“I thought you might have the knack.”
“You see why I have to go,” Shard said, and drew forward all his memories of Kjorn, and his new and dear memories with Hikaru. “You see why I have to
try
.”
“I do,” Groa said. “And I wish you all luck and the blessings of each wind. But I urge you to be wary about the dragons. They are not all that they seem. There will be one dragon among them who keeps separate the truth and the lies. A storyteller, I can’t recall…”
“Do you know that dragon’s name?”
“In my time it was a dragoness called Umeko, and she was my friend. She gave me a silver chain. But she had a title too, I can’t…I can’t recall. I’m sorry.”
“I will find a dragon to tell me the truth. Thank you.” They stood on a dream of the Copper Cliff, near the King’s Rocks. “Thank you for all of this.”
Groa seemed bright, and he realized he could see the sea and the sky behind her, through her. She was waking, leaving his dream. “I have told you all I can, and I grow weary.”
A sound made him aware of his body, of the cave, the smell of smoke. He was waking, too. For a moment he strained to remain there, to find Catori or his mother or a raven and tell them he was well.
“It is morning, young prince, and time to fly.”
Groa seemed to speak in his heart, not his ears. “Shard. I have two last gifts for you, Shard.”
Shard curled tighter on himself, eyes closed. Bitter wind gusted beyond the warm cave.
“Shard,” she whispered, and he made a soft sound of acknowledgement, unable to open his eyes, still trying to see her in the dream. He was so weary, the story was almost too much to take in, and his leg ached from too long in one position.
“Come over to me, Rashard. I have two gifts for you. The first is a set of fire stones. A raven stole them from the dragons for me. You need only strike them together to make a spark, and if you have dry tinder ready, you will have fire. The second is the only dragon treasure that I bothered to keep.”
Her words overlapped the very last dregs of his dream, she seemed to call him from across the waves.
“Shard. Shard, come over to me.”
Come over to me.
Shard.
Shard jerked awake. As he opened his eyes, the dream still felt more real, for a moment, than the cave. Dull silvery light touched the entrance, and the last warmth was seeping out into the rock. The cave was empty.
The fire was dead.
Trembling, Shard pushed himself to his feet, favoring his leg. “Groa?” He peered around. She could not have left without him hearing. Really, she couldn’t have left without crawling over him. “Iluq? Groa!”
He spun around.
She was only just here, just speaking to me!
After shaking himself hard enough to jolt his injured leg, Shard limped around to the other side of the fire ring, and stopped, looking closely.
There lay the bones he couldn’t identify before, from behind the smoke and fire. There, where the ancient, blind, impossible gryfess had sat weaving her dream tale, lay the bones he’d thought were wolf bones. But as Shard looked closer he saw that the dusty skeleton had the unmistakable skull of a gryfon, and two tucked sequences of bones had once been wings, now coated by dust and the decay of ancient feathers just barely preserved in the cold.
T
HE WIDE BUT LOW-CEILINGED
den where Ragna dwelled, alone, faced the starward sea and boasted a view of the Star Isle. A respectably sized cave for a small gryfon family, or one queen, it was now filled to cramping with Caj, Sigrun, Ragna herself, Thyra, Halvden and his mate Kenna, and her wingsister, Astri.
Caj watched the Widow Queen. After the first bustle of outrage at Halvden’s return, the chaos of Aesir, Vanir and half-bloods alike demanding Halvden pay for his crimes, the Vanir queen had ushered them away for private council.
Unlike Sverin, Ragna preferred to deal with large matters privately, not loudly before the pride.
It was Thyra, however, who allowed Astri and Kenna to be present.
Caj, Sigrun, Astri, and Kenna sat ringing the back of the den like an audience, while Halvden stood before Ragna and Thyra, who blocked the exit and were outlined in sunlight. They’d let him sleep through the night in a guarded, empty den.
“Halvden, son-of-Hallr,” Ragna said quietly. “You stand ready to admit your crimes and atone?”
Halvden looked at her, then turned and addressed Thyra. “I do, my lady.”
Beside Caj, Sigrun tensed at the affront to Ragna. He nudged her with a wing, trusting their daughter to handle the situation.
“You will show respect,” Thyra said, “to the regent of the Sun Isle.”
