky, and Rozurial stood behind me, Camille’s hand on my shoulder. “All you have to do is say the word and we go through. Or turn back. It’s up to you, Iris. We’ll support whatever decision you make.”

I glanced up at the raven-haired beauty who made up onethird of the half-human, half-Fae D’Artigo sisters. She had dressed for the journey, eschewing her usual bustiers and chiffon skirts and stilettos for a warm, black split skirt and turtleneck, and a heavy cape slung around her shoulders. The cape was thick and resonated with magic, having been cut from the hide of the Black Unicorn himself. Camille carried a staff with her that I’d never before seen.

“Where did you get that?” I pointed to the intricately carved stave. The wood resonated as yew. The head was a polished knob of intricately wrought silver surrounding a crystal orb the size of my fist.

She smiled and ran her hand over the burled surface of the wood. “A gift. From Aeval. I still don’t know how to use it, but I thought I’d bring it along. It will make hiking easier, in any matter.”

“Enough said.” I didn’t have to ask any more. The Queen of Darkness was to be Camille’s new mistress, and it seemed she intended for her new acolyte to return in one piece.

Two men stood beside Camille—Smoky, one of Camille’s three husbands, and Rozurial, an incubus. Smoky’s hair coiled with a life of its own, surrounding him like a cloud of spun silver, and he stood more than two feet taller than me. Smoky was a dragon—half silver, half white, and pale as milk on a snowy morning. He’d come down from the Dragon Reaches high above the Northlands untold years ago, leaving his homeland to reside Earthside. Rozurial had dark curly hair, and he’d searched the Northlands from one side to the other, looking for the crazed vampire who had destroyed his family, the same one who had turned Camille’s sister Menolly. Rozurial knew the land like the back of his hand.

Smoky knelt beside me and took my hand, bringing it up to press gently to his forehead. “Lady Iris,” he said, his eyes whirling, a glacial pool of hoarfrost and ice. “We will do whatever we can to protect you on your journey. The Northlands are a dangerous place but you know this better than anyone. You are part of my wife’s extended family; therefore you are my sister. Whatever I can do to help, if it is within my power, I will do.”

My hand seemed so small in his—we Talon-haltijas were, like all types of sprites, tiny. I was barely a smidge over four feet tall, petite though sturdy. I gazed at his hand and then curled my fingers around his, squeezing them tight.

Rozurial joined him. “The only thing that can drag me back to the Northlands is to help a good friend. You’re one of the best. Even if you won’t date me.” He gave me a twinkling smile, but concern lurked behind the mask of humor.

I grinned at him. Roz would never change, and for that I loved him. “I won’t date you because I’m already dating Bruce. And you . . . you’re a heartbreaker.”

“Not my fault, just my nature,” he pleaded.

I turned to Camille, whose lips bowed in a gentle smile. She let out a long sigh. “If we’re going, we’d better get a move on. It will be freezing in Otherworld, and we need to portal jump to the Northlands before nightfall.”

I steeled myself.

You know it is time . . . The words tickled my thoughts, sliding over my doubts and fears like cool comfort on a hot summer night.

Yes, my Lady, I know . . . I cannot avoid this any longer. But please, guard over us, and whatever happens to me, watch that the others return to fight against the demons. I am taking them into danger.

But Undutar’s voice was soothing, and for the thousandth time I was grateful she hadn’t forsaken me when the temple Elders had.

They go with you willingly, my Priestess. Come now. Return to the lands of your power. Return to me. Free Vikkommin’s spirit, break the curse upon you, and clear your name so you will be able to marry and have children.

I stared at Grandmother Coyote’s portal. We were standing in the middle of a snow-shrouded wood, in the Belles-Faire district of Seattle, a few miles from home. But we were about to travel through the veil, to Otherworld, the land of Camille’s birth. From there we would journey to the Northlands, the world I’d left behind so long ago, when I’d been branded a murderer, stripped of my strongest powers, and cast out of the order of Undutar, the Goddess of the Mist and Snow.

I sucked in a deep breath and turned to the three of them. “I’m ready.” As we stepped through the portal, the world shifted. There was no turning back.

WE EMERGED FROM the portal near the mounds surrounding the Elfin city of Elqaneve. Great, snow-covered grass barrows served as the ancient tombs of elfin lords and heroes, the site where horrific battles had been waged and won or lost, long past in the mists of time.

We arrived in the midst of a snowstorm—the seasons in Otherworld matched those back home. By the looks of things, the snow had already fallen thick and fast. On a positive note, Otherworld had escaped the global warming that was affecting Earthside. The air over here was also cleaner than the air back home, and a soft flow of magic replaced the constant hum of electricity.

Nearby, a family of elves readied themselves for a jump somewhere—Dahnsburg, according to the sign they were standing next to—and I stared at them, thinking that it was no different from a family holiday vacation back in Seattle, except they were traveling via portal rather than airplane.

“What do we do first?” Camille asked.

“We meet up with the Great Winter Wolf Spirit. He’s agreed to help me.”

Actually, Howl and I had struck a bargain, is what we’d done. He would help me, if I worked to help his Earthside wolfen children. I’d joined Wolf Whistle—a new organization in Seattle dedicated to spreading the return of the wolves across the United States and protecting them from slaughter—and I was pouring time and energy into the group. That seemed enough to satisfy him.

“I’m glad I caught you.”

Turning, I was surprised to see Trenyth standing there. Queen Asteria’s adviser, the elf was kind and regal and fair. It seemed that trouble always followed close on his heels.

“Trenyth—what are you doing here? We didn’t tell anybody we were coming.”

He gave a genteel bow. “I’ve come to escort you to your meeting.”

Camille glanced at me, a question in her eyes. I shook my head slightly. I hadn’t let him know we were on the way, so he must have found out through some other means. We waited until we were in the carriage headed toward the inn on the other side of the Elfin city, before Camille turned to the adviser.

“How did you know we were coming?”

I knew she wanted to ask how her father was—they were on the outs—but she didn’t, and I decided not to broach the subject. Trenyth seemed startled. He paused, then gave a sideways glance at Rozurial, who cleared his throat.

I turned to Roz. “What did you do?”

He hemmed and hawed for a moment, then gave a little shrug. “Well, I figured the elves should know what we’re doing. Just in case . . .” With a sideways glance back at me, he smiled and I realized he thought I’d be mad at him. Which wasn’t far off.

“Rozurial is right on one thing.” I sighed, then looked over at Trenyth. “We’re heading into danger. Some of the creatures in the Northlands could rip us to shreds without the least exertion. And my end goal . . . is dangerous as well. I suppose somebody had to know over here. Just in case we don’t check back in, would you let them know back home?”

Trenyth tried to keep his voice light, but his eyes were somber. “Of course, Lady Iris. But you must come through this alive and in one piece. The war against the demons is too dangerous for any of you to die.”

Smoky punched Roz in the arm, and not all that gently. “Good thinking, though I hate to admit it. But next time, I’ll take care of the worrying.”

“Easy, Dragon-Boy. I am not after your woman. She has three husbands, and there’s no room for me.” Roz arched one eyebrow, but now he was teasing and the tension slipped away. Though they had actually gone tooth and claw at one point, they were friends now. For the most part.

Camille shook her head. “No use arguing. They’d gang up on us.”

Feeling outnumbered—and loved—I laughed. “Not a problem, as long as we don’t miss our appointment with Howl. I’m not upset he spilled the beans.”

But inside, I was pissed at Roz for sticking his nose in where I hadn’t asked him to. I didn’t want anybody else knowing about this. The last thing I needed was for Asteria, the Elfin Queen, to look at me with a question in her heart. I had enough of those myself.

Trenyth seemed to sense my mood. He leaned toward me. “Lady Iris, Ar’jant d’tel—the Queen knows only that you are planning a ‘vacation’ to the Northlands. I did not tell her the reason and, unless it threatens security, I will not tell her. I give you my word.”

Relieved, I forced a smile to my lips. “You’re all right, Trenyth. I owe you one.”

“Just do what you need to do, and reclaim what is rightfully yours.” He lifted my fingers to his lips, gently kissing the top of my hand. A shiver ran through me and I gazed up at him, wondering just how much he knew.

Ar’jant d’tel. In the language of my childhood—the language of the Talon-haltija—it meant Chosen of the Gods, bound for great hope and responsibility. But the title had been stripped away with my honor and every hope I’d ever had. I opened my lips to protest, but one glance at his eyes—at his caring gaze—stopped my tongue. Trenyth believed in me. Could I do any less?

I let out a long sigh and nodded. “Thank you. And we gratefully accept your help. I’m afraid . . . but I have to do this.”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

MY NAME IS Iris Kuusi, and I’m one of the Talon-haltija, a Finnish house sprite. I was born for greater things. Chosen by the Temple of Undutar when I was very young, I was carried away, much like the young Dalai Lama, and raised to be a priestess. My destiny was to become High Priestess—to rule over ice and mist and fog as the handmaiden of a goddess.

My consort was chosen in much the same way. We were raised together, never questioning our destinies, accepting that we would rule over the Order until we were old, if our goddess willed it.

But shortly before we ascended to our posts—before the elderly Priestess let go and fell into her final, mist-shrouded sleep—something happened, and I left the temple under a cloud of suspicion, never to return.

For six hundred years, when winter sweeps into the land, I feel the chill of the snow in my heart, and in every shadow I see Vikkommin’s accusing face. And I wonder—did I commit the crime of which they accused me? The Elders never ascertained whether I was actually guilty. And in my heart, I do not know the truth. I don’t know if I’m a murderer, or whether I was framed . . .

“WHAT ARE YOU thinking about?” Roz tapped me on the shoulder. I gave him a slow smile, thinking that he, too, had seen a life of pain and torture. The gods were cruel in their play and fate unmerciful in her choices.

“I’m wondering what I’ll find. Whether I’ll be able to find the answers.”

Trenyth glanced over at me from his seat opposite mine. “I have every faith in you, Iris. I trust you are innocent. But you need to prove it, once and for all, to lift the curse and to move on with your life.”

I nodded. There was no going back, no turning around and ignoring it. I wanted to marry Bruce O’Shea, my leprechaun lover, and have children—a whole passel of them. I was still young, young enough to have the large family for which I longed. But until I could answer the questions as to what happened that night, the temple Elders had cursed me to forever be barren.

But what if I’m guilty? How will I live with that?

With these thoughts running through my head, I stared out the window as we passed through the city streets. The houses in Elqaneve all had a mossy, leafy feel, even though they were made of stone and wood just like back Earthside. But their yards and lawns—they were brilliant works of art, living gardens that sparkled and popped with energy. Even in the winter, under a thick blanket of snow, they were filled with ice sculptures and the crystalline look of snow on conifers.

Camille leaned her head against Smoky’s chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. She was five seven, and next to his six four, she was positively diminutive. “Where are we headed?”

I let out a low sigh. “We meet Howl at the Wounded Warrior. It’s an inn.”

“How will we know him? I assume you know what he looks like?”

I nodded, quietly. I knew what Howl looked like all too well. “We’ve talked several times over the years. The last, near the fall equinox when I came to Otherworld with Camille. Howl and I met then, and I asked for his help.” And then I told them what I’d asked.

SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE, near the autumn equinox, I’d journeyed back to Otherworld with Camille and Morio—her second husband. While Camille reunited with her alpha lover Trillian, Morio and I’d prowled the streets of Dahnsburg. I’d left Morio outside in the streets telling him I’d be out later. Howl had instructed me to come alone and I didn’t want him to think I was cheating on our deal, so I entered the tavern by myself. The Crystal Bridge, a sister bar to the Wounded Warrior in Elqaneve, primarily serviced veterans of the Y’Elestrial civil war. Elfin vets, that is. Too many had been killed or captured by Lethesanar, the Opium Eater drugcrazed queen who had been taken down by her sister. A number had retreated to Dahnsburg, on the shores of the Wyvern Ocean, hoping for rejuvenation.

The bar was dark, gloomy, and filled with smoke from a dozen different herbal smoking mixtures. I coughed, glancing around. Amid the shadows that flickered in the dim lights, I saw a variety of elves mingling with Fae and even a few Svartans. But these elves didn’t have the easy look of most of their kin. They were weathered, some missing limbs or limping, and had a look in their eyes that reminded me of myself six hundred years ago. They’d been through hell, and returned.

One wandered up to me and leaned down, his fingers reaching for my hair. “Beauty. You are such a little beauty—”

“I can cut your privates off with a whisper to the wind,” I said, smiling sweetly. “Do you really want to chance it?”

Most people thought I was a pushover, an easy mark, since I was so short and petite. Some assumed I was mild and delicate; others thought I was a cozy maid. But I’d seen too much to ever be mild or cozy or an easy mark. I hid my memories well, but they were always there to fuel the need to fight.

He looked at me, looked deep in my eyes, and backed off. “No, I don’t think I do. Mistress, be safe on your way.” As he turned to leave, a small gleam of clarity peeked out through his fog-shrouded gaze.

I continued through the bar unaccosted, the cacophony of noise crowding my thoughts. The smells of ale and wine were thick, and I motioned to the bartender. “Brandy, please.” Tossing a coin on the counter, I took the proffered glass and turned to let my gaze flicker through the crowd.

There . . . in the corner . . . a man who was staring directly at me. He was tall, at least to me, probably about five nine and rough looking. Five-o’clock razor stubble shadowed his chin. I knew those features.

Howl.

He was wearing leather buckskin pants, and his chest was bare, with a cape of wolf pelts draped around his shoulder and a headdress of teeth and bones and cedar rising from his head. His eyes were dark, so dark you could fall in and lose yourself for days. He looked to be in his early forties, and I noticed everyone had given him wide berth.

When he caught me staring at him, he raised his glass silently to me and I headed over in his direction.

“Howl. It’s good to see you again.”

“As it is you, Lady Iris.” He motioned to the opposite seat. “Please, sit.”

I slid into the booth and carefully placed my brandy on the table in front of me. “Thank you for meeting me. I did bring a companion but left him outside.” I wanted to be straight up in case he somehow knew I’d come with backup.

“Not a problem,” he said, attending to his own drink. He paused, sipping the golden liquor in his glass. “So, tell me, how can I help you?”

“I’m seeking information and help and it has to do with something in the Northlands. You are one of the Elemental Lords, ruling over the plane of ice and snow. I thought perhaps you might be willing or able to help me.”

“You ask, knowing there is always a price to pay. I sense no fear. Desperation, perhaps? You are able. Willing? We shall see.” He raised one eyebrow. “Ar’jant d’tel. Chosen of the Gods. You wear the cloak in your aura but not on your back. Why?”

I let out a soft sigh. “I was accused of murder, of misusing my powers. I have no memory of whether this is true. That is what I seek to find out: What really happened so many centuries ago. Whether I destroyed the man I loved or whether I was framed. That’s why I need your help.”

“How would I be able to help you with that?”

I paled. “They say I ripped away his spirit and embedded it in a moving shadow, then destroyed his body. I certainly had the power to do so, but . . .”

“And again, I ask, how would I be able to help you with this?”

I gazed into his eyes, direct, opening up my fears that I would be forever cursed. “His spirit roams in shadow form through the Northlands, through the lands you rule over, and that is where I must go to seek the truth. Vikkommin is forever trapped within the shadow and he’s gone mad over the years. I need to set him free and hope to learn the truth of my past if I’m ever to break a curse placed on my head.”

Howl finished his drink and signaled for another. He leaned forward, across the table. “Mistress Sprite, you have been living in sorrow for centuries now. Are you sure you want to chance deepening that pain? What if you find out that you were responsible?”

I swallowed the rest of my drink, and when the waitress came I motioned for another.

“If I did do it, then I’ll turn myself in to the temple and await their punishment. They set me free the first time because we couldn’t find the truth. If I am culpable, then I will accept their decree, whatever it is.”

The thought of what the Elder Council could—and would—do to me should I be proven guilty terrified me. But if I had done it . . . if I’d trapped Vikkommin for centuries in shadow form and tortured his body, then I deserved whatever they offered me. I hung my head, waiting.

Howl reached across the table and took my hand in his. His touch sparked the wild, feral side of me and I gazed into those brilliant eyes.

“You truly deserve your title, stripped or not. Few are so brave as to willingly walk into the fire. But my dear Iris, I cannot help you. Not now. This is not my season and the Northlands are in the throes of autumn. Return to me near midwinter. Return to me when the snows are high and the winds howl around the eaves. And then I will help you. You may bring with you three friends. That is all I will allow when it comes to mortals.”

