The Wolf Queen turns to me, silver brows raised, and Mokosh is instantly forgotten. “What deal?”
“Give Hal to me for the remainder of his century, and I will hold onto him. I won’t let go even for an instant, no matter what you do, no matter how you try to take him from me. I will hold back your curse. And when the three days are over and his hundred years are fulfilled—he won’t belong to you anymore.”
“He will belong to you, I suppose,” the Wolf Queen scoffs.
I look at Mokosh, who crouches miserably on her throne, and I am sick that the Queen thinks I would want to own anyone. “He will belong to himself. The old magic—the first magic—will free him.”
She considers me. “And if you fail, girl-child?”
I stare her down, hold my head high. “I have set my terms. You set yours.”
She smiles, deep and dangerous. “If you fail, you both will belong to me, and be bound to my court for all of time.”
“Echo, no.”
I look over at Hal. Tears slide down his cheeks. He throws himself against his knife-sharp bonds, struggling and swearing as he tries to get free. Blood seeps into the hollow of his neck, pours down his arms. “Don’t bargain with her! She’ll trick you. With her it is always a trick. You have to run. You have to go now, and don’t look back! I’ll not have you trapped here, too. I couldn’t bear it. Please, Echo. Please go.”
“You hear how he pleads with you,” says the Queen. “But time slips away. Choose now, what you will do.”
“I’m sorry, Hal, but I’m not leaving here without you.”
He sags where he sits, his whole body shuddering. “Please, Echo. Please.”
But I turn once more to the Wolf Queen. “I invoke the old magic. I accept your terms.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
RELEASE THE BOY, MOKOSH,” SAYS THE Wolf Queen, without a sideways glance at her daughter.
“Release him yourself. I will not be your pet. You do not own me.”
In one swift movement, the Queen sweeps to Mokosh’s throne, and grabs her daughter’s muzzle with one clawed hand. “I do own you, just as I owned your father, just as I own your filthy half-siblings. You will do as I say.”
Mokosh’s ears are pinned back flat against her head. “You don’t have any intention of keeping your promise to me, do you?”
The Queen digs her claws in deeper, making Mokosh flinch. “You could never be anything more than a hideous creature in a beautiful dress.”
Mokosh jerks away, the Wolf Queen’s claws tearing at her face. Blood grazes her silver fur. “I should have known better than to make a deal with you.”
The Queen smiles, her white teeth curving up over her lips, and touches Mokosh’s wound with one finger. “Now do as I command. Release the boy.”
Mokosh growls, but obeys, stepping down from her throne and over to Hal’s. She frees his neck first, loosing the band with a metallic click, then his wrists, his ankles. She steps back, her furred hands balled into fists. She’s trembling. “I’m sorry, Echo.” Her voice is so quiet I barely hear her. “Save him. If you can.” And then she slinks back to her throne, bows her head into her hands. Her shoulders shake.
“Well?” says the Wolf Queen. “Stand, boy. Meet your fate.”
Hal takes a ragged breath and tries to stand, but his legs fold underneath him and he collapses to the ground. I am beside him in an instant, my arms around him, hoisting him back to his feet. I wonder how long he has sat bound to the Wolf Queen’s throne.
His eyes meet mine. The scar on his cheek from the spot of oil looks raw, ugly, as if still freshly made, though it is months old. “Please, Echo. Please don’t do this. Don’t let her trap you. Leave me. Save yourself. Please.”
“I am here to save you,” I tell him fiercely, “and I’m not leaving till I’ve done it.”
“But I’m not worth saving. Echo, you still don’t understand—”
“Come to the center of my circle,” thunders the Wolf Queen.
I lead Hal the few steps to where she’s pointing; he leans heavily on my shoulders. He feels fragile beneath my touch—brittle, impossibly old. And if what he and the Wolf Queen have said is true, he is old, more than four hundred years. “Echo, please!” Tears drip down his cheeks.
The moon is looking full into the Wolf Queen’s court. I have the feeling that it’s truly watching us, interested in the choices we make amidst the dust and the trees.
Hal faces me, standing a little straighter, a little grimmer than before.
I take both of his hands in mine; they’re cold, but they feel strong. “For the next three days, I’m holding on to you, Halvarad Wintar. And then you will be free.”
“What magic is stronger than hers?”
“The magic that made the world.” My voice cracks on the next word: “Love.”
He smooths his thumb across my cheek and smiles at me, the sad, hopeless smile of a man who has lost everything. He’s accepting my choice. “Thank you for coming to save me. My dear Lady Echo.”
“I’m just glad it’s not too late, Lord Wolf.”
He smiles again, and this time it’s a true smile.
From my peripheral, I see the Wolf Queen pacing toward us, and I have the sudden realization that this is not going to be as simple as holding Hal’s hands for three days. The Wolf Queen is bent on destroying us both—if she didn’t think it an impossible task, she wouldn’t have accepted my challenge.
“Don’t let go,” says Hal.
“Never.” I tighten my grip around his fingers.
And then the Wolf Queen raises her hands to the sky and begins to speak to the moon, a liquid, chanting language that seethes with fire and reminds me of the North Wind’s stories.
Hal begins to scream and shake, his eyes rolling back in his head. I slide one hand up his arm, my fingers digging through his thin shirtsleeve. He screams as if he’s being tortured with hot irons, and suddenly he’s burning, flames bursting raw from his skin, engulfing both of us.
And now I’m screaming, too. We both sink to our knees as the fire rages round. I can feel it eating away at my flesh, I can smell the stink of it. My hair catches fire and I am burning, burning, and yet I am not consumed. Hal weeps, ragged, rough, and anger cuts through my pain.
“You can’t kill us!” I cry out. “You don’t have the power!”
The fire burns and burns. I am in agony and Hal is worse. He shudders and shakes in my arms. His flesh chars black. His screams fill up the world, and mine are tangled with them.
But I don’t let him go. I cradle him in my arms, rebuking the fire and cursing the Wolf Queen. The flames slide away from me, but not from him. My pain evaporates. His does not.
He burns and burns and burns, but does not die. I think he will burn forever, or turn all to ash and blow away on the wind. I will not be able to hold him then. He will be lost to me.
I cling to him tighter than before. He screams and screams and weeps into my hair.
The fire abates, so slowly I don’t realize it’s happening until it’s suddenly gone, leaving Hal cracked and feverish in my arms. But he isn’t burnt to nothing, isn’t scarred beyond recognition. His screams fade to whimpers, and he’s trembling and human and somehow still whole.
“An illusion.” I wipe the tears from his eyes even as my own well up. “Only an illusion. Like the ones in our book-mirrors.”
He shudders and shudders. “It isn’t the worst she can do—” But his words are cut off in another cry of pain.
His body convulses. His bones crack and his skin tears apart and he transforms into a giant serpent, sinuous and black. He writhes and shrieks and I hold on, hold on, though his scales are sword-sharp and they slice into my hands. Hot, slippery blood runs down my arms. I dig my fingers under his scales, deeper and deeper, down into his flesh. I won’t let him go.
He strikes without warning, fangs biting deep into my shoulder, and violent, white-hot pain sears through me. I’m screaming again, the world white around me, but somewhere in the haze of agony I remember what I am, and what he is.