“
You
are my queen,” Halvden said, voice low. “If Sverin is restored to his senses, he will be my king. If not, then when Kjorn returns, I will bow to him alone, and atone for my crimes to him.”
Caj had to admire that he held his tail still, didn’t show his agitation. Young Astri, star-white but brighter than Ragna in the way of a half-blood Aesir, let out a muffled, whimpering snarl. Kenna tapped her beak in warning.
Ragna remained unruffled, cool and still as marble. She turned her head to face Thyra as well. “What will you then, my lady?” Her voice sounded too amused at the idea that Halvden thought he had any choice in his punishment at all, or who he would respect, and not.
“Halvden, as usual, you spew bold and arrogant words,” Thyra said coldly. Even though her belly bulged, she stood tall and fair in the dim afternoon light, and Caj could have fluffed with pride. “My father led me to believe that you were willing to show humility, that you were ready to ask forgiveness. Of all the warriors in this pride, it is his forgiveness you should seek. You tried to murder him. You lied. You covered your lies with further, cowardly
lying,
and when Kjorn himself returned and presented himself to Sverin, you tried to discredit him. Him, the very prince you now claim to wish to serve. Tell me why we should allow you to live, much less to atone for these unforgiveable crimes?”
Kenna made a quiet noise and Caj glanced to her, unable to tell if the violet huntress approved of, or feared, Thyra’s questioning.
With a quick, seeking glance at Caj, Halvden shifted, his gaze flickering with the first sign of doubt. Then, to the surprise of all, he mantled low.
“For the sake of my unborn kit. For your own sense of honor.” There was a long, cold silence, thick with gathering anger. Head bowed, Halvden lifted only his fierce golden eyes to Ragna, and to Caj’s surprise, addressed the Widow Queen again. “Now you may prove that you’re a better and more merciful queen than Sverin was king, that the Vanir are all you say they are.”
“Let it never be said you aren’t clever,” Ragna murmured, and Caj had to agree. He exchanged a dark look with Sigrun, and feared he may have been soft and foolish in sparing Halvden’s life.
The green warrior bowed his head again. Ragna and Thyra looked to Kenna, and Ragna spoke. “You chose Halvden as your true mate this summer last. Tell me, do you still desire him, after all that has happened? He begs for his life in the name of his unborn kit. Do you wish for him to be father to your young, if he changes as he promises?”
Kenna’s beak opened slightly, perhaps stunned to be asked such questions. Her gaze rested on Halvden and for the first time, he appeared hesitant. But he did lift his eyes and in that look, Caj saw with some reassurance that he was at the mercy of at least one gryfess there. When Kenna hesitated to answer, Caj saw in Halvden’s flattened ears and widened eyes that he loved her, that he actually felt regret, that he was afraid. And, it seemed, so did Kenna.
“I do,” she said, low but clear, for hers was not a whispering nature. “I hope he will atone for everything and make himself better for the pride and for his family.”
Thyra nodded. “Then he will have his chance—”
“No!” Astri rose, having endured all she could. Sigrun stood with her, making a soothing sound, and Caj saw that she feared for the young gryfess. “No, how could you? It was he who goaded Sverin, he who tried to kill Caj! He faked Kjorn’s death, he bullied my mate! He is wicked, my queens, I beg you, he must
die
.”
Caj stood, seeing that Astri was ready to leap and murder Halvden herself. Her white wings raised like gleaming sheets of ice, beak opened in a pant, her eyes pinpointed in disbelief and feral panic. “You cannot let him get away with this.”
“Calm yourself,” Sigrun said, her own expression guarded. “Think of your kit.”
“I am! I am thinking of my kit, and my mate whose blood is not just on Sverin’s talons, but on
his!”
She leaped. Caj barreled between her and Halvden even as Kenna caught the smaller gryfess around the chest to restrain her.
“I didn’t kill Einarr!” Halvden shouted, his temper and pride at last unleashed.
“You as good as did,” Astri cried. “You wretch. My queen,” she begged first of Thyra, then Ragna, both of whom remained where they were, fearing perhaps that Halvden would take the chance to flee the cave. “Please, you cannot let his crimes go unpunished. He doesn’t deserve your mercy.”
“Enough now,” Ragna said quietly. “This will not do. We have all been injured. We have all suffered loss. He will not go unpunished. Contain yourself.”