I caught his fingers in mine. “Thank you. I did not expect you to agree.”

“Beware, Iris Kuusi—I have offered my help in uncovering your past. It may not be the help you want. It may be the door to your own destruction.”

“Understood.” I polished off my brandy and nodded to him, turning to leave.

“Iris?”

Turning back, I saw he was leaning forward, watching me. “Yes?”

“You are caught between worlds, you are caught between paths, between destinies. If you do this thing, it may alter your life forever. Make very certain you are willing to pay the cost before returning to me. Only then shall you summon me.”

He tossed me a shimmering quartz bead. I caught it, gazing into the fractured surface. I could have sworn snowflakes glimmered from within. “What is this?”

“When you are ready, smash the gem and it will alert me. I’ll meet you in Elqaneve, in the Wounded Warrior tavern, two days after you have shattered the crystal. If you do not come to me within that time, then it will be as if we had never spoken.”

As I watched, he flickered and began to vanish, and then—he faded out of the booth and it was as if he’d never been there.

I GLANCED UP, Shaking off my memories. Everyone was looking at me, including Trenyth. I let out a long sigh. “I broke the crystal yesterday. If I don’t meet him before sunrise, I won’t ever meet him at all. He’ll lead us to the Northlands.”

Smoky nodded. “I have spoken with him, long ago. He is as honorable as you can expect one of the Elemental Lords to be.”

“I came prepared with some gifts to make your journey easier,” Trenyth said. But my mind was far away, returning over and over to the bloody room and what was left of my fiancé. And the dark shadow he had become.

TWO

THE STREETS WERE NEARLY CLEAR BY THE time we pulled up in front of the Wounded Warrior. Trenyth had given us climbing rope and food, and delicately light elfin cloaks that shed snow and water and cold like a duck’s down. As he helped me out of the carriage, he took me aside.

“Mistress Iris, I have something for you and I want you to promise me you’ll carry it with you.” He held out a small jewelry box.

I frowned, slowly accepting it. “What is this?”

Inside the velvet box sat a ring, a silver ring with a blue stone. It was beautiful and ornate, the band embellished with etchings of roses and leaves, but the energy coming from it was obscured to me.

“This is a ring of Shevah. It captures the spirit of Elqaneve and draws on the powers of Queen Asteria. It will strengthen you in the storm and shadow, and guide you when you are not sure of which direction to go. It won’t save you from harm, nor will it bring you victory, but the gift it bears may help see you through your task with a little more safety.”

His soft smile touched my heart, and I gazed into the eyes of the royal assistant. He was right-hand man to the Queen, her personal bodyguard. We had seen into his heart and knew something he didn’t even know about himself—Trenyth was in love with Queen Asteria. She was his all, and he would die for her. Any gift or help he gave to us had come from the heart of a gentle soul.

I held up the ring. It had been sized for small fingers, and so I slipped it on my right index finger and it fit, perfectly. As I gazed at the soft glow of the gem, a tear slid down my cheek and I found myself crying—just a little.

“Oh, Lady Iris.” Trenyth slipped his arms around me and I rested my head on his chest as he patted my back. “You’ll come through this. I know you will. I have faith in you.”

Sniffling, I pulled myself together and gave him a soft smile. “I wish I had as much faith in myself. I just . . . don’t know.”

He offered me his handkerchief and then, as we headed toward the bar, he saluted us. “Be safe. Contact me within four days’ time or I will send a search party.” And then, before I could say a word, he leapt into the carriage and the horses clattered off down the cobblestone streets.

THE INSIDE OF the tavern was dour, filled with shadow and the scent of overly sweet wine and hops. I glanced around, and toward the back, sitting at a long table alone, with a pitcher of beer in front of him, sat the Great Winter Wolf Spirit. Oh, how he shone. The season had quickened him. His wolf pelts were shimmering white and he sat tall, his skin pale against the dark tones of the table.

I motioned for the others to follow me and we headed toward the table. Howl glanced up at me.

“And so you come, Lady Iris.”

“And so I do. These are my friends, Smoky, Camille, and Rozurial.”

He gazed at them silently for a moment, then bid us all sit down. “Dragon, Witch, Incubus. And all bound to shadow, as is the Lady Iris.” He turned to Camille. “Though your shadows stem from another realm, far more terrifying than her own.”

At Camille’s startled look, he added, “I am an Elemental Lord. You expect anything less than my insight?” Before she could answer he drained his pint and stood. “You have struck the bargain, Iris. There is no turning back. Come, follow me. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can find out the truth of your past.”

Howl led us to the door, then out into the snow-shrouded street. I glanced up at the shimmering flakes that softly drifted to the ground. The elfin cloaks were warm, and I was grateful that Trenyth had stopped us before we left. We’d brought packs and gear, but now we were much better prepared. Smoky and Roz were carrying most of the equipment on their backs, leaving just our packs to Camille and me.

Passersby gave us wide berth—Howl was well known in Elqaneve and Dahnsburg, though he seldom went south of either city. The Winter Wolf Spirit was known to be volatile. He’d tear out your throat for as little as looking at him wrong, and yet he might just as easily rescue your child caught in the rapids of a rushing stream. Most people—elves, Fae, and Cryptos alike—found it safest to avoid the Elemental Lord.

We followed him through the darkened streets until we were on the outskirts. He led us to one of the barrows where a seldom-used portal waited. The guard look mildly surprised.

“Not many folks pass through here. Are you sure you want to go? The mountains are fiercely cold and winter is deep—” But then Howl, the Winter Wolf Spirit, walked to the front of the line. The guard fell silent, bowing his head quickly. He readied the portal.

“Where will this take us?” I asked.

“Deep into the upper reaches of the Tygerian Mountains, miss.” The guard glanced quietly at Howl, who did not speak. “From there, I assume you will be taking the portal to the Northlands. But you should rest for the night there—the village is safe for outsiders. Once you get into the heart of the Northlands, the accommodations are few and far between, and mostly to be found with private households.”

“I know the Northlands well, elf.” Smoky turned to him. “We won’t have any problems, but thank you for your concern.”

“The portal is ready. You may pass. May the Queen of Stars watch over you.” The elf stood back and we faced the glistening portal. The energy between the two standing stones crackled and popped, blue and white bolts rebounding from one stone to the other and back again.

Howl nodded to Smoky. “You first, then the incubus. Then the women. I will come last.” And so, without another word, we passed through to the Tygerian Mountains, where we did not tarry but instead crossed silently to the next portal and jumped all the way to the Northlands.

THE NORTHLANDS EXISTED in their own region, though they abutted Earthside, Otherworld, Valhalla, Kalevala, the Dragon Realms, and several other planes of existence. As we came through the portal, a blast of frigid air hit me—Elqaneve might have been chilly, but this was true cold. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders as my breath puffed into white clouds in front of my face.

I stepped into a small room—it was a cavern actually, formed by hand, chipped out of the mountainside in the rough approximation of a square room. The man standing guard looked human, but I could tell he was one of the Northmen, a breed of humans who had sprung from the Norse and Finnish gods as they intermarried with humans.

Living between “heaven” and “earth,” the Northmen stayed in the Northlands between Valhalla, Kalevala, and Earthside. They were as strong and quick as most Fae, but over the years the powers they’d inherited from the gods had diminished. Even so, they were still hardier than any human and could take chill temperatures without exhaustion. Some of the Northmen could see in the dark, and others were extremely adept at fighting and shield work. Their magic was in their singing voices and in their ability to charm the energy of metals and woods and weather.

“Welcome to the edge of the world,” the guard said in the common tongue. He glanced at Smoky and let out a little cry, before giving the dragon a swift bow. “Lord Iampaatar, welcome back.”

Smoky returned the nod. “Well met, Hanson. We need lodging for the night. Can you send word ahead to the inn? Three rooms—one for myself and my wife, one for Lady Iris, and one for Rozurial. The Winter Wolf Spirit will no doubt wish to make his own accommodations.”

I gazed at Smoky. He was well known here, that much was obvious. Hanson motioned to another man who had been standing nearby, and the man took off with a single nod.

Howl let out a low grunt. “I have a standing room at the inn. We stay one night. Tomorrow we begin the journey at daybreak. We cannot afford to be out in the mountains come evening. I would survive, and the dragon, but the women and incubus would freeze.” He swept out of the stone room without another word and we followed him.

It had been cold inside, but outside, it was brilliant and icy. The darkness ate up every light except the glow from the crusted snow beneath our feet. The sky was clear—the stars twinkling over our heads.

Camille immediately pulled her cloak in front of her face and I did the same, although I was more adapted toward these temperatures than she. It felt a good fifteen degrees below zero, and we moved silently along the trail, which had been marked by ropes on both sides and eye catchers spaced evenly along the way. If we wandered off the path and got lost, we could die.

Howl led us along the trail, nimbly striding along the packed crust. As we skirted a snowbank to the right, then a thick copse of fir and cedar to the left, a faint light began to sparkle up ahead.

Rounding a curve in the path, we found ourselves facing an inn, just right of the path, about sixty yards ahead. Lit up like a Yule tree, with eye catchers all over the outside framing the three-story building, the inn had been carved out of stone. As I gazed at it, I suddenly remembered: I’d been here before. This inn had been witness to the end of my life in the Northlands.

THE JOURNEY DOWN from the temple had been achingly hard. There had been several blank spots in my memory, then the image of a sparkling woman in the mists who had carried me across a chasm. I’d struggled through the snows, not sure if I would survive even to reach the next morning.

They’d cast me out before I fully healed from their interrogations, and every joint in my body ached. The ishonar—magical flames of ice colder than anything in nature—had stripped my back with every lash, and while there were no open wounds, the weals that the whip had raised along my back ached. But the pain of my body was nothing compared to the pain in my head. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take a deep breath, to keep it together.

Vikkommin, Vikkommin . . . his name echoed in my head.

Did you kill Vikkommin?

No, I don’t know, I don’t know anything.

The pain of a lash slashing across my back. Did you bind his soul to a shadow?

I don’t know . . . I don’t remember anything. I loved him—I loved him with all my heart. How could I have done anything that horrendous to him?

Another lash, another hellishly cold sting of ishonar, another scream that I slowly realized was emanating from the back of my own throat.

Tell us what happened.

I don’t remember. . . There was a knock on my door. I answered to find a message from him. He had called me to his room. I went, and I remember him opening the door . . . then it’s all blank, until you found me.

A pause, and then the lashes began to fall in earnest, as if all the pain in the world could break through the wall that had formed in my memory. And I began to scream, unable to stop, as I realized I had just lost everything dear to me in the world. And at that moment, I willed myself to die.

Later, when they had done all they could to me, but could prove nothing—no truth uncovered—I stood on the edge of the temple as they administered the final punishment: With one quick lop, the High Priestess sheared off my ankle-length hair at the nape of my neck. Now everyone would know I’d been banished from the temple—at least as long as it took to grow it out again. As she threw the golden strands into a fire pit, my nose wrinkled at the smell, and I hung my head, weeping silently.

My life was shattered. My head ached from the violation my mind had suffered. My back hurt beyond any pain I’d ever felt. But I understood that I wasn’t going to die, as much as I’d prayed for it.

The doors slowly began to shut. I turned and screamed, throwing myself to the ground. “Don’t forsake me. I am called by the goddess! She is in my heart. Kill me, please.”

The High Priestess stared down at me and a sorrowful look filled her eyes. “This is the last any of us will ever speak to you unless you can prove that you did not kill Vikkommin and bind his soul to the shadow. You have been stripped of your strongest powers and are no longer a threat. You have been stripped of the title of Ar’jant d’tel. You are excommunicated from the order. Go forth, back into the world. For your life here is over.”

She turned away, slamming the giant doors against me.

I stayed prone for a long time, weeping until the tears froze on my face. Slowly, when the cold ate into my body, I stood and shouldered my pack and—as it rubbed against my wounds, setting off sparks of pain—began the harrowing journey down the mountain toward the portal that would take me out of the Northlands, back home to Finland where I would have to lie to my family to avoid the embarrassment my downfall would bring on them.

“IRIS, ARE YOU okay?” Camille poked me on the arm.

I shook out of my memories and blinked. “I just . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I stayed at this inn a long, long, long time ago. It is very old yet still it stands against the ice and snow.” And so do I, I thought.

We headed up the steep flight of steps—the entrance to the inn was a full story off the ground, to avoid being snowed in every winter. When we reached the door, Howl pushed it open and we followed him in.

The central dining hall was huge and jam-packed. Northmen, a few ogres, a large party of dwarves, and other mountainhearty folk filled the room. Howl motioned for us to follow him to the bar.

“Jonah, you have the rooms ready?” he asked the barkeep.

Jonah, a dwarf, gave him a curt nod. “Aye, Master Howl. They are ready, indeed. Here are the keys.” He pushed four keys across the counter. “Will you all be wanting dinner?”

“Yes, we’ll eat over there.” Howl nodded toward an empty table, then handed the keys around. “Stew, bread, solid food for traveling.”

We made our way through the crowd to the table and slipped onto the benches. Smoky seemed unusually silent and I tapped the table in front of him.

“Is everything okay?”

He gave a quick shake of the head. “As far as I know, but I am uneasy. We need to keep watch. My father could be in this area and he would have the advantage here.”

Smoky’s father had a grudge against Camille, as well as his son, and had threatened to kill them just a few weeks prior. Now we were headed into territory that led to the Dragon Reaches and could easily meet Hyto or his friends.

“We’ll keep our eyes open,” I murmured.

Roz let out a long breath. “No matter how many times I come here, I am astounded by the strength and resilience of the inhabitants. I cannot imagine living here.”

“It is beautiful, if you like your beauty sparse and cold,” Smoky said. “The Dragon Reaches are snowy, but they are at the top of the world, where the mountains are craggy and overlook fields filled with mist and fog. During the summers, the Northmen bring their goats and oxen to the fields to feed, and we have bounty. They always bring extra, as a tithe, for we allow them use of the fields. An ox cow can feed a dragon for well over a month.”

He leaned back, draping one arm around the back of Camille’s chair. “At some point, I will take you home to meet my mother, love.”

She paled. “After meeting your father, I’m not sure how much I look forward to that.”

“My mother is far more pleasant than Hyto.” Smoky grinned at her, but then a scowl crossed his face. “If he comes near you, he will die.” Hyto had threatened to rape and eat her when they’d met.

Just then Jonah appeared at the table with a cart covered in plates. Heaping bowls of beef stew, thick loaves of bread and a crock of butter, a wheel of cheese, an apple pie, and a pitcher of beer soon sat in front of us. The rising aroma made my stomach rumble. My last meal had been lunch.

Howl motioned for the bartender to pull up a chair. “Sit for a moment. We seek information for our journey.”

Since nobody in their right mind refused an Elemental Lord, Jonah was only too willing to do so.

He glanced at the rest of us. “How do? I’m Jonah and I own this inn.” He looked at us each in turn, and when his gaze fell on me he paused. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

STRUGGLING INTO THE inn, my pack was so heavy that I could no longer feel a thing in my legs or arms. Somehow, I’d made it down the mountain despite my pain and humiliation, although at one point I could swear I’d had help crossing a chasm from a beautiful spirit, and at another, I thought I’d fallen asleep in the snow.

But when I opened my eyes, I was sitting on the steps of the inn, so I must have walked in my sleep—or the pain was so bad that it had blanked my memory. I pushed myself up and in through the doors to find the room almost empty.

The barkeep, a dwarf, caught sight of me as I stumbled forward and fell. He rushed out, gathered me in his arms, and when I screamed, he gently carried me to a room and called for his wife. He left us alone while she removed my clothes and bathed and treated my wounds, all in silence.

When she was done fixing the last bandage in place, she held my hands and gazed into my eyes. “Ishonar leaves horrible welts, though it does not break the skin. Someone hurt you. Do you want to tell us who? There are remedies that can be taken . . .”

I knew the Northmen stuck together, dwarf, human, and Fae alike. But how could I ask them to go against a temple that was part of their culture? I shook my head. “No . . . no . . . there is nothing to be done. I’m lucky to have come away with my life.”

“Are you sure?”

I held her hands, staring into her eyes. “I’m sure. I have to be sure. Please, ask me no more questions.”

“Then we will let it rest. I’ll bring you dinner and a drink. I assume you are headed toward the portal?”

“First thing come morning.” As I fumbled for my purse, to pay her fee, she waved away the coin.

“You are a stranger in need. Rest now, and I will bring food.”

