“I have to.” Winter shook her head. “I really am sorry, Jane. I wish... things were different.”
Jane threw back her head and screamed, a high, keening note. Lightning crackled from her in all directions, and overhead the red serpent surged forward. When she looked back at Winter, her eyes glowed so bright they were pure white, and her voice was thick with the thunder of the Beast.
“Then I will destroy you,” she said. “I am stronger now. I will rend your mind asunder and scatter it to my winds, and your demon with it.”
Then, like a distant echo, a tiny voice. “Please, Winter.”
The Beast stepped forward, one hand raised. Crimson energy gathered in its palm. When it snapped out, Winter threw up her arms to defend herself, but the strobing bolt of lightning wrapped around her like a lasso. She felt its energy run through her body, thousands of silver needles tearing at her soul.
Overhead, Infernivore was falling back, pressed before the Beast. Winter was gripped by despair.
It’s no good. The Beast is too strong. She’d waited too long, let it absorb too many minds. I can’t stop it. Nothing can stop it now.
Once again they’d put their hopes in her. The Eldest. Alex, Abraham, Sothe. Marcus, Raesinia. Everyone. And they’re all going to die—
No.
Winter gritted her teeth and pushed back. She put everything into it, her soul, her self, meeting the Beast head-on. For a moment she and Jane were face-to-face, power straining against power, mind pushing against mind. And then she saw—
—?herself, as a girl. Awkward, uncertain kisses, hidden in a gap in the hedges. Days spent together, happiness bright even in darkness. Nights spent together, clandestine experiments, her own voice giving a soft moan.
Waiting in darkness. For her, for Winter to come to the rescue. As she’d promised.
Ganhide. Bruises, tears, cruel words, and rough hands. Pain, and the feel of the skin of his throat parting under the knife. The kiss of heat as his house took fire.
More images, faster and faster, Jane’s life flowing between Winter’s fingers. And her own, through Jane’s. Winter felt Jane’s spirit, pressed tight against her.
Oh, it said. Oh.
She saw herself seeing Jane, and Jane seeing her seeing Jane, and on and on, the hall of mirrors never-?ending.
I didn’t understand, Jane thought, as Winter’s life flickered around her. I couldn’t see what I was doing to you. Winter felt the brush of lips against her own. I’m sorry. For everything.
I forgive you, Winter answered.
They pulled apart. And there were three people on the cloud-?swept plain. Jane had stepped away from the Beast, pulling free of the red light, leaving only a dark void surrounded by crimson radiance. She stood between the Beast and Winter, its lightning arcing into her body.
“No.” The Beast’s voice was totally inhuman now. “This is not possible. You are a part of me.”
“Maybe you don’t know yourself as well as you think,” Jane said. “Good-?bye, Winter.”
“Good-?bye,” Winter whispered.
The arc connecting Jane and the Beast flared even brighter, the power of the demon turned against itself. In the sky overhead, the red serpent fell back, and the green advanced, wrapping around and around its adversary. The Beast screamed, a wordless peal of rage and anguish, as Infernivore devoured its substance, drawing the cloudscape inward to a point. Out of the corner of her eye, Winter saw a single ring of swirling cloud spin away, as though flung outward from the vortex.
Then the red was fading away, and green filled the world. Winter felt Infernivore flowing back into her, returning to its lair in the pit of her soul, as sated as a snake that had devoured an elephant. A moment later a tide of oblivion, as dark and cold as the depths of the ocean, obliterated her.
34
Marcus
A few miles to the northeast of the grounds of Ohnlei Palace, the kings of Vordan had long maintained a hunting lodge. It was small, by royal standards, with only a dozen bedrooms for the king and his immediate circle, plus servants’ quarters, stables, kennels, and everything else that a monarch might need when he wanted to ride out and kill hapless animals. It was called the Rose Lodge, in honor of the curling vines that crawled up and over trellises set into the walls, and which in the spring made the place a riot of red, white, and pink.
Now, of course, the colors were gone, the gardens ready to sleep away the winter. Leaves crunched underfoot as Marcus walked beside Raesinia down the path to the front door. Ahead of them, two sentries—?one of the Girls’ Own, another from the Grenadier Guards—?saluted Marcus and then bowed deep to the queen.
They were only the innermost ring of a web of security that Vordan hadn’t seen since Duke Orlanko had been toppled from the Concordat. Cavalry patrols rode through the woods, and an outer cordon of sentries—?ignorant of what, exactly, they were protecting—?challenged visitors before they even came in sight of the house. In addition to the guards at the doors and windows, there were sharpshooters on the roof, and no horses were allowed anywhere closer than the outer ring. Inside, a couple of longtime palace servants provided for the needs of the single occupant and kept surreptitious watch on his every move. And, unbeknownst to nearly everyone, Raesinia had asked the Steel Ghost to keep watch as well, to prevent any supernatural intervention.
There were moments when Marcus thought it was a bit paranoid. But given what the lodge’s occupant had accomplished in the past, at least a little paranoia could be justified. Janus bet Vhalnich, commanding general, First Consul, and arch-?traitor, had always been a hard man to pin down.
Raesinia’s two bodyguards, Joanna and Barely, were back at her side after their departure to take part in the battle. Joanna had a bandage wrapped around her head, but otherwise the two seemed to have made it through the fighting unscathed. That was more than could be said for much of the Girls’ Own, or indeed the whole of the Second Division. They’d borne the brunt of the enemy assault, and casualties had been high, among soldiers and volunteers alike. Marcus had heard the stories of Raesinia’s rush forward, how she took the flag when the men started to flee the field. Sometimes I don’t know whether I want to kiss her or lock her in a cell for her own good.
The guards opened the door, and they went inside. The lodge was decorated in a rustic style, heavy on preserved animal heads and ornaments made from antlers and bones. A silent servant directed them through the foyer and into a sitting room. Janus, dressed in a bathrobe, sat on a chaise with his feet propped up on a cushion. He was reading a book, turning the pages with his long, thin fingers. Already he looked improved from the skeletal figure Marcus had met back in the Pale valley; his face was filling out, the dark circles under his huge gray eyes receding.
He looked up as they came in, then carefully marked his place with a bookmark and set the volume aside.