“Astri,” Thyra murmured. “My friend. We have hunted together, shared injury. Laughed, and wept. We chose our mates on the same Daynight. You must trust in me now, and remember that shedding more blood will not bring Einarr back.”
Astri crumpled in Kenna’s grip. Her wings fell to her sides, Kenna loosened her hold, and Astri sat back, touching gentle talons to her belly.
“Tyr watches you,” she whispered to Halvden. “You may say pretty things to appease those here, but there is one who knows your true heart and you will atone in the end—here, or in the Sunlit Land.”
Halvden laid back his ears, but wisely said nothing.
“Wingsister,” Kenna murmured.
“No.” Astri broke away, stumbling on her own wing before folding it, and brushed by Ragna, who allowed her to pass. “No. I’m not. Not anymore. You severed that vow by choosing
him.
”
“If it were Einarr,” Kenna began, and Caj thought she couldn’t have chosen a poorer comparison, “wouldn’t you choose him?”
Astri paused in the entrance, looking like a snowflake in the low light. “I am,” she breathed, and left with a whimper, climbing out of sight.
“Sigrun,” Caj began, but his mate knew her work well, and was already following.
“With your leave,” she murmured to both queens.
“Take care of her, Mother,” Thyra said quietly.
“I will.” Sigrun turned a wicked glare to Halvden, who actually looked struck by Astri’s pain. “You. If you have it in your greedy, conniving heart to speak an honest word or do one genuine thing for another, now is the time to begin. Then, maybe, you will see forgiveness.”
After giving Caj a measuring look, as if to gauge his intelligence for letting Halvden live, she left.
“I should go too,” Kenna said, and walked close to Halvden. “She’s right. Now is the time to begin.”
Halvden met her gaze, then lowered his head.
Kenna search his face, laid her ears back in a warning look, and left the cave to help tend Astri.
Caj stood. “If you’re done with my presence, my ladies, I must resume my search.”
“Your search,” Ragna said thoughtfully. She drew herself up, watching him. “Caj, it’s taking too long. It’s becoming a wolf hunt.” Ever since Sverin’s obsession with hunting wolves that winter, “wolf hunt” was a phrase the Vanir used for any pursuit that could be deemed mad or fruitless.
Caj fought against a growl.
Ragna lifted her wings in warning. “I know you fear it will harm your efforts but I must insist on sending warriors. Halvden can tell them where Sverin is sheltering, and they will restrain him until you arrive and can try to restore him to his senses. This is what we should have done from the start. In honor of you and of Sigrun, I didn’t act when she told me of your search. I must act now.”
Caj kept silent until he had something to say. The decision was not brash—he could see she meant no harm or disrespect. On the surface the idea sounded sensible, but he could think of nothing more foolish than to send more gryfons into Sverin’s path.
“Father,” Thyra said quietly, and he looked at her, feeling betrayed to see that she agreed. “You see the sense of it. It will take you too long, and when you reach him, you’ll be alone.”
“I must be alone,” Caj said, looking between them. Halvden watched, looking relieved that the focus was off him for a moment. “He will attack any other. I won’t risk that.”
“And if he attacks you?” Thyra asked, and her gaze fell on his broken wing. “You couldn’t possibly hope to overcome him.”
“I’m the
only
one who could hope to overcome him, daughter.” Caj managed to keep the growl from his voice. He dipped his head. “My ladies. You must allow me to continue. You must leave him to me.”
“In your condition,” Ragna said, “you could not best him.”
Caj could tell she hadn’t meant it to insult him, but it pierced his pride nonetheless, and for a moment it was all he could do to restrain his temper.
“He bested
me
.”
They all looked at Halvden.
“In his condition,” he clarified when Ragna and Thyra only stared at him, and he nodded to indicate Caj’s wing. “I’m not Sverin, but still, he bested me. Forgive me for interrupting, but I have seen Sverin most recently. Caj is the only one who can hope to make him see reason. He’ll feel threatened by anyone else, he’ll…” He looked between the two gryfesses and a keen look came into his eyes. “Ah, but you don’t mean for Sverin to return alive, do you?”
“Don’t goad him,” Ragna warned, and Caj realized it was exactly was Halvden was trying to do.
Thyra stepped forward, answering Caj’s quiet growl. “Father, he’s wrong. Of course we do want him alive. If it’s possible.”
“If it’s possible,” Caj echoed flatly.