And she did. I ate—stew and mince pie and fresh bread—and when I was done, I drained the pint dry. She must have put healing herbs in the beer because by the time I finished, I was falling asleep, and for the first time in several weeks, I slept without pain. Slept without dreams.

I GAZED INTO Jonah’s eyes and gave him a slow smile. Should I say anything? Was I the same sprite who’d come down the mountain, still wanting to die? Would he and his wife even remember me?

“You and your wife paid me a great service six hundred years ago,” I said quietly. “Your wife bathed my wounds, bandaged them, fed me, and helped me to sleep without pain for the first time in a long while. I wish you’d let me give you something—repay you for the kindness you showed me.”

“My wife?” Jonah blinked. “Althea’s been dead for nigh on two hundred years.” He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “You look familiar, but anymore, I’m afraid I don’t remember much that happened long ago. Thank you, though, for reminding me of what a gentle creature my wife was. The animals came to her for help when they were hurt. Came right up to eat out of her hands. She treated them and kept them in the stables until they were ready to head back into the wild again.” He brushed his hand across his eyes. “I do miss her.”

“What happened?” I asked softly.

“Werewolf got her. Tore her to shreds. I found her remains.” He shuddered.

“I’m so sorry.” I felt bad for bringing up the subject.

Camille noticed and jumped in. “This is incredible stew. What meat is it, might I ask?”

Jonah shook his head, inhaling deeply. “Oxen—the animal of choice around here. We add root vegetables: carrots and potatoes and turnips. Rich gravy and onions.”

Howl set down his spoon. “We are traveling to the ice fields. You know the shadow that lurks on the Skirts of Hel?”

“Yes . . . Don’t tell me you are headed up to challenge it. We’ve lost so many to that black shade of Hel. But then—you are an Elemental Lord,” Jonah hastened to say.

“I am. And with me I have a dragon, a witch, an incubus, and your friend—the Talon-haltija. It is her fight, truly, but we come to give aid.” Howl frowned. “Have you heard any reports lately of the shadow creature?”

Jonah was staring at me in earnest now. “Talon-haltija?” Blinking rapidly, he scooted his chair back. “There were reports, so many hundreds of years ago, of a powerful priestess, a sprite, who misused her powers, and the result . . . was the creation of the shadow creature. Are you she? Were you the Ar’jant d’tel who was disgraced and turned out of Undutar’s temple?”

My cheeks flamed. “I do not know if I am responsible for the shadow—nothing could ever be proven and I have never been able to remember exactly what happened. But yes, I am Iris, and I was Ar’jant d’tel—Chosen of the Gods, the pariah of the temple.”

I bit my lip, praying he wasn’t regretting helping me all those years ago. “I come in search of the truth. To clear my name or to accept my punishment, whatever the case may be.”

Smoky leaned across the table. “We need to sleep. Hold your questions till later, dwarf. Iris is an honored friend of mine, and I am dragon. Do not entertain thoughts I would not cotton to. Understand?”

Jonah’s eyes grew wide. “Not a problem, Lord Iampaatar. I know who you are.” He turned to Howl. “As far as your question, yes, the shadow has been active lately—in fact, he claimed a village girl from the Edanuwit people recently. They found her, her life force drained, her body mangled.”

“How do they know it was the shadow?”

“It leaves a magical residue. If you go looking for it, you’ll surely find it.” And then Jonah bid us good evening and went back to the bar.

I finished my meal but felt terribly self-conscious. It was clear that our conversation had been overheard. The rest of the patrons skirted around us, which was probably just as well, but it made me feel like I had a big red bull’s-eye painted on my back, or a scarlet A on my forehead.

As we headed upstairs to bed, I couldn’t help but hope that when—if—I proved my innocence, every single person who had given me icy stares would hear about it. And in the pie-in-the-sky corner of my wishes, I wanted an apology from every one of them.

MORNING SAW US on the path at the break of dawn, after a hearty meal of eggs, bacon, bread, cheese, and soup. The network of trails joining the villages in the Northlands were a loose affair, opening and closing with the storms that raged down the mountains. We veered onto a fork that would take us to the Skirts of Hel, an ice field that buttressed up against Odin’s Glacier. Apparently, Vikkommin had chosen to make this his home.

“Vikkommin has been following you for years?” Camille struggled to stay on her feet. The trail was hard going, with large patches of ice glazing the surface. In places, small boulders the size of my head were buried just deep enough in the snow to trip over.

“You saw him—that one time when we linked minds. He’s been following me for hundreds of years, daring me to return. I think he believes I was the one who did it. He comes to me in my dreams, looking for revenge.”

As we turned the corner, we found ourselves at a copse of trees. The forest was dark and old, but at least we wouldn’t be pounded so badly by the elements.

Howl glanced at me. “Come. We must get through the woods with all haste.” He ducked under the low-hanging cedar boughs, setting off a shower of snow from the upper reaches of the trees.

I glanced back at Camille, who gave me a brave smile. “I’m sorry I brought you—I asked too much. This can’t be very pleasant.”

“You’re family, Iris. Smoky and I were happy to come.”

“That we were,” the dragon said, kissing the top of Camille’s head. “We would have been worried sick with you out here by yourself.”

“Ditto,” Roz said.

And so, after a long breath, I followed Howl into the depths of the snow-covered wood, with the others behind me. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of wolves howling filled my ears. They were singing of danger, and I knew they were singing to me.

THREE

THE TREE BOUGHS WOVE A SNOW-COVERED lattice above our heads as we entered the White Forest. The path inclined, a steep grade. There would be no respite from now on as we climbed toward the Skirts of Hel.

During the summer, the birches shimmered, their brilliant green leaves shining against white trunks. But during winter, they were barren, lodged between cedar and fir, a reminder of the season long gone.

Creatures lived in the White Forest, twisted and ancient—Elder Fae like the White Woman and Jack-A-Johnny, Blue Manan and Swirling Devon. There were also plenty of Cryptos who made this wood their home: trolls and ogres and others even more terrifying.

We moved silently along the path. I noticed Camille was having a harder time of it—she might be half-Fae with plenty of endurance, but the going was tricky, and the path was already taking a toll on her. She used her yew walking stave for good purpose, keeping herself balanced as she skirted the worst patches of ice on our upward climb.

As we entered the heart of the forest, with the snowfield behind us and the Skirts of Hel still far ahead, I began to notice the silence of the wood. Few birds were about during the season. Here and there a rustle in the wood warned of an animal. Twice, Howl stopped to let out a loud wolf-cry. His howls echoed through the forest, reverberating into the core of my heart.

“What are you telling them?”

“That their Master is here. That all who walk abroad with me are under my protection and not to be eaten.” Howl smiled down at me. “The wolves will listen even though their hunger is keen, and they seek fresh meat. But the others—perhaps not. Do not count on my presence to offer protection against every creature who makes this woodland its home.”

I blinked. “But you definitely help. As my granny used to say, ‘When the wolves are at the door, best have their king sitting inside by the fire.’ ”

“Your grandmother was a wise woman.” He seemed more comfortable now that we were in the forest, striding tall and strong, his pelts barely shielding his bare chest. The cold did not seem to bother him, the snow did not faze him. His feet were encased in thick fur boots, and his trousers were sewn of tanned leather. “So, Mistress Iris, tell me, will it be worth this journey, should you break the curse that lies so heavily on your shoulders?”

I shrugged. “In my culture, being a mother is the highest calling a woman can have. We are the ones who keep the race alive, we are the wellspring of history. Barren women are not ostracized, but those who have been struck barren by curse are pitied, and I am an outcast. When I went home after the temple excommunicated me, none in my family would speak to me. They gave me food and shelter, but they remained silent. They would not acknowledge me, so I left. I found a farm family who needed help, who didn’t care about my past.”

“The Kuusis?” Camille was walking close enough to overhear me.

I nodded. “The Kuusis. They were FBHs—full-blooded humans—and they did not care if my hair was cut short, they never asked about my past or my lack of a family. They took me in and gave me shelter and friendship.”

“How did you happen to go to work for them?” She was using her stave to dig into the snow and propel herself along.

“I left home after an awkward stay and struck out on my own. When I got tired of walking, the first few weeks I slept in the open, and luckily nothing happened. But then I came to a farm. I snuck into their barn that night, and early morning Kustaa—the father—found me.” I sighed softly, remembering that morning.

“What did he do?” Howl asked. “By the way, you do know that I am known by the name Aatu in Finland?”

It was my turn to smile at him. “Yes, I know, great and noble wolf. You are not just Aatu, but the Aatu. Anyway, when Kustaa found me, he asked who I was. I picked out a name, Iris—that was my favorite flower—and gave him that.”

Camille stopped in her tracks. “Your name wasn’t Iris all along?”

I shook my head, deciding I might as well tell her the truth. “No, my name was Pirkitta, but I was afraid that my reputation might have filtered down from the Northlands. News from the temples often did. So I picked my favorite flower, and then when I came over to the States, I used the Western form for it.”

“So how did you go about working for the Kuusis after they caught you hiding in the barn?” Smoky paused by a tree that had fallen across the path and, with a nod from me, lifted me over it like he might lift a baby out of a crib. He did the same for Camille, then lightly leapt over the trunk.

Smoky had traded in his trademark ankle-length white trench for an ankle-length white fur cape that billowed around him. Rozurial was wearing a black fur cape, and beneath these they wore their elfin cloaks. I had my cloak over my parka, and Camille wore hers over her robe made out of the black unicorn hide.

When we were all on the other side of the deadfall, I answered. “I told Kustaa that I needed a job, that I had lost my family in a tragedy and was on my own. He recognized that I was a house sprite and offered me a place in his family, helping his wife with the children and gardens. He had such a kind demeanor . . .”

I closed my eyes, remembering his gentle voice that seemed so out of place against his gruff exterior. “I couldn’t help but say yes. They had ten children, and his wife’s parents were living with them, and a maiden sister and an unwed brother.”

“That’s a lot of work,” Camille said.

“Oh, it was, but they treated me fairly and never raised a hand to me. Kustaa and the men would go hunting for weeks at a time, while the women watched the home fires. I was used to hard work from the temple—we had to shoulder our own weight there as well as learn all our magic, so it was no stretch to help out the Kuusis. And so I stayed.”

“You became part of their family,” Roz said, a gentle smile on his lips.

“Yes, and had I wed there and had children, we would be bound as a family to them. That’s the way it works when you belong to one of the house sprite races. We love helping out, we’re homey folk in general.”

“You stayed for a long time, Mistress Iris.” Howl glanced at me. I hadn’t realized he’d been listening and felt slightly self-conscious.

“I did. As time wore on, the children grew. One of the daughters wed, and her husband moved into the house, and they raised their children there . . . and I stayed on after Kustaa and his wife died. I stayed for over four hundred years until the last of their line passed.”

Camille bit her lip, looking like she wanted to cry. “When did you leave?”

“I left in 1875, after burying Kustaa’s many-times-over great-granddaughter. She’d died unmarried, the last of her line who had stayed in the village. There are others of the family, no doubt, but long scattered. I buried her in the family plot, and then I took the money that she had left, and a few treasures, and I left the door unlocked for anyone who might need a home, and I walked away.”

I remembered that day—I had felt both free, and sad. Sad to see a family come to the end. Sad to say good-bye to the sturdy house I’d lived in for four hundred years—a house I’d helped rebuild and renovate time and time again.

“From there I traveled to Spain and caught a boat to London, and from there I immigrated to Canada. I stayed in what’s now British Columbia for over ninety years. In 1970, I began to feel a pull—as if I had to pick up and move again. And so I came to Seattle and settled in, living as one of the little people—the FBH little people. And then the portals opened and I was able to come out of the closet. And I met you.”

I glanced up at Camille and smiled, my eyes teary. So many things had passed through the years, but I was barely entering the prime of my life as far as my people went. I was still young and considered pretty, even though so much had passed through my life. My hair had long ago grown back and I kept it ankle length, every night brushing the golden strands a hundred strokes and then braiding it up into long coils. I’d kept a good figure, and Bruce—my leprechaun boyfriend—wanted to marry me and have children.

Which is why I’m here, I thought. Bruce needs to have children to continue his family name. I can’t give him that until I break the curse.

Camille dropped to her knees beside me and pulled me into her arms. “I wish you hadn’t had such a hard life. I wish you’d been able to stay in the temple—but then I wouldn’t know you and that would be my biggest regret.”

“I know,” I said, softly, patting her back. “But truly, the Kuusis were wonderful to me—oh, there were a few I’d rather not have known—but they always treated me as one of their kin. And I will never forget them. I honored them by taking their name.”

“Come—we need to move. It’s too cold to stay still and we have a long way to go.” Howl nodded gruffly, but his eyes were kind.

We started up again, and as we trudged along, the snow began to fall in earnest. Delicate flakes, filling the air like a lacework crisscrossing the path. It fell through the lattice of branches, it fell through the open spots, it fell silently and softly, piling up in gentle layers.

As we walked, a faint whistle echoed through the woodland and then I could hear them—pipes echoing in the distance. A woman’s voice called out, singing in a language I could not recognize, but it haunted me, her song, ricocheting off the trees. While I could not understand the words, I knew she sang of love lost, and trials left undone, and challenges failed.

The song began to work its way into my heart and I could only think, Why go on? Why bother trying? All things were lost in the end, death claimed us all, so why attempt to win? All victory was shallow, and the victors’ bones lay as bleached as the snow around us. Wouldn’t it be easier just to sit here, to listen to the music forever? Wouldn’t it be easier to let go of the past and forget about the future?

Stumbling to my knees, I found myself adrift in a snowbank. Bleakly, I stared up as Camille leaned over me. “Iris? Iris! Shake out of it—you have to stand up. You’ll freeze if you don’t get moving.”

“Loss, it’s all loss,” I told her, wanting to make her understand. The worm had eaten its way into my heart and I could see no more into the future. Everything felt tainted and rotten.

“Wake, wake and dance again, little sister,” Howl said, kneeling beside me. He brushed his hand across my face and I blinked at the warmth. He was so warm, so vibrant.

“How can you be—you are one of the Elemental Lords of Winter . . . You can’t be so warm and alive . . .”

“But I am. I am Aatu also known as Howl, Lord of the Pack, the Great Winter Wolf Spirit. My people live and love under the winter snows, they play and mate and feed and sing to the moon. They mourn the dead but they do not mourn the living. Come, sister, wake and remember your journey. The Singing Spirit has you in her grasp and you must push her away. Plug your ears if you have to, but do not let her seep into your heart and drag you away from us.”

The warmth of his flesh began to pulse against my skin and I took a breath. Sharp, the cold was so sharp, but it jarred me and I shook the snow from my hair. Howl pulled me to my feet and spun me around, laughing. Dizzy, I begged him to stop, but he continued the dance.

As we spun, colors began to twist around us and they turned into a carnival of sight and sound. His laughter infected me and I couldn’t help but return the mirth. And as I laughed, the shell of ice that had formed around my heart shattered and fell away.

When he stopped, holding me tight so I would not fall down, I tried to catch my breath. “Do you understand what happened, Lady Iris? Are you all right?”

I shook my head, unable to speak from the breathless dance.

“The Singing Spirit of the White Forest caught your attention. She must have felt your sorrow and fear. She is a mournful thing, a powerful spirit who plays on emotion and leads travelers astray to their deaths. Hearkening them to give up all hope, they drop into a melancholy catatonia and die of hypothermia.”

“These woods are truly cursed,” Smoky said in a low voice. “Even dragon-folk tend to avoid them. Come, we have a long way to go and there are dangers ahead.”

As I let out a long breath, shaking my head again to clear my thoughts, a low growl caught my attention. The others heard it, too, that much I could tell, and we immediately formed a circle with our backs to one another.

“Your people?” Camille asked Howl.

“No, not my people. They would never dare growl at my friends. No, I’m afraid we’re going to be facing a bloodier pack than mine.” He unsheathed a long knife with a bone fang for a blade.

“Trolls,” I said. “I recognize the cadence. I’ll bet you anything we’ve got troll blood following us.”

“Oh fuck.” Camille had fought trolls before.

She cleared her throat as Rozurial pulled out a blade and Smoky cracked his knuckles, his fingernails growing into long talons. I took out my Aqualine Crystal wand that I’d made, but then it hit me. My specialty was mist and snow magic, but that wasn’t going to cut it here. The creatures who lived in these climes were used to snow and ice. My spells would be useless on them.

Slowly, I put the wand away and pulled out a dagger I’d had made for the journey. I’d asked Carter, the half-demon, half-Titan researcher we knew, to enchant it with fire, and he’d put a flame on it all right.

As we waited, the growls continued, and then out of the wood stepped dark shadows against the snow.

Trolls. Just as I thought. Two of them. The only saving grace we had was that they weren’t dubba-trolls but mountain trolls instead. Dubba-trolls were two-headed and hard as hell to kill. Mountain trolls were still hard as hell to kill, but at least they only had one head per body.

“Trolls,” I whispered. “May I suggest we make quick work of them? We’ve a long way to go and the sooner they’re dead meat, the sooner we can move on.” There was no question but that we’d have to kill them. Trolls weren’t the type to respond if we asked, Pretty please, could you not bother us.

Camille began prepping what sounded suspiciously like one of her Moon magic spells and I took a healthy step away from her side. Camille’s Moon magic often backfired and it wasn’t a good idea to be too near when that happened.

Smoky let out a loud growl. “I don’t have enough room here to shift into dragon form.”

Howl shook his head. “There are only two. We can fight them. And remember: Fire will disrupt them faster than anything else.” He raised his bone knife and pulled out a bottle, sprinkling the blade with some sort of oil that smelled suspiciously like oranges. The next moment, he lit the blade and it burned brightly with a steady flame.

The trolls took a step back, staring at the flaming blade. Then they began to come at us, one from the right, one from the left, attempting to avoid Howl and his crackling sword.

“Here, we’ll see how they like my kind of toy,” Roz said, reaching inside his duster. The man carried an armory in there, reminding me of nothing quite so much as a weaponcrazed flasher or Neo from The Matrix. Only with Rozurial, a good share of the weapons he carried were magical. He did have a miniature Uzi, but kept it for special times.

Roz pulled out a little round ball that was as red as Camille’s lipstick. Oh hell, I knew what that was. Firebomb! I quickly backed up as he tugged on the wick and threw it.

The bomb landed near one of the trolls, who apparently had never seen one before and decided to pick it up. The troll, a seven-foot-tall warty gray skin-bag turned the ball over in his hand and promptly popped it in his mouth.

“Fire in the hole—literally!” Roz shouted and we all turned away to shield our eyes as an explosion rocked the area.

The troll stood there for a second, registering what happened, and then let out a scream of pain that ricocheted through woodland. It charged forward, unsteadily, arms waving like two giant sledgehammers.

“Watch out—it’s wounded and dangerous!” As I shifted to one side, trying to figure out how I could get in on the battle, Smoky raced in and sliced across its belly, his long talons eviscerating the creature. A stench of entrails poured forth onto the ground, hissing on the snow like steaming slime. I covered my nose. The putrid scent was enough to make me lose breakfast as well as last night’s dinner.

Howl let loose with a long swipe from his flaming blade and cut through the side of the troll, finishing the job. The monster began to fall and he was falling my way. I scrambled to the left, just as the troll hit the ground. If I’d been any slower, he’d have squashed me flatter than a hotcake. As it was, his innards came sloshing out before him and I managed to end up with troll slime on my cape. Ewww. That was going to leave a nasty stain. The second the creature hit the ground, he began to transform into stone. Mountain trolls always turned to stone when they died.

“Gah!” I let out a long sigh. Something told me that I wasn’t about to emerge unscathed, but if troll guts were the worst of it, I’d be lucky.

His brother apparently decided that it was time to charge and he came rampaging into the fray. Camille let loose with a bolt from the Moon Mother and it bounced against the troll’s head, leaving a smoldering patch of skin that sizzled like bacon on the grill. Troll #2 shrieked and slammed his fist down, hitting the ground right in front of her. The shock wave sent her flying back and she landed in a thick bank of snow.

Smoky lost it, going ballistic and raking his claws along the creature’s arm as Howl flanked the other side with his flaming sword. Rozurial pulled out a vial and sent it flying onto the troll’s clothing. A moment later, the furs the troll was wearing went up in a blaze, popping and hissing as the fire spread. The troll stumbled back but then wavered and suddenly headed my way.

I screamed and ran. If I jumped left, I’d end up jumping over the side of the trail into a deep gulch, and I wasn’t sure just how far down it went. A jump to the right and I’d slam into a tree. I raced back down the mountain with the blazing troll lurching behind me, bellowing from the pain of his wounds as the flames fanned higher.

Smoky zipped ahead of the creature and caught me up in his arms. When we reached a part of the path with a turnout, he veered to the side until we were out of the troll’s trajectory. The creature kept on track, downhill along the path, flailing against the flames and increasing their fury with every swipe.

Rozurial took aim with a handheld crossbow and the arrow flew true, piercing the behemoth’s back. Within seconds, the troll dropped to his knees, then fell forward, dead.

I glanced at Roz. “What was on that arrow?”

“Fast-acting poison,” he answered. “I don’t often use it, but I always keep some around.” He flashed me a soft smile and I understood: As dangerous as the trolls were, even though we’d had no choice but to fight, Roz didn’t like seeing creatures in pain. He’d put the troll out of his misery as soon as possible.

He knelt beside the gigantic body, watching as it solidified into stone. “Good, now no creature will be tempted to eat the flesh. That poison travels through the body and can be absorbed through an open wound or by eating the dead meat.”

He stood and, together with Smoky, we walked back to where Camille and Howl were standing. Howl doused his blade in the snow and then slid it back in the sheath again. Smoky’s talons shortened back into nails. We all stood, staring at the stone bodies.

“Well, that was excitement we could do without,” Camille said. She glanced at me. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah, but it’s not sitting very well that there wasn’t much I could do to them, because all my magic is snow- and ice-based. Even my wand is focused on the northern energies and up here, so many creatures have a resistance against the magic of their environment. I have this dagger, it’s got a touch of fire in it, but against trolls? Not so strong. I seriously need to expand my repertoire.”

“Come,” Howl said. “There’s time enough for talking on the way. We must be out of this forest by nightfall or we risk bringing the glowing Skalla down on us. They journey through the White Forest at night seeking their victims.”

“What are they?” Camille shivered. “The name alone sounds nasty.”

“They are . . . skulls. But not actual skulls. They are the spirits of those murdered in the forest and they feed on travelers. They do not rest, nor can they be laid to rest as long as their remains lie hidden within this woodland.” Howl gazed back at me. “You know the Skalla.”

I nodded slowly. “They were well known in the temple. The wood here is old, it has absorbed the energy of many wars, and the energy from the Skirts of Hel filters down through the ground from the glacier on high. Some say a great mouth to the Netherworld exists in the heart of the forest.”

“A mouth to the Netherworld . . . Do you think it might have something to do with Vikkommin?” Camille asked. “Since he lives in shadow now, could it be feeding him?”

I frowned. I’d never thought about that. “He didn’t create it, if that’s what you mean. The rip to the Netherworld was rumored to be there when I first came to the temple. Whenever a party traveled from the portals to the temple, there were always rumors of run-ins with the creatures if they crossed the forest at night. But that doesn’t mean that it can’t have played a part in what happened to him.”

“Did the temple tell you exactly what happened to Vikkommin?” Roz hung toward the back, guarding our rear.

“They never really knew.” I’d been over and over the story with Smoky and Camille, but maybe there was something I was missing. “His body was ripped to shreds—essentially turned inside out like I . . . I did with the guards at Stacia’s first safe house. But his spirit was somehow embedded in a great shadow and the two merged. I know Vikkommin can’t leave, not in body, for the shadow is corporeal and tied to this area, but he can travel on the astral.”

“Camille, what do you know about shadow forms? Has Morio taught you anything?” Roz asked.

“Yes, actually.” She frowned. “There are many forms of shadow, but most are created from astral entities rather than from spirits of Fae or mortals. There are some shadows, though, that have no consciousness. Maybe whatever happened to Vikkommin stuck him inside one of those?” Turning to me, she asked, “Have you ever gotten the sense that there’s somebody else there with Vikkommin?”

Her breath came in little puffs. The temperature wasn’t going to rise any higher, even though we were still at midmorning. I shivered and glanced at the sky. Snow was on the horizon—I could feel it in my bones and sure enough, before I could answer, a thin layer of flakes began to fall, drifting softly toward the ground.

I shook my head. “No, that I can say for certain. He’s gone mad over the centuries, but it’s him and him alone.”

“Then I’d say that’s what happened. Whatever ripped him out of his body, thrust him into one of the empty shadow forms. Sort of like a hermit crab, pulling on some other crab’s shell.”

“He didn’t do this himself, did he?” Smoky spoke up.

“Why would he do something like that?” Camille gave him a shake of the head. “That makes no sense. But perhaps . . . were others among the Priestess-hood jealous of you? Maybe a woman in love with him herself? Or someone who wanted the position of High Priestess? Could this have been a frame-up so that you’d be, at best, kicked out of the temple? At worst, you’d be killed, and either way, their path would be clear?”

“The Elders thought of that. They queried everyone under truth spells. Once pledged to Undutar, if you tell a falsehood, it can be detected. We can see through illusion.” As much as I wanted to hope for that, I knew it wasn’t the answer. Not unless somebody had managed to pull off a deception against the entire Elder Council.

She paused to stare at the sky. “We’re in for a storm. Even I can feel it. How much farther do we have to go till we come out of the forest?”

“This path will lead us out by early afternoon. We’re on the narrow end of the woodland and will come to the Skirts of Hel by nightfall.” Howl pushed ahead, walking faster. “We have to make haste, however. The snow threatens a thick fall and the going will be rough.”

“Is there an inn on the other side? Or lodging of any sort? We’ll be coming out near nightfall, and the weather is bound to be rough this evening.” Roz pulled his fur cape tighter around his shoulders.

Howl smiled so softly I could barely see it in the flurry of flakes. “You’ll be spending the night in one of my caves, with my Pack family.” Falling silent, he once again took up the march.

FOUR

BY EARLY AFTERNOON, I WAS RIDING ON Smoky’s shoulders—the snow had begun falling so thick that it piled up a good two feet in four hours. Camille was struggling, Roz helping her slog her way along, and Howl looked nervous. We had another ninety minutes, by my reckoning, before emerging from the forest, but the snow was growing heavier and my weather sense was telling me it would get worse before it got better.

“We haven’t seen the worst of it yet,” I said from atop Smoky’s shoulder.

“I fear you are right,” he answered. “The winter storms have started in earnest. The Northlands are a dangerous place once autumn begins to depart. If need be, I can transform and fly you out, but it would be difficult with the trees so thick here.”

The White Forest had gotten denser, conifers packing together to create a picture-perfect snowscape, except for the fact that we were in the middle of it and likely to be snowed in by the time we found our way to the exit.

“Vikkommin used to come here a lot,” I said softly. “He spent a lot of time in the forest, working with the snow elementals that make their home here.”

“He did, did he?” Camille’s breath was ragged and even with her unicorn cloak and the elfin cape, her teeth were chattering. “And did the temple approve?”

I shook my head. “Not so much. They didn’t like us spending much time away unless we were on a vision quest or an official mission.” Closing my eyes against the pervasive snowflakes, I remembered back to the first vision quest I’d been on. And how it had led me to Vikkommin.

I WAS SO young. If I’d been human, I’d have barely passed sixteen. Many years before, the temple mothers had come to my family’s house in Finland, shortly after I shed my first monthly blood.

“Your daughter is destined for the Order of Undutar. We’ve come to prepare you—she will come to the Northlands next year and live with us.”

My mother had burst into tears. There was no refusal. When the gods called, you answered. If the gods wanted your children, you handed them over.

“Will we ever see her again?” Mother wrapped her arms around me, and, speechless, I leaned my head against her chest. I’d never expected anything like this to happen, although I’d been having dreams of snow and mist and storms for months on end now.

“You may come visit her in the temple once a year until she takes her oath of initiation. Then it’s up to her whether you’re welcome or not. Some of our Priestesses prefer to leave their old life behind for good. Others keep contact with family.”

The Priestess, who was so old that I didn’t even dare gauge her age, smiled softly at me. She was wrapped in a blue and white cloak, and her eyes were covered with the clouds of age. She traveled with assistants, as well as a younger priest, and they all sat in our cozy little house in the forest.

My father had gone hunting as soon as he let them in. He’d stared them down, silent, then left without saying a word. Everybody knew that if the Priests came to claim your children, all you could do was accede.

The thought of life in a temple, high in the Northlands, both terrified and intrigued me. I’d never had high aspirations, hoping only to marry and bear children and live as my mother had lived, and my grandmother.

Mother did the expected. Through her tears, she inclined her head to the Priestess. “It is an honor that one from our family be chosen. We have one year?”

“One year.” The Priestess, who had once been human, rested her hand on a silver walking stick. “Spend it well and enjoy the time. Pirkitta will be well taken care of and she shall enjoy every luxury that comes with being one of Undutar’s handmaids. You need never fear for her future as long as she belongs to our order.”

And so the next year, I kissed my ma and da and brothers and sisters good-bye, and when the entourage arrived in our village to take me to the Northlands, the entire town turned out to bid me farewell.

I tried to numb myself as I climbed into the sleigh but as we journeyed toward the portals leading to the Northlands, slow tears etched down my cheeks as I watched everything I’d ever loved and known fall away behind me. Up ahead lay only the unknown. Everything was changing, and there was no turning back.

Long years were spent being schooled in both magic and history. But finally . . . our time came.

Fully a young woman now, it was time I underwent my vision quest. The Lady Undutar, in her infinite wisdom, would whisper to me and tell me the direction in which I would spend my life.

On Winter Solstice, I was taken out to the Skirts of Hel and left with only a thin blanket. Along with five other acolytes, I scrambled on the wide swath of ice, staring up at the cave that led into the underworld.

Hel’s Mouth . . . Hel’s purse . . . the Gates of Hel—the cavern was called by many names. Hel was not of our order, not of our pantheon, but we respected her and it was said that during the summer she and Undutar drank tea, and their ice cubes were the calves that broke off from the glaciers.

I looked for shelter—the night would be deadly unless I could forage for some sort of protection from the elements, and acolytes were not allowed to stay together. And then I saw it: a small cave opening, tucked away at the edge of a forest. The White Forest was filled with dangers, but a night on the glacier seemed even more dangerous.

I used the senses I’d been taught to heighten and reached out, examining the cave. It was small, big enough for one person, and empty. Nothing creeping within. Relieved, I scrambled down the glacial skirt—half sliding, half walking—and crawled into the opening against the side of the mountain.

The sense of earth was thick around me and I felt mildly claustrophobic. I’d been working with mist and fog and snow energy for so long that earth felt too solid. But it would protect me from the bitter wind.

As I calmed my thoughts and realized that, while chilly, I was no longer freezing, I decided to get it over with. No idea of what to expect, I pulled out the flask that my mentor had given me. She’d mixed the potion herself, spending three days in isolation to make it.

“Pirkitta, this will give you the ability to enter the Dream Time. It will call the Goddess Undutar into you, and she will show you the path of your life and give you your true name. I will be able to sense you while you are out in the Dream Time, but I won’t be able to help. I will, however, be the one who records your true name into the historical ledger of the temple.”

I sat in the dark, the smell of earth thick around me, sour and pungent, and held the potion to my chest. With a brief wonder at what my fellow acolytes were going through and whether they’d all be alive in the morning, I popped the top on the potion and drained the bottle.

At first, nothing seemed to be happening, but then I realized I was able to see inside the inky cave. The ground itself was giving off a faint yellow glow, and in wonder I picked up a handful and brought it to my nose, deeply inhaling its rich scent. The uncomfortable and frozen hideout had now become a warm, inviting womb, filled with the scent of fresh rain and windswept moors and hot soup simmering over a slow fire.

My fear draining out of me, I leaned back and closed my eyes. “What do you have to say to me, Lady? I feel you every morning when I wake, and I sense you watching over me every night when I fall asleep. Thank you, for bringing me into your Order. Thank you for choosing me.”

And then, I was standing on a cliff, overlooking a steep valley below. All was crystalline frost and snow as far as I could see, clear and brilliant under a pale sky, and beside me stood a tall woman with hair as black as midnight, and eyes as piercing blue as my own. She stretched out her hand and the valley below came alive with deer and white hares, foxes and cardinals darting from tree to tree, their red a siren song in the endless vista of white.

“This is my realm, this is my land. And there walks my daughter.”

A young woman, or she might have been ancient—I could not tell, but my senses cried out “youth”—walked across the field, the animals gathering at her feet as she silently glided through the snow. Her hair was long and silver, with hints of violet streaking it, and her dress was gossamer and sheer as lace. She glanced up at us and smiled, waving.

“The Lady of the Mists,” I whispered, suddenly recognizing the girl. She was an Elemental Lord—or Lady, as the case might be. “She is your daughter? I did not know she was a goddess.”

“Yes, she is my daughter, but she is not a goddess. Her father is the Holly King, and therefore she takes her place as one of the Immortals. Even the gods die, but the Immortals live on, forever, as long as the world beneath our feet lives.” Undutar knelt by my side. “I chose you for a reason, Pirkitta. Your path will be neither easy nor comfortable, not for a long, long time to come. But you are mine, and all will play out in the end.”

And then she kissed my forehead and her mark sang through me like the morning sun, warming me, blossoming out into my heart, and I knew I would forever love and cherish her.

“Do you accept me, child?”

“I do. I am yours, by heart and soul, by blood and bone, by breath and life.” My breath caught in my chest. Whatever she asked of me, it was hers. If she commanded me to rip out my heart and hand it up to her on a platter, I would willingly do so.

“Then I name you my Ar’jant d’tel. You are Chosen of the Gods, and you will train for the position of High Priestess. You will be my incarnation in the world and my voice. Remember me when times are bleak. I will always be at your side, regardless of what others say.”

A silver buzz began to fill my head and I tried to focus, but it swept me under the layers of swirling fog. I rose into the air, arms outstretched, through layers of rock and stone and bone and ice, until all around me swirled the sparkling mist, a vortex of vapor, a whirlwind of whistling snow and my heart felt frozen through, as the ice clung to my body, melting through my flesh, sinking deep into my blood.

In my veins, the freezing rain took hold, blended into my very essence, singing its magic into the cells that made up my body and soul, and the world began to expand. I sucked in a deep breath as my Lady spun me round and round, a marionette on strings. Her laughter flowed like honey in my ears, her songs were siren’s breath, and I knew that no matter what she would always be with me, because I was now a part of her.

At the core of my being, I was no longer alone. Undutar was with me.

Joy took hold, the snowflakes whirling in time to the music that raced by on the wind. I wanted to dance and sing. The Lady had chosen me, I was her handmaiden. I was Ar’jant d’tel—and I would someday be her voice.

Visions of leading her rituals in the temple, of walking in her glory through the rest of my days, of being the Priestess Incarnate washed over me and I dropped my head back and let out a slow, luxurious laugh.

At that moment, I noticed someone coming into view, through the astral fields of magic and mist, and he was glorious. He was not a sprite, but human, albeit quite short. His long dark hair tumbled to his shoulders, and his eyes were molten pools of chocolate. He was fair of face, though his jaw had a vaguely rugged look to it. He was slight of build, but the power in his walk—he was no acolyte.

He wore robes as blue as the summer morning, and when he saw me his eyes lit up with a warmth that immediately sucked me in.

“Vikkommin, my High Priest–to-be, meet Pirkitta, Ar’jant d’tel, who will one day take her place as my High Priestess. Together, as consorts, the two of you will be trained to take over my temple and to lead my order. Get to know one another—you will have a long lifetime together.”

And so Vikkommin and I came together, on the astral in front of our Lady, and began to explore each other’s energy. He leaned down, took me in his arms, and as his hungry lips met mine, the world faded and I lost my heart to him.

I SHOOK MY head, surprised to see that we were almost at the edge of the forest. I’d been wrapped in memories for some time, and the snow had built up on my shoulders. I brushed it off, letting out a long sigh.

Vikkommin, what happened to you? What happened that night?

We walked in silence, Smoky and Howl striding through the depths, Rozurial aiding Camille through the drifts. I glanced down at the dragon on whose shoulder I sat, thinking that we made for a strange little party of five. And how far I’d come—how far I’d fallen—from the day Undutar named me her Ar’jant d’tel.

And yet, I was not unhappy. Life as the High Priestess would have been wonderful and strange and magical, but when I looked over my life, except for the inability to have children, I was content. I was helping out in a cause where I was sorely needed. I had extended family and a new love. And friends. I’d never expected anything spectacular before I was first approached by Undutar’s envoys—and though the land I lived in now was far from the shores of my birth, it was a beautiful and vibrant land.

Once I broke the curse and put Vikkommin to rest I’d be content to return to Seattle and marry Bruce. If you’re innocent , a little voice whispered inside. If you’re innocent.

“There—up ahead. Just a little farther and we’ll be on the Skirts of Hel.” Howl pointed, looking relieved in the growing dusk. The snow was still swirling and we glided silently along the path.

We were almost to the edge of the tree line when a swishing sound slashed through the air, and Camille screamed. Smoky turned, abruptly, catching me as I fell from his shoulder. He sat me down behind Howl and I peered around from behind the Great Winter Wolf Spirit to see what was happening.

Camille was fighting against something—all I could see was a shine that flickered like strands of hair. And then Smoky was by her side, as well as Roz, and they were struggling to free her. Howl held me back by the shoulder.

“Snow spiders. Do not draw near them, Iris, for their venom is deadly and could kill you with one bite.” He glanced around, pulling out his sword. “Where there is one, there will be others.”

Smoky lashed out with his talons and Camille stumbled, as if freed from something. It was then that, glancing into the trees, I caught sight of her attackers. They were hanging down, a foot or so above her head, from the tops of the interlacing trees that crossed the path—a pair of wide, squat, joint-legged spiders. Almost alabaster, they shimmered in the late afternoon light, and it was then I noticed we’d been traveling under a layer of webs that spanned the treetops along the entire path.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I whispered.

Howl glanced down at me. “Would it have made the journey easier, to know?”

“No, no—I guess not.” But the sight of the webs brought back thoughts of the web-laden forests of Darkynwyrd and of the hobo werespiders I’d fought with Camille and her sisters, and a chill raced up my spine as I saw a host of scuttling creatures racing along through the nets of silk.

Camille broke free from the snare line, thanks to Smoky, and leapt back, trying to shake off the webs. Roz pulled out a jagged dagger and began thrusting his Kris knife at the nearest spider.

Smoky leapt up and landed a blow on the other one, yanking his hand away as the creature struck at him with very visible fangs. The spiders were the size of a dinner plate, and a faint bluish glow emanated from their fangs. Magical.

Camille backed up, chanting something.

“Damn it, I suppose they’re immune to ice and snow magic, too,” I said, feeling useless.

Howl nodded. “I’m afraid so, Mistress Iris.”

A wave of discontent raced through me, and I began to stew. What good was I if I couldn’t help my friends when they’d come along just for me? As my irritation grew, I found myself focusing on the spiders that were now scuttling down to the ground as Smoky and Roz sought to keep them from reaching Camille without getting bitten themselves in the process.

And just like that, I felt it well up—the same energy that had come rolling through when we’d faced the Tregarts who had killed Henry. The same energy that—

Before I could capture the memory, the rolling wave hit and I forced them into the stream of energy that poured forth from my outstretched hands.

With a little shriek, the spiders appeared to explode, but at second look, they were simply reversed. Turned inside out like a cast-off shirt. Torn to shreds.

I gasped. Once again, I hadn’t realized what I’d been doing, although I knew I’d been driven to do something to protect my friends.

Smoky and Rozurial stared at the two bloody bodies, and then, together with Camille, they looked at me.

“Iris,” Camille whispered. “You did it again. You . . . They’re . . .”

“Yes, I can see,” I said, not sure of what to think. “I thought once it might be a fluke, but twice . . .” I’d had this power when I was in training to be High Priestess and thought it stripped away from me, but now twice it had come flooding back, when I felt weak and angry and helpless.

I glanced up at them. “I was capable of much more than this when I was in my training. I could have so easily torn Vikkommin from his body and thrust him into shadow. So the question is, did I?”

“No,” Howl said. “The question is, shall we remove ourselves from the White Forest before the rest of their eightlegged brethren come to capture us?” He nodded to the webs where the spiders looked to be amassing.

“Fuck! Run!” Camille said, grabbing my hand and struggling toward the entrance. “I have no desire to be lunch to a bunch of spiders.”

Smoky grabbed the both of us up and, tossing us over his shoulders, ran with long leaping strides through the snow. Five minutes and we stood on the edge of the Skirts of Hel. The edge of the world.

Howl and Roz joined us as we silently gazed up at the towering mountain of ice that stood before us. The White Forest marked the end of the tree line. Above here existed ice and snow and, for the brief summer, scattered fields of wildflowers and scrub brush that were as fleeting as a distant dream. The path, still compact snow, led ever upward, skirting the plains of ice, winding through the windswept trees that lay nearly sideways from the constant storms that buffeted the mountain peaks.

Camille gazed at the panorama of jagged peaks and frozen sheets of ice. “Where’s your temple?” she whispered, as if afraid of setting off an avalanche.

“See the bend that winds to the left, near the stand of scrub there?” I pointed to a small thicket of scrub brush in the distance. “When you turn left, you pass behind a tall ridge and then curve back to the right. You can’t see from here, but there’s a fork in the road at that point. The path leads higher, the fork takes you on to the Order of Undutar. I haven’t been this close to the temple in . . . six hundred years.”

And then it hit me that I was on the way home—but to a home that had cast me out, that had branded me pariah. I’d spent so many centuries writing them out of my life, hiding behind half-truths and truths unknown. And now I had returned, to discover once and for all what the truth of my life was.

Would I like the answer when I found it? I didn’t know, but whatever happened, I would know, forever, if I was a murderer.

FIVE

“WE’RE CLOSE TO SUNSET AND THE NIGHT winds will be howling down the mountain any moment. We have to reach my Pack.” Howl motioned off the trail toward one of the nearest skirts of ice that stretched down from the glacial peak.

Most people didn’t understand that glaciers weren’t the mountains themselves but rather the ice that covered the mountain in large patches and sheets. Some glaciers melted during the summer—there were areas here that did, but unlike back in the Cascades near Seattle, the Northlands were not subject to global warming. During summers here, the temperature occasionally reached sixty degrees, but days like that were seldom and far between.

Bits of dried grass occasionally poked through the snow that blanketed the mountain. What rock we could see was dark and granite-hard, peeking out through the windswept snowbanks. We were reaching the highlands here, where the glaciers took hold and the alpine regions started in earnest.

The ice would be problematic in places, though most of it was rough and chunky. Not easy to navigate but easier than the smooth, hardened shell that streamed in long fingers down the mountain. The Skirts of Hel would be grueling to cross, even with our gear.

I thought over what we’d brought, but our mountaineering gear was limited. I’d assumed I’d be keeping on trail. I’d forgotten what harsh territory the craggy peaks around the temple really were.

Roz knelt beside me. “Take heart. I know what you’re thinking,” he said, staring at the expanse of ice before us. “We’ll find a way across.” He stood, turning to address Howl. “Where are we headed?”

“See that dark mouth against the rock, under the overcropping ledge up there?” Howl pointed to a barely visible splotch against the mountainside. If we could just hoof it without worry, we’d be there in ten minutes. But with the landscape reminiscent of a frozen lava field, it wasn’t going to be so easy.

“I can see where it is. I can take Iris and Camille through the Ionyc Sea and meet you there.” Smoky shrugged. “Easy enough.”

“Sounds good to me,” Camille said. “I don’t fancy trying to work my way over that ice, and night is coming.”

Howl gave him a nod. “That would be best. But let me go on ahead. My people would not welcome you kindly without my presence. Rozurial, how will you fare?”

“I can travel through the Ionyc Sea, too. It’s easy with a visual marker.”

And so it was settled.

Howl leapt forward and, in midair, became a huge white wolf, transforming in the blink of an eye. He stood shoulder high to Smoky, gigantic and fierce with red eyes and a swishing tail. He gave us a long look, then turned and bounded across the ice as if it were nothing. Within minutes, he was standing at the edge of the cave, waving to us.

Smoky wrapped his arms around Camille and me, and we flashed out of the snow, into the Ionyc Sea. The shift was abrupt, and if I had not experienced it before I might have been terribly frightened. It was like we were in a bubble, and the outer world had turned to smoke and fog around us. Before I could adjust my thoughts, though, we were standing near Howl, so quickly that Camille and I were both left breathless.

Howl nodded as Rozurial appeared beside us. “Handy travel, it is. Come, follow me and do or say nothing until I have introduced you. You are in my home now, and you will show respect for my people and my ways. They are leery of dragon folk,” he added, looking at Smoky. “Dragons have been known to carry my wolves away and eat them.”

“Wolves eat cattle, too, and sometimes people,” Smoky said. “It is the way of the world.”

“Aye, it is the way of the world, but here we will all eat venison stew.” Howl smiled, then, ducking his head, led us into his world.

AS WE FOLLOWED him into the cavern, a strange glow took hold of the walls—faint like blue topaz, sparkling with a cold magical fire. The cavern extended far back into the mountain, with a high ceiling, and glistening stalagmites and stalactites shimmered their way to meet in the center, forming walls and chambers.

A rimstone pool sat in the center, but instead of being filled with hardened calcite, the water was clear and fresh, and warm—I could see the steam bubbling from it. Howl must have a way to heat it from below the floor.

Eye catchers floated lazily throughout the chamber, and everywhere we looked, wolves of all sorts sat, resting, watching us. Several men sat among them, strong and bare-chested, with six-pack abs, long, flowing black hair, and eyes that glowed topaz like Morio’s—who was a youkai-kitsune. I looked for women but saw none. But scent on the wind told me they were here—females of the Pack. I had the feeling they were remaining in wolf form, protected from the sight of outsiders.

“This is your court,” I said, suddenly understanding.

“You are observant, Lady Iris.” Howl motioned to the men and they crossed their arms across their chests and knelt as the Great Winter Wolf Spirit passed by them. We followed in his wake, first me, then Smoky, then Camille and Roz behind her.

Howl stopped by a stone worn smooth into a throne. He slid off the heavy fur and, bare-chested but with a wolf pelt around his neck, took his place on the dais. With the headdress and pelts off, he reminded me a little of the Autumn Lord. His hair was jet-black streaked with silver, now that I could see it, and his eyes were the color of chocolate, dripping with gold flecks.

He was vivid in that unearthly way the Elemental Lords had, and as I gazed at him, surrounded by his people, I slowly dropped to the floor, kneeling. Beside me, Camille and Rozurial had done the same. Smoky stood tall but inclined his head.

Howl rose, then looked around at his people who gathered to watch—in both wolf and human form. He held up the staff that had been lying by his throne, with a handle made of wood, inlaid with bone.

“Listen well. These four are under my protection. Lord Iampaatar, Rozurial the incubus, Lady Camille, and Lady Iris walk under my cloak. Let no one who honors me lift paw or hand against them.”

There was a collective shuffle, as if the Pack wasn’t sure what to think, but then—as one body—the men standing by him went down on their knees, heads thrown back, exposing their throats. The wolves in the hall rolled over, all of them, onto their backs, again exposing their bellies and throats.

Howl took a long look around the chamber at every throat that had been presented. “On pain of death, you have submitted to my will. Remember well, my people.”

He clapped and the wolves returned to attention. “Now, will my wife come forward? I wish to present you to our guests, my love.”

Slowly, one of the largest, most beautiful white wolves rose and padded forward. In the blink of an eye, she shimmered, and a woman stood beside Howl. She was short—about five five—and sturdily built with visible muscle under an even layer of padding. Her eyes were glistening, pale blue, and her hair was as silver as Smoky’s. She was dressed in a white pair of soft leather pants and matching tunic. A long white pelt draped down from her back and it was then I realized that these wolves weren’t typical Weres.

They’re like the selkie, I thought. Their pelts were worn as cloaks when they were in human form, around their necks. I decided to keep my mouth shut, though. The subject was personal and could be a secret that few mortals knew about. And it didn’t do to let the Immortals know you were in on their secrets.

“I present to you my wife, Kitää, Queen and Mother of the Katabas Wolf People.”

She gave us a brief nod, taking us in with those brilliant blue eyes, her gaze stopping as she came to Smoky. “Iampaatar!” With a sharp laugh, she threw her arms around the dragon and gave him a hearty hug before stepping back. “What brings you to our lands? I’d heard you’d stomped out of the Dragon Reaches, vowing not to return.”

Smoky sucked in a deep breath. He grinned and leaned forward in a deep bow, surprising all of us. “Lady Kitää, Queen of the Wind Wolves, I am honored to be in your presence. In the distant past, your people joined with mine to drive back the Northmen in the Rout of the Great Snow. I hearken back to that friendship on this journey and ask for a traveler’s respite.”

Kitää let out a low laugh. “My husband,” she said, turning to Howl, “you have unleashed a dragon in our midst? What are you thinking, my Lord? But for a dragon, Iampaatar is one of the better ones. And he tells a feisty tale or two, at that.” There was a shuffle and murmuring throughout the chamber, but she held up her hand and the room fell instantly silent. Stepping forward, she looked Smoky up and down, then gave a little shrug.

“You seem to be in fair enough health, Prince. Introduce your companions.”

Prince? I glanced over at Smoky and saw Roz and Camille doing the same, but he gave us a short shake of the head, a warning in his eye.

“I left the name Iampaatar behind when I left the Dragon Reaches. I am known as Smoky by my friends,” he said softly. “I present to you my wife, Camille. She is part Fae, part human. And our companions, Rozurial, an incubus, and the Lady Iris, one of the Ar’jant d’tel and a Talon-haltija.” He slid his arm around Camille and stepped back a pace.

Kitää arched her eyebrows as she gave Camille a long look. “You must be exceptional to win the love and heart of a dragon prince and to make him rise up against his father. I wish you luck, my girl. If you have not yet met your father-in-law, I quake for you when you do.”

At Smoky’s sharp glance, she merely said, “I have heard the rumors, Iampaatar—and do not think you can escape your Northlands name so easily. You cannot slip through without being recognized. I am not sure what you are doing here, but watch your back. There are those your father has driven into a frenzy with his treachery and lies. He was always a violent soul, and his ability to persuade others serves him well.”

“We are not here because of my needs, Queen Kitää,” Smoky said. “We are here as companions to the Lady Iris, who seeks to right a wrong some six hundred years old. Leave my concerns for another time.”

She gracefully inclined her head. “As you will.” Turning to me, she knelt and extended her hand. “One of the Ar’jant d’tel?”

“I was so named centuries ago,” I said quietly. “The title was revoked and I was cast out of my temple for a crime about which I have no memory. I come to find the truth, either to free myself from a curse or to bear the punishment should it be proved I did this deed.”

The Wolf Mother held my gaze for a moment, but then the hesitation slid away and she smiled at me, rich and full. “I see truth in your heart. I smell no lie, no hesitation. Lady Iris, you might be stripped of your title, but you wear it like a cloak in your aura. Mortals may give and take names, but they cannot remove the energy behind the title. Rest, and tell us what you need.”

As she spoke, several of the other wolves shifted form, into stocky, lovely women with dark hair and eyes. Kitää clapped her hands and they hurried over to pull pelts and furs out from behind one of the columns and began to form a thick bed on the cavern floor.

One of the wolf men knelt and began to light a fire in the fire pit, rubbing two sticks together, but Smoky motioned for the warrior to hand him one of the sticks. He held it to his lips, blew on it softly, and the wood sparked to life. Handing the torch back to the man, Smoky leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of Camille’s head.

Kitää led me over to the pile of furs and I gratefully sank into the bedding. It was warm and cushioned, and I realized how bone-weary I was. Camille, Smoky, and Roz joined us.

“Food,” Kitää said motioning to a couple of the women. “Make certain it’s hot and hearty.”

Howl sauntered over. “What think you of my home?”

“It’s incredible,” I said truthfully. The chamber led back into tunnels, and the eye catchers provided soft light all the way through. Even though the fire was limited in scope, the air in the chamber seemed warm compared to the outdoors and we shed our cloaks.

“You have a lovely home,” Camille said, smiling at him. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“So what is your plan, Lady Iris? We stand on the edge of the Skirts of Hel. What do you need to do next? Go to the temple?” Howl motioned to Kitää and she curled in his arms as they sat back, resting against a stone column.

I shook my head. “They would not allow me entrance. No, I have to find Vikkommin’s shadow and confront him. I need to break through his madness and discover what happened that night. Once I find out, then I can go to the temple and they can look into my mind and see the truth of the matter.”

Memories of their inquisition ran through my thoughts and for a moment I felt fear. But then, what worse could they do to me than they’d already done? I was stronger now, tougher, and had already been through their torture.

Kitää reached out, ran her fingers up my arm. “You are a brave soul. Tell me what happened.”

I glanced at Camille and she nodded. “Long ago, I was taken to the temple . . .” And I told them everything. This was the first Roz and Smoky had heard of the whole tale. Camille knew I’d been tortured, but I hadn’t told the guys. I didn’t want them playing hero before I needed them to.

“Let me see them,” Kitää said. “Let me see your scars.”

Camille looked at me. “It’s up to you. Do you want to?”

I bit my lip. No one had seen my scars since I’d stopped at the inn on the way down the mountain. Not even Bruce, because I played it shy with him, keeping the lights off. He thought I was just demure, but really it was to prevent him from asking questions. They had healed without leaving raised bumps, but they were still there, across my back.

“Only the women.” I glanced up at all of them.

Rozurial laid his hand gently on my arm. “Iris, my sweet. I know I’ve joked around, and tried to win you into bed, but trust me, I would never make light of your past or your need for privacy. Smoky, come on, let’s go outside to stretch our legs and lose some drink.”

Howl said nothing, but he followed Smoky and Roz. Kitää motioned and a ring of wolves—all female—surrounded us, their backs to us, keeping everyone at bay. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. The moment of truth.

As I stood and dropped my cape to the floor, then unfastened my walking skirt and tunic and dropped them away, and finally my bra, the cold air hit me, chilling me through. Slowly I shifted my hair forward, letting it flow to the floor over my breasts, and turned so that Kitää and Camille could see my back.

“Oh, Great Mother,” Camille said, her voice a low whisper. “Ishonar.” She paused, then asked, “How many?”

“Thirty lashes,” I whispered. And for the first time, my scars and my shame were fully exposed.

“PIRKITTA, TELL US now. Give us the truth and we won’t have to do this.” The Priestess-Mother begged me, but I shook my head, unable to do as she asked.

“I can’t—I’ve told you everything I remember! Look into my mind, please, look into my thoughts and you will see.”

I was naked down to my waist, my arms stretched between two posts, manacled with iron that was lined just enough so that pain seeped through from the metal but not the actual burns. My hair had been draped over my shoulder, spilling strands down to coil at my knees. I had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed or ashamed. I wanted to wrap my hands in front of my body, to cover myself, to curl in a ball weeping, but the manacles prevented all of those.

“Pirkitta, please. Tell us why you did this thing?”

“I don’t know if I did! I have no memory. Please stop . . .”

The Priestess-Mother bit her lip and I saw blood swell, trickling down the side of her mouth. “My child. This is the way—there must be tradition. If you won’t tell us the truth, then we have to administer punishment. And the punishment must fit the crime.”

As she backed away, I gazed up into her eyes. She was old, old past counting, and I had been chosen to take her place. I knew now that would never happen. There would be no future for me here, if anywhere. I would die here, at the hands of those who believed I’d killed my sweet Vikkommin.

There was no tomorrow. No yesterday. Only today and the looming pain waiting to descend.

And then the lash fell, burning with white agony. I managed to keep from screaming the first time. The flames of ice licked at me, magical fire that hurt worse than the whip itself. Cold fire, the fire of deep ice, leaving marks but no wounds. Leaving no lasting damage but pain—and the memory of that pain—beyond what any normal lash could ever hope to achieve.

The second strike. The pain bit deeper, into my body and blood.

The third strike, and the pain wormed into my soul, jolting like lightning.

The fourth strike, and everything began to spin, the world falling away as the pain flayed apart my soul, opened me up, let every secret I had in the world come spilling out into the minds of my torturers. I could feel them poring over my innermost thoughts, my memories—everything I’d heard, seen, done, including my most private moments. Melting from the shame of exposure as well as the pain of the lash, I tried to sink to the floor, but the manacles held me fast in their iron grasp.

And on the fifth strike, the exquisite pain became all there was in the world, and I started to scream. And I went right on screaming until the lashes had counted to thirty.

“We could not find the truth,” the Priestess-Mother said, staring down at my prone form on the floor. “It is cloaked so deeply in your psyche that we have no hope of ever knowing. We cannot allow you to stay in the temple, but neither can we punish you for his death if we don’t know for certain you’re guilty.”

I sobbed, all my tears long shed but the pain unending. Ishonar would stay in my system for days, tearing at me every time I moved. “Please, don’t send me away. I loved Vikkommin. Just send me to him now if you’re going to get rid of me. Please, please just kill me.”

The Priestess-Mother ignored me. “You are excommunicated from the Temple of Undutar, turned away as pariah. You are stripped of your title, no more the Ar’jant d’tel. You are stripped of the mightiest of your powers.”

And a new hell rushed through me, a great hand tearing power and spells out of me like it might rip weeds from a garden. The pain sent me into a convulsion, and next I knew, I was on the steps of the temple, and the Priestess-Mother stood there with shears and my hair in her hand.

“Pirkitta, as our last punishment, we take away your power to bear children and the symbol of your power as a woman. You shall never carry a child to term until you can find out what happened to Vikkommin and put to right what went wrong. You may grow your hair back, but it will never be the braid you were born with.” Holding out the shears, she clipped off my hair at the nape of my neck.

I screamed, but she tossed the strands onto a fire and as the smell of burning hair filtered through my nostrils, the heavy doors swung shut and I lay sobbing for what seemed like hours.

Something inside took hold—an anger, a fury, a desire for revenge and to prove them wrong. I forced myself to my feet, and, still in agony from the ishonar and having my powers stripped, I trudged to the trail leading down to the portals. A voice calling my name on the wind led me forward, and I followed it until I could remember no more.

SIX

CAMILLE BURST INTO TEARS, AND KITÄÄ’S LIP was trembling, but I realized it wasn’t out of pity. No, they were tears of sisterhood. After six hundred years of hiding my scars, of hiding my shame, it actually felt good to open up, to show someone else the reminders I carried on my back.

“You are going to face him? The shadow of your lost love?” Kitää asked.

I nodded. “I have to. There’s no other way to break the curse than to find out what really happened. And I have to go alone. I asked my friends to come with me for support, but in the end I know I have to face him alone.”

“When will you go? Shadows exist in the light more than in the dark, you know.”

I thought about it. Waiting a day, two days, would do nothing for me. I’d no more be ready then than I was now. “I’ll go out at daybreak tomorrow onto the Skirts of Hel and hunt him down. And then . . . I’ll do whatever it takes to find out the truth and to help him rest. Vikkommin must know what happened. He’s my only hope now, for the life that I want.”

“Is there anything you need tonight? The Pack has trained shamans and we would be glad to offer whatever help we can.” She rested a hand on my arm. “Lady Iris, you are a brave woman, but don’t look a gift horse—”

“In the mouth. I know. If you could provide me with a private place where I may pray, and if you have anything to strengthen me against the cold and ice tomorrow, I would not turn away the offer.”

Facing the shadow of Vikkommin would be problematic and I had no clue as to what might happen. But tonight I knew I’d need to spend time in prayer. Even though I had been banished from the temple, Undutar still spoke to me and I needed to know she was with me when I confronted him. I needed to know that she cared.

Kitää motioned to one of the wolves. “We will prepare your quarters. I will oversee the preparation myself.”

When Camille and I were alone, she turned to me and took my hands in hers. “Iris, why didn’t you tell us all of this when we first met? Maybe we could have helped, come out here earlier. Are you sure you want to face him alone? You know I’ll stand by your side if you need me.”

“I know.” And I did know. Camille would fight to the death for me if she had to. But that wouldn’t help right now. “I had to be sure I could trust you first. And then, after I realized how happy I was with you and your sisters, I began to second-guess facing him down. But then I met Bruce, and he wants children, and the thought of telling him he had to choose between me and being a father . . . I couldn’t do it.”

“I think I understand,” she said, helping me back into my shirt.

“I never thought I’d have the courage to face Vikkommin’s shadow, but when he came to me on the astral this autumn—remember, you saw him, too—I realized he might somehow be able to hurt the people I love. Who I now call family. And I can’t have that. I can’t leave this undone. So here I am.”

“What do you think might get through to him? You said he’s mad.”

“He is, stark raving mad. Wouldn’t you be, lost in a shadow all those years? I don’t know how I’ll reason with him but I have to find something—some spark that still remembers what we had. We were truly in love, or at least I thought so.” I stared at the floor, trying to remember.

“Why do you say it that way? Did he tell you otherwise?”

I thought back, but my mind was blank. “I don’t know, but I keep feeling I need to qualify it. I know how much I loved him—from the first time our souls met, there was no one else. The Lady showed me his heart and how could I not love him? And . . . he did seem to love me. We spent most of our spare time together—there was so much to learn, and we had to learn how to work together.”

“Did he ever tell you how he felt?” Camille let out a slow breath. “Iris, could Vikkommin have been seeing someone else? Someone who wanted you out of the way? Ever since you told me about the whole situation, I keep thinking: Somebody was jealous of you. Somebody wanted the life you were to have.”

I knew she meant to help, but it couldn’t be that. It was too simple.

“There was no one. Sure, Vikkommin attracted a lot of attention and there were a few catty remarks about us—I also attracted my share of male acolytes. But the temple Elders questioned everyone. And it took years for another acolyte to be named High Priestess—a century at least. Until then, the Priestess-Mother stayed in charge. And the woman chosen was new, brought in from another temple. If somebody had wanted my position, why would they kill Vikkommin? They would have killed me and tried to take my place.”

I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t one of my peers. That much I know.” I looked up at her. “I have been over and over this, turning the puzzle in my thoughts for centuries. What would I have to gain from killing Vikkommin? What would I get out of it?”

“You say you loved him?”

“I did. I loved him and was looking forward to our wedding. The only thing I used to get mad at him for was the time he spent down in the White Forest. It was dangerous, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. He insisted on going down there alone. I was so afraid he’d end up on the wrong end of one of the snow spiders or a troll.” I closed my eyes, remembering our arguments over the subject. “We did fight, but he insisted he needed to hang out there for his magic. Something about the forest gave him strength.”

Camille shook her head. “If the forest gave him strength, I wonder what it did to his magic. I’ve learned the hard way that working death magic has altered me—changed how I view the world.”

Just then, Kitää returned. “I’ve arranged a private place for you. Follow Tezsa and she will take you there. I will wake you at daybreak with breakfast.”

As I hugged Camille good night and followed the wolf to the private chamber, I wondered what tomorrow would bring me. If luck was with me, I’d resolve this matter—or even just go home no worse off than now. But there were so many other possibilities.

AS I KNELT on the soft pelts layered in the little cubbyhole, surrounded by the gentle glow of eye catchers, I took out my wand. Thanks to Camille and her sisters, it held an Aqualine Crystal—the stone sacred to my magic. Now I gently removed it from the silver that held it steady and set the wand aside. I held the crystal up so that the light of the eye catchers shone through, and I stared into the icy blue of the stone.

Aqualine Crystal, endemic to Otherworld, had a direct line into the magic of mist and fog and snow. And it was sacred to Undutar. I breathed softly onto the gem, cupping it in my hands. Closing my fingers around it, I let myself slip into a deep trance, my body becoming the mere vessel enclosing my spirit.

I slipped lower, and still lower, until I found my heartstone—the core of my being that no one could ever take away. It was this part of myself the temple Elders could never reach, and that I could never fully read. It was here, in the primal energy of myself, that the answers lay hidden and locked away.

I touched my heartstone and felt my spirit begin to rise on wings, to soar into the celestial realms, to sing with the stars. Slowly, I began the chant I’d been taught to summon Undutar, my Lady of the Frozen Wastes.

Lady of Mists, Lady of the Fog,

Lady of the Snow and Ice, hear me.

I, your Priestess, come before you.

I, your Priestess, do beseech you.

I, your Priestess, bow before you.

Listen to me, if you will.

Listen to my cries for help.

Listen to my sorrow-story.

Answer, Lady, if you will.

Answer to my cries for help.

Answer to my sorrow-story.

The crystal began to glow in my hand, and then slowly its luminescence spread until my fingers reflected the shimmering blue light. I gazed on its beauty and willed myself to flow into the stone, into the power of the gem as it slowly beat a cadence that was the flow and life of Undutar.

Pirkitta. And so you are back on the doorstep to my temple. I have been waiting for you. The voice was all around me, booming, and yet I knew no one else could hear her but me.

My Lady, I have returned to put this matter to rest. I have fought against this moment, but I had to come home. And I felt the tears beginning to come—the tears I had avoided for so many, many years.

There was a beat of silence, and then she said what I most feared to hear. Tomorrow, you will face him. And you must destroy him. By your own hand, by yourself. You will find out the truth only in his death.

Destroy him. Destroy the shadow that had been my Vikkommin. I stared into the gem, tears streaming down my cheeks. Lady, would you say anything but that, I would accept and obey. But you tell me to destroy the man who once was to be my love forever.

He is no longer your love. And in some ways, he never was. Do as I order, my Ar’jant d’tel. You must, to break this curse and free yourself from the shackles of doubt. You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free to soar in my sight once again.

And then, the light faded, but not before my Lady said one last thing.

Pirkitta, remember: To counter shadow you must remove the light. Only in the darkness will shadow falter. Only in darkness can you destroy what is left of him. With that, she was gone and the crystal was, once again, merely a crystal.

I took a deep breath and sat back, staring at the stone. Remove the light. How was I to remove the light? If I went out in darkness, chances were I would not find Vikkommin to face him. If I went out in light, how could I remove the day? It was a riddle, one I decided I’d have to figure out as I went.

Fixing my Aqualine Crystal back in the wand, I set it to one side and burrowed deep in the pelts. The day had been long, and I was exhausted. And there was nowhere left but sleep for me to go without the memory of Vikkommin shadowing me.

WHEN I WOKE, Kitää had set a tray beside me. Hot broth, dense bread, and a soft creamy cheese. She had added an apple and a piece of jerky to the plate.

“Is it daybreak?” I had no clue as to what time it was. Surprisingly, I felt well rested and couldn’t remember if I’d dreamed or not, but my body was relaxed and warm. “I slept well. Thank you for the chance to meditate and pray by myself.”

“Aye, it is daybreak, nearly. Your friends still sleep. Should I wake them up? And yes, you would sleep well here. These caverns are protected by Aatu’s magic, and Aatu watches over all of his children as they sleep.”

That made sense. Being one of the Immortals, Howl would not need sleep. I gave her a soft smile. “No, let my friends rest. Wake them up after I am gone. I don’t want them arguing and trying to go with me. They came for support, but they cannot face the shadow beside me. This is my battle, and mine alone.”

I bit into the bread, and as it melted in my mouth I was struck by the thought that this might very well be my last meal, but I pushed it away. What would be, would be. What was destined to happen would, and I would live or I would die as my Lady willed it.

When I finished eating, Kitää helped me dress, gently zipping up my tunic and wrapping me with my cloaks. I grasped my wand and she stopped me.

“What is that ring?”

“Trenyth gave it to me. It’s the ring of Shevah—an elfin gift from a wonderful friend.” I held my hand out, gazing at the stone. I’d almost forgotten that I wore it—my hands had been buried in gloves since we’d arrived here.

“Do not forget you bear it. That gem will guide you to safety.” She gazed at it, then reached out and stroked my hair back, brushing it for me with long, soft strokes. “Don’t tie back your hair. I know it doesn’t make sense, but let those golden strands be yet another cloak. Let your beauty and light shine forth, Ar’jant d’tel. You know you are still her chosen one—perhaps not for what originally was ordained, but she walks in your aura, she guides your tongue and heart. That is so easy to see.”

I slipped into my boots, and Kitää arranged my hair so it streamed down my back, and I picked up my wand. “I’m ready,” I said, looking up at her.

She flashed me a brave smile. “I have faith in you, my friend.”

And so she led me to the mouth of the cavern where I slipped out into the early light of day.

THE SNOW WAS falling. I gazed across the expanse of mountainside. The sheets of ice were slick, glazing down over the rock. With a rock hammer, crampons on the bottom of my boots, and a length of rope over my shoulder, I was as ready as I’d ever be.

I slowly began to pick my way across the expanse of compact snow. It was so crusted over and I was so light that I only sank in to my ankles, but still, walking was slow going, and more than once I wished for snowshoes instead.

As the flurry blew flakes to stick on my hair, my eyelashes, my forehead, I wondered at the wisdom of letting my hair stay down. Ankle-length hair, when it didn’t have a life of its own like Smoky’s, could be dangerous in battle. And it was equally hard to manage in a storm like this. But Kitää had been so insistent that I decided she must have some sort of foresight on the subject.

Slowly, one step at a time, balancing myself with a walking stick I’d picked up before heading out of the cave, I worked my way across the expanse. I had one thing in my favor: Because of my small stature, my center of gravity was low and it was less likely I would fall than if I’d been of average size.

The wind blew something fierce, and I watched as the clouds raced across the sky, sending the snow into a sideways whirl. The flakes were small and they stung against the exposed flesh on my face, but the scarf I’d wound around my neck and over my mouth kept the worst of them at bay. I stopped for a moment and wiped my eyes against the glare of the snow as it threatened to blind me, then continued on.

Where would I find Vikkommin? Would he be hiding? Would I have to chase him out? The Skirts of Hel flanked an opening higher on the mountainside, a cavern in which I did not want to go because it was rumored to be an opening to the Underworld, and here, that very well might be right.

As the morning wore on, I looked back. Now the Pack’s headquarters was a distant blur against the mountain, but I had the feeling someone was watching me—and it didn’t feel like Vikkommin. Camille and the others would be awake by now, but I hoped they would heed my wishes and not come after me. Whatever I had to do, I didn’t want them to interfere.

A little farther on, I stopped, gazing up the mountainside. Without even realizing it, I’d come to the center of the Skirts of Hel and was standing right below the cavern, which seemed to have a very small opening. But the energy from the cave blasted down the mountain to send me reeling, and I doubled over, my stomach wrenched in a thousand directions.

Truly, a gate to the Underworld. Truly, the Gates of Hel.

A single note inside began to quiver and ring through my body, forcing me higher on the slope. I began to crawl up the mountain on hands and knees, because the energy was impossible to deny and impossible to wade through while standing. One foot at a time, I headed toward the cavern, and now I could hear something calling my name.

Pirkitta . . . Pirkitta . . . Pirkitta . . . It’s time for you to come back to me . . .

I froze. Vikkommin. That was Vikkommin’s voice from down below. I whirled, turning as the shadow embraced me, rushing up the side of the mountain. Within seconds, he was around me, a thick cloud, his energy filling every pore in my body, and as I forced myself to my feet I realized that Vikkommin had been waiting for me, and he was happy to see me.

“VIKKOMMIN, WHAT ARE you doing? What do you want?” I tried to keep myself focused on the reason for my journey, but the feel of his life force was like heady wine. I realized just how much I’d missed him—so much more than I remembered. The meeting was like fire to a match, like magnets long parted.

Pirkitta, you’ve come back to me. You’ve come to join me.

“No, no, I can’t join . . .” My voice drifted off. Could it be that Vikkommin still loved me? That he forgave me for what happened? Maybe I hadn’t killed him. Maybe he was telling me in his own way . . .

Come with me. You don’t know the power I have now, my sweet flower. My little concubine. You were my match. We can be matched again, in death as in life. And he surrounded me, a shadow taking form, his arms embracing me—his body made of smoke.

I dropped my head back, leaning into the billowing shadow that held me fast. His embrace felt so good and I remembered the nights we’d spent together, nights of passion and fire, nights of tasting love’s delights, the nights where we’d made plans to rule the Order: wise, benevolent rulers, full of love and lust and magic to shake the mountains.

Remember . . . remember what we had . . .

Trying to shake my head clear, I brought my attention back. “Vikkommin, I need to know—I need to know what happened that night. I need to know if . . . if . . .”

If you killed me? If you turned me into what I am now, my sweet sprite?

“Yes. Please, tell me . . . I can’t remember.”

And then, Vikkommin pulled me back into his arms and he was kissing me, his shadow so strong I couldn’t break away. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to. But then I saw a gleam—his shadow form had eyes as black as night and they were sparkling with the strength of a thousand dark suns.

Oh my sweet one, you most certainly did kill me. You tore me to shreds. You are most assuredly a murderess, and now you will spend the rest of your days with me, for I am going to do to you what you did to me. And we will be back together again, for eternity.

And then, he began filtering into my body, his shadow shifting through my pores, seeping in through the cells, and I started to scream.

SEVEN

“NO! PLEASE, VIKKOMMIN, STOP!” I PUSHED against him but it was impossible to push against smoke and mirrors. And as he entered my body, his madness touched my soul and I screamed again, for I saw how far over the edge he’d gone. Enraged, he was, and angry and out to hurt me in any way possible. He didn’t love me, he wanted to punish me for all time.

I struggled, fighting him, trying one spell after another. I pushed, but that had no effect, and I put up wards and barriers, but it was too late—the fox was already in the henhouse. Finally, in desperation, I screamed for a blast of ice lightning to aim itself directly at me—I could absorb the energy, I thought—but it bounced off of his shadow.

What the fuck was I going to do? I couldn’t let him win. He’d be able to do exactly what he planned—turn my body inside out and absorb my soul into his—and I couldn’t let that happen. I wasn’t ready to die. I struggled, dragging myself along the ice, trying to keep focused. The feel of him inside my mind made me want to scream, to shake him off like ants at a picnic.

I have to stay calm, I have to figure out what to do. If I let him rattle me, he’ll win.

I yanked the gloves off my hands, slamming my left palm down on a sharp chunk of ice. The pain broke through. I grabbed hold of the feel of torn flesh and hung on for everything I had and it cleared my thoughts for a moment.

Now what? I had only a few minutes to decide as he surrounded me, infiltrated my body more and more.

“The ring—the ring . . .”

I heard a faint voice on the wind and looked up the mountain. Standing on one of the rocky crags was Howl, watching but not interfering.

Of course! The ring of Shevah. I concentrated on it, begging for whatever help it might give me. A pulse rippling through my hand took me by surprise, and then another, and then a loud shriek ripped through the air and Vikkommin went sailing down the mountain in shadow form. As he picked himself up, I knew that I had to decide what to do next.

And then, Undutar’s words rang in my ears. Pirkitta, remember: To counter shadow, you must remove the light. Only in the darkness will shadow falter. Only in darkness can you destroy what is left of him.

Darkness. The cave—the Gates of Hel! I scrambled to my feet, driving myself up the mountain, forcing myself on. I knew Vikkommin was gathering himself, aiming for me again, and I had to reach the cavern before he came. In darkness, he wouldn’t have nearly the power he did out here in the light. All shadows need light to exist.

I struggled to catch my breath and, looking up, found Howl standing by me, in wolf form. He knelt down. I said nothing but leapt on his back and he raced for the cavern ahead, with me clinging to his back as if my life depended on it—for it did. We reached the cave and he knelt again so I could get off. Quickly, he turned back into his human form.

“I cannot go with you, little sister. I am proscribed from entering the Gates of Hel. But I will stand watch. Blessings, my Ar’jant d’tel.”

I gave him a soft smile. “If something happens, tell . . .” “I will bear the news to your friends, if need be. Go now. Your adversary is nearly on your heels.” And he backed away.

With a glance over my shoulder at Vikkommin, who was almost within reach, I took a deep breath and plunged into the cavern, into the darkness, into what I hoped would be my salvation.

THE CAVERN WAS dark, so dark I couldn’t even see my hands before my face. I quickly moved away from the opening, away from what little light emanated in from outside. I couldn’t allow Vikkommin to have any form of power over me, and the less light there was, the less power he’d have.

As I moved ahead, using my walking stick to sweep the path, I began to realize there was a form of light in here—my hair; the strands were glowing with a soft gold light. Just enough so that I could see the rock forms on the wall, even though all around me was inky and black. How the hell . . .? And then I realized that when she’d brushed my hair this morning, Kitää must have put something on it. But there was no time to figure it out now.

I hurried ahead, and finding an outcropping, I stopped behind it to catch my breath. He couldn’t see me in here, but he could probably hear me.

Pirkitta . . . Pirkitta . . . Where did you go now? You’re being a very naughty girl and I’m going to have to punish you for it. Come out now, back onto the ice, and I’ll make it easy on you.

I forced my tongue still, even though I wanted to shout out a retort, a snide comeback. This was no time for pettiness. I had to destroy him, but more than that, I had to find out why I’d done this to him.

I headed toward the back of the cavern and found yet another passageway leading down. Since I had no idea if I was coming out of this alive, I decided I might as well follow and find out where it led. As it was, I had no clue as to how I was going to destroy Vikkommin. Undutar seemed convinced I could do it while in the darkness, but I wasn’t so sure.

The passage led down a narrow ledge with steep ravines on either side. I glanced over the edge and quickly pulled back. I couldn’t have seen what I thought I saw—no, it wasn’t possible. But a second look and I knew I wasn’t hallucinating.

There was a column in the center of the deep pit to my right. Along the column were row after row of faces—death masks and skulls, ornamenting the towering stalagmite that was a good eight feet thick. Holy Hel, no wonder they called this cavern the Gates of Hel. It truly was a death chamber.

I turned back to see the faint glimmer I knew was Vikkommin. He was waiting at the top of the path and I sensed a hesitancy now—a pause in certainty.

“What’s wrong? Are you afraid to come down here?”

Come up. You know eventually I’ll have you. Or you’ll starve to death, waiting for me to leave. Pirkitta, you don’t know the power you’ll have when you are with me. You can’t imagine the beautiful strength that flows through my being now. You will have all that, once you’re with me.

Power. . . power . . . Where had I heard that before? A fuzzy thought began to take shape in my mind.

“I don’t think so. You’re an abomination, Vikkommin. If I’m the one who turned you into this, I promise you, I will give myself over for punishment. But you cannot go on like this—you feed on the life of the Northmen and their families. You are no longer part of the cycle.”

Oh, that’s what you said long ago, that’s what you predicted would happen to me. But look—you are the reason for my existence in this form. You created the monster you feared I was becoming. How do you feel about that, my love? How do you feel now that you know you’ve fucked things up and birthed a fearsome shadow who is the terror of the northern wastes?

I glanced around, staring at the skulls on the central tower, trying to think. The pit over the edge was so vast that if I had to, I could throw myself in and he’d never be able to get me. Had I really done this to him? Was I, at the heart, responsible for all of this?

You’re making a mistake, Vikkommin. You’re going against the Order, Vikkommin. You’re turning into a monster, Vikkommin . . .

His voice mocked mine, in perfect precision, and suddenly, the years began to slide away as the secrets I’d locked within my heart broke open . . . and I was standing back in his room that night, facing my love for the last time.

VIKKOMMIN HAD CALLED me to his room. Nothing unusual—we spent a great deal of time together, but tonight something was different. He had a look on his face that I didn’t like. One I recognized all too often as of late.

“You’ve been in the White Forest, haven’t you? What are you doing there, Vikkommin? You promised you’d curtail how often you go. You know I don’t like it and neither would the Priestess-Mother.”

Vikkommin, strikingly handsome and with a rogue look in his eye, swept me into his arms. “Kiss me before you scold me,” he said, and I did. His lips pressed against mine, warm and like fine wine, and they sucked me in deep, into his love, into his passion, and I wanted nothing more than to strip off my clothes and climb into bed with him.

But there was something—something that struck me as odd . . . off-kilter. I pulled away, and catching my breath, I turned back to him.

“What are you doing, my love? What calls you to the forest? We have everything we could want here. Everything we could ask for.”

A flame shot wild in his gaze and he shook his head. “You truly believe that? You don’t understand, do you? I have to show you. If I show you, you won’t object. You’ll want to be part of this—and I want you to be. You’re my love, my soul mate, my chosen one. Pirkitta, let me show you what I have discovered.”

I sighed. He wouldn’t be content until I said yes, and I decided that maybe this was the best way to keep him out of trouble. If I knew what I was fighting, I’d know how to engage it.

“All right, then. Show me what you’ve learned from the White Forest.”

“Come here, then. Come and let me enter your thoughts. Let me show you what I’ve been learning. What I plan to teach you.”

He held out his arms again and I moved into them, shivering as he wrapped them around me in an embrace so tight I could not break it. He began to turn me, to spin me—or at least it felt like it—and we whirled onto the astral, our souls joined together.

“Look—look what I’ve found how to do . . .”

And then I entered his mind. The brilliant flames were there, flames of ice, so violent they rocked his soul. I screamed, trying to avoid the wash of the burning ice as the spiraling flames took shape into dancers, who spun around us in a circle of madness. Ishonar . . . the most dangerous of elements—somehow Vikkommin had tapped into the elemental power of ishonar.

“No—ishonar is reserved for punishment only. It is the most powerful form of ice, and we are never to touch it unless it be in urgent need with approval of the Elders.” I tried to break away, but the ishonar Elementals rushed at me and I stopped. “My gods, Vikkommin, you have control over them.”

It couldn’t be—no mortal could control this power. No sane mortal tried. It was like controlling dragons—it just wasn’t done. In fact, the ability to tap into the icy fires of ishonar had been passed to the silver dragons, and they were the only creatures alive who could use the magic as they wished without losing themselves to it. For there was a madness in the extreme cold, a fury when unleashed, that could bring the worst of nature’s wars—the ice ages—upon the world.

“You can’t control this! You can’t possibly hope to control this power.”

Vikkommin laughed and held me tighter. “Oh, on the contrary—I can control it. I have learned how to use it, and I will use it. Once we are in control of the temple, we will wage holy wars upon our enemies. We will freeze our enemies in Pohjola to the core. We will eradicate the fire giants. We will raise ourselves to be at the side of Lady Undutar herself. We will become gods with this power.”

And then I felt her—the Lady herself—coming through me.

“This is madness,” she whispered, and I spoke the words for her. “You dare to compare yourself to the gods? You will pay for this, and you will pay mightily.”

Without a second thought, I reached out—or perhaps Undutar did, or the both of us—and we ripped Vikkommin’s soul off the astral and thrust it into the nearest shadow form. To prevent him returning to his body, I leapt off the astral back into the room. And I gazed on my love one last time, before turning his body inside out. Everything faded, and the next thing I knew, I was screaming, and my world turned upside down from then on.

“OH, GREAT MOTHER. Vikkommin, how could you? How could you hope to ever . . .”

The memories kept flooding back. The sound of his body ripping as I tore him apart. The mad laughter of his soul as he nestled into the shadow. The scream caught in my throat as I killed the love of my life to prevent him from hurting others. He’d gone mad with power and there would be no stopping him.

In that brief glimpse of his soul, I’d recognized that he was even more powerful than the Priestess-Mother and he would rampage across the land and tear it asunder with the ishonar.

But how could I tell the Elders Council? How could I make the Elders believe, when even I was in shock and disbelief? And so the memories retreated, fading back into a little corner of my heart, and I locked them away.

Because I also knew there was danger to myself. For when Vikkommin had entered my mind to show me what he could do, he’d not only shown me how to use the ishonar myself.

Now, as the memories flooded back, I realized I also knew how to control the ishonar—I could make the ice burn and I could shift the weather in ways no mortal or Fae should be capable of. If the Elders had known what I could do, they would have instantly put me to death. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I must have realized that and blocked off all memory.

Horrified that I was now far too powerful for my own—or anybody else’s—good, my first thought was to throw myself over the edge of the pit, but then Vikkommin laughed, and his laughter stopped me.

You never could handle the concept of being a goddess, could you? I see you remember now. But you do not frighten me—you are terrified to use your strength and you won’t use it for fear of setting off some chain reaction.

I stood my ground, staring at the glowing edges of his shadow form. He was less powerful down here. The darkness drained his strongest abilities, and what little light my hair gave off did him no good.

I had to make him come to me.

“You’ll never win. You may kill me, but the Lady is out for your death and you’ll never be anything but what you are now: a shadow of your former self. Because you can’t do it now, can you? You can’t control the weather. You can’t control the ishonar, and it beckons you and drives you mad.”

He let out a howl of rage and moved closer. Pirkitta . . . I would have shared this with you. I would have brought us back together and we would have lived together in the shadow. But you mock me—and I will destroy you.

I steeled myself. “I not only mock you, I spit in your path. I abjure what you have become. I deny you, Vikkommin. I deny your power and your shadow and the madness reeling within you.”

You! You deny me! I can tear you to pieces, I can make you into what I am and you have the gall to deny my power?

And then he moved. He headed my way and I picked up my wand. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but now that I had the power of the ishonar in me, I knew I could destroy him. I waited until he was within arm’s reach, and then I raised my wand.

“To the Gates of the Underworld I send thee, to the depths of Tuonela I command thee, to the arms of Tuoni I direct thee. Thou creature of darkness and shadow, thou power-mad sorcerer—you are no longer Chosen of the Lady, you are a vile creature, an abomination, and I send thee to the arms of oblivion.”

I focused and caught hold of one of the ishonar Elementals. She was dancing on the edge of my wand, and I thrust her forward, burning in all her frozen and brilliant glory. She rose up, growing larger, and her face, faceted in ice and bathed in purple fire, changed from sublime to monstrous as her mouth opened wide and she turned in Vikkommin’s direction.

He lunged toward me, but she interceded, touching his shadow and sending shock waves of pain through the smoke. He screamed, loud and plaintive. But I held fast, dropping to my knees. This was it, this was the only way, to turn the power that he’d so craved back on him. I reached deep, sought for all of the threads within myself that knew how to use the ishonar. I gathered them up into one mass and ripped it out of myself, toward him: a rolling, wheeling spiral of energy that flamed so brightly it illuminated the chamber.

For one moment it seemed to strengthen him and then I caught his thoughts as it touched the outer edges of his being.

Pirkitta—what are you doing to me? No—how could you do this? How could you do this to me?

And then he began to scream, and his scream echoed in the chamber, rising to a howl as his anguish grew. The wheel of ishonar rolled on, encompassing him, surrounding him, and he became the center of the wheel, spokes of fire radiating out from his core, meeting to eat away at his soul and devour and break him into shards.

I covered my eyes, not wanting to watch, not wanting to see what I was wreaking on Vikkommin’s soul, and yet I could not help but lower my hands as the shriek rose to a crescendo.

Vikkommin was in the air now, caught in the currents of wind that buffeted the chamber. He was being pulled apart, scattered to the four corners, ripped asunder. The wheel of ishonar moved on, rolling through him, and then it fell over the edge of the footpath, taking what remained of my love with it, down to the depths of Hel, where he would be washed clean and returned to the universe as new matter. Oblivion’s son.

I sat in the darkness, breathing heavily. Memories flooded my thoughts, memories of that night. Yes, I had killed him at the directive of my Lady. I’d set in motion all of these events at her bequest. And she had left me to wander, to take punishment, because if I remembered what had happened, the temple would have killed me.

But what now? What of the ishonar? What of my ability to control it?

Look inside, my Ar’jant d’tel. Look inside yourself. Don’t be afraid.

And there in the darkness, I went deep into my soul, let myself sink to the depths of my core. When I came to where the power of the ishonar had dwelt, I realized that I’d ripped out my knowledge of how to use it when I killed Vikkommin’s shadow. I’d used the knowledge this one time, to end his life—for it was the only hope I had of destroying him.

My ability to use the ishonar had died with him.

I slowly picked myself up, dusted off my cloak, and gathered my wand and everything I needed. I took one last look at the depths of the cavern, and using my walking staff, I made my way back toward the entrance.

As I emerged from the cavern, Howl leapt off of the craggy ledge. He stared at me. “Oh my Lady, what happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Your face. Look at your face.”

I pulled out a small mirror from my pack and gazed into the glass. Along the sides of my forehead were intricate spirals and loops, beautiful designs in deep indigo, like water flowing down my cheeks in rivers and streams. I reached up and touched them. They did not hurt, but they were permanent—that much seemed clear.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to think.”

And then, Howl turned to wolf form, offered his back, and I crawled on and we began loping across the Skirts of Hel, back to the cave, back to my life.

EIGHT

CAMILLE, SMOKY, AND ROZURIAL WERE WAITING for me when I returned. I gave them a silent nod and they withdrew. Kitää motioned to one of her women, and within fifteen minutes a hot bath was waiting for me.

Camille and Kitää attended me, helping me remove my clothing. As they peeled off my tunic, Camille gasped.

“What?” I asked.

“The scars—they are different.”

I struggled to see, so Kitää brought a small mirror in for me and held it while I glanced over my shoulder, into the mirror. The scars, the lash marks from the ishonar, had shifted and changed. They now covered my back in an intricate set of coiling waterfalls—beautiful and strange and matching the tattoos on the sides of my forehead.

“You have been marked by your goddess,” Camille whispered. “I recognize the energy—it’s the same when the Moon Mother claimed me and branded me with her symbols.”

“But what could she be thinking?”

“We visit the temple tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll have your answer then?”

I nodded and stepped into the steaming tub of water, sinking gratefully into the soothing warmth. I had to visit the temple, to ask them remove the curse. To tell them of what really happened and set the record straight.

“Will you take your old name again once you are cleared?” Camille handed me a soft cloth for washing, and some soapwort.

I shook my head. “No. I have been Iris for so long . . . and truly, I am not Pirkitta anymore. It would no more fit my nature than . . . than returning to the temple for good would. I realized today, on that mountain, that part of my life is over. It was what it was, and the Lady needed me to stop Vikkommin from becoming a terrifying sorcerer who would have used our religion as a battering ram against the world.”

Camille let out a soft sigh. “Power is so easily abused.”

She still hadn’t asked me what happened, only if I had resolved things. Now, waiting for her question, I realized she wasn’t going to, not until I was ready to talk about it.

I leaned back and closed my eyes. “I will tell you after I’ve bathed and eaten. Right now, it’s still too fresh. But tomorrow will you go to the temple with me when I make my stand and demand they break the curse?”

Camille laughed then. “Iris, I would think that by now you’d know we’d go to the ends of the earth—and beyond—for you. You’re family, babe. And not just because you take care of the house. You are as much family to me as Delilah and Menolly are.”

Considering that Camille’s sisters were her world, that was a great compliment and one I would not forget. Content with my place in the world, I let the water draw the chill out from my bones and tried to forget the sound of Vikkommin’s screams echoing in my head.

HOWL AND KITÄÄ, along with a contingent of their people, led us to the doors of the temple. “We will wait out here until you are done. We will not leave you here.”

I turned to all of them. “If you are sure, then I will try to make it brief. Camille, Smoky, and Roz will have to wait out here, but you may go with me.” I lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall against the door. I’d sent word to the temple the night before and they seemed to know that Vikkommin was gone, because I’d received a summons to attend the next morning.

The door opened, and for the first time in six hundred years I was allowed to enter the temple of my goddess. As we stepped into the elaborate hall, carved from the solid mountain rock and inlaid with marble and silver and alabaster, my heart broke. I’d been ostracized for so long that it physically hurt to enter these halls where I’d spent my youth, where I’d fallen in love, where I’d been tortured.

The temple was as I’d remembered it. The main hall was so tall a whisper would echo on the currents, get caught, and rebound from wall to wall. Benches wrought in silver and marble were scattered around the hall. The floor was an elaborate stone mosaic depicting Undutar fighting one of the fire giants.

“My gods, this is beautiful,” Camille whispered. “Our temples to the Moon Mother are more wild and feral, as is her nature.”

“It is lovely, isn’t it? I don’t know how many centuries it took to build this hall—look, someone’s coming.”

I watched as the woman I immediately recognized as the Priestess-Mother slowly walked across the hall, flanked by two Elders. Her station was evident by the ornamentation on her robes. And I recognized the Elders with her, even after all these years. They had been present at my torture and denial.

Starting to kneel, I found myself unwilling to show them respect. I had to force myself through the proper genuflections. I stood again, as quickly as I could while still paying homage.

“I have destroyed Vikkommin and released his soul. I also found out the truth of that night. I come to offer you proof of what happened and to demand that you remove your curse.” Of course, technically I had killed him, but it had been at the bequest of the Lady. Surely they couldn’t fault me for that.

“Follow us, Pirkitta.” And for the first time in six hundred years, my name had been uttered in the halls of Undutar.

We followed them through the long corridor that led to one of the examination rooms. I stared at the chamber—it was very much like the one in which they’d tortured me.

The Priestess-Mother motioned for us to sit down. “Pirkitta, while in my prayers last night, Undutar came to me. She told me that Vikkommin no longer lived and that this had been a test for you. That you were innocent of all wrongdoing toward him.”

Test? What the fuck was she talking about? Undutar had said nothing about a test. And I most certainly had killed Vikkommin, even if at the Lady’s bidding. I wasn’t really innocent, although I’d had good reason for what I’d done. But I decided to keep my mouth shut and find out more.

“She came to several of the Elders in their dreams, in fact, and told us all the same thing. We are to immediately remove your curse and give you back your robes. You are welcome to rejoin the temple if you like—she did not indicate whether you would do so or not, but we talked about it among ourselves this morning. We would welcome you back with open arms.”

She smiled widely.

Struck dumb and rather confused, I simply nodded. Camille gave me a sideways glance, but I shook my head just enough for her to see and she kept her silence. I’d told her—told all of them—during dinner just what had happened.

I let out a long sigh. Stay in the temple . . . The thought had crossed my mind more than once but I knew—even before I came to the Northlands—that I would never be able to do so. So much had changed. I was not the same woman, not the same Talon-haltija I’d been.

“I welcome my robes but will not stay in the temple. I will not be visiting here again, in fact. I’ve done what I needed to do, and if you would remove the curse from me, I’ll return to my life as it is and darken your door no more.”

The Priestess-Mother motioned for me to enter the ring of Elders, and they joined hands, working in silence. I felt a chill run through me, then a quickening—as if my blood jumped and danced—and then they dropped their hands and that appeared to be that.

“Is that it?”

“Yes, the curse is lifted. You are free once more to bear children, and you are definitely young enough to do so.”

I blinked. I’d expected something far more intricate, but apparently the lifting of curses called for a lot less formality than the bestowing of them. Then again, considering the pain that went into receiving the curse, I decided that short and sweet was good enough for me.

As I gathered the bag containing my robes, I noticed there was something else inside the sack, but once again instinct told me not to look until we were long gone from the temple.

I made my good-byes and, gazing one last time at the intricately carved walls and the magnificent mosaics, took my leave of the temple as quietly as I’d arrived. We’d been inside about an hour, and it was the last hour I intended to ever spend in the Northlands. Howl’s Pack was waiting, and with Camille and me riding the backs of two of the biggest warriors in wolf form, we headed back down the mountain.

When we were far enough away, I rooted around in the sack and withdrew what had caught my eye. It was a crystal statue of Undutar, but there was something magical about it. Something I couldn’t quite pick up on. I also noticed my robes were different, and as I gazed at them, trying to figure out what that difference was, it struck me. They were embellished with the same embroidery as were those of the Priestess-Mother’s.

“What is it?” Camille asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, but inside I had a glimmering suspicion. I just didn’t want to say what yet.

WE STAYED YET a third night with Howl’s Pack. I headed outside before supper, wearing my new robes, carrying the statue. There were yetis and trolls to contend with, yes, but Howl had guards on duty and with Vikkommin’s shadow long gone, I wasn’t terribly afraid.

I stopped on the edge of the ice field, staring out at the Skirts of Hel. The cold still made me shiver, but I was also warmed by the knowledge that I’d done what I set out to do. Now I could return home, marry Bruce, and have the children I longed to have. Visions of motherhood danced in my head, and I wondered just what characteristics they’d inherit from me . . . from him.

As a flurry of flakes fluttered around me, I knelt in the snow and placed the statue before me. I lowered my head to the ground, then sat back on my knees, closing my eyes, willing the words of a prayer to my lips. But no prayer came, only a deep feeling of peace and vindication.

I have plans for you yet, my Ar’jant d’tel. You are Chosen of the Gods, all right, but not to become Priestess-Mother of the temple here.

Jumping, I looked around. There, up ahead, was the shimmering form of my Lady, her long dark hair flowing in the wind. Her cloak was of the whitest fur and her eyes swirled with frost and mist.

“What is your will, my Lady? I am yours, forever and always, marked in body and soul.” I realized that I bore no ill will to her for using me to combat Vikkommin. A priestess was the hand of her goddess, the extension of her Lady’s will. I had been the best tool to stop him. That I’d accidentally learned his abilities, setting my own self at risk, had been collateral damage.

You will return home, and you shall set up a small shrine to me. You will run this shrine and be the Priestess-Mother to all who seek me out. My power is needed now, as the Earth warms and the glaciers lose their strength.

I nodded silently, realizing that Undutar meant to be more of a force in the world. Her cooling ways were needed; her mist and snow and fog were vital to the survival of so many creatures. And I would be, as forever and always, her handmaid.

With a sudden laugh, I realized how far I’d come. I’d crossed worlds to stand at her side, only to find myself her priestess in a suburb of Seattle. I’d trained for years of silent contemplation, yet now I was fighting demons with the D’Artigo sisters and their friends. I’d destroyed my lover to prevent him from misusing his power and had nearly turned myself into a carbon copy. I’d returned to the temple, only to be told to set up another temple on my own.

Life was filled with one ironic turn after another. But that which mattered most to me: my friends and their fight . . . my goddess and the fact that she loved me . . . that I could marry the man I loved and bear his children—those were the only things that would, in the end, make up the true story of my life.