Chapter Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

Thanks to Adelheid, leaving proved far easier than getting there. Rather than swim through nixie-infested waters, she’d carved an exit through the wall of the cavern. Water dripped steadily from the smooth stone walls. Thousands of years of patient erosion, over and done with in a single moment. Lorelei could almost find it in herself to be grateful.

Outside the caverns, the mist had thickened enough to swallow up the woods. It drifted in thick, heavy skeins and twinkled as if imbued with the Ursprung’s strange magic. Lorelei could barely see her hand a foot in front of her own nose. When she pushed against the curtain of fog with her magic, it felt like running into a solid wall. Clearly, it answered to only one mistress—or perhaps two.

“Can you do anything about this?”

“Not without considerable effort,” Sylvia replied, almost apologetically. Lorelei did not think she’d ever grow accustomed to the eerie, hallowed light that filled Sylvia’s eyes. “I’m still getting used to wielding magic again. And it feels like she’s holding on to it with all her strength.”

Perfect.

“Stay close,” Lorelei said. “I don’t want to lose you in this.”

They moved carefully over snaring roots and water-slicked rocks. Dark shapes—the forked limb of a tree, the drip of lichen—jutted into the gloom every now and again, making monsters of their surroundings. Everything bristled, hostile and watchful as they passed.

A branch snapped.

Sylvia reacted immediately, pressing their backs together and gripping the pommel of her saber. Even now, with all the power in the world at her fingertips, she still reached for the solid comfort of that flimsy silver blade. Lorelei raised her hands, poised to rip the moisture from the air. A moment ticked by, and then another. The forest drew its breath and held it, and that eerie, impossible stillness settled over them again.

Lorelei let her arms fall, feeling foolish for leaping at nothing but shadows. Perhaps Adelheid was already long gone. It would be a simple thing to take the Prinzessin and strand them here, cackling all the way to Ruhigburg. It was what Lorelei would have done.

But she knew Adelheid better than that by now; she would take no chances in leaving them alive, and she would want to see Sylvia pay for what she’d done to Johann. The prospect of fighting Adelheid terrified her. She’d flung them about as though they were nothing more than dolls she’d grown bored of. Even if Sylvia—

“Lorelei, there!”

A shard of ice shot from the tree line, a thin needle of moonlight. Before she could even think to react, Sylvia drew her blade and swung. The ice shattered on impact.

Behind Lorelei, magic shivered through the air. She whirled around just in time to see a silhouette appear like a ghost out of the fog. “Behind you!”

Adelheid surged toward them. With a thrust of her hand, a great column erupted from the river and descended on them like a closed fist. With a swear, Sylvia seized hold of it with her magic and redirected it as best she could. Water crashed to the ground—far closer than Lorelei would have liked—and splattered them like blood. The grim reality of their situation set in. No matter how powerful she was, Sylvia still had yet to shake off the rust of five years. Adelheid, meanwhile, was in her prime—and furious.

Adelheid recovered quickly. The puddles around them shivered, then leapt back into Adelheid’s hand as a thin sword of ice. Her face contorted with grim purpose, she thrust it at Sylvia’s heart. An adept magic user would have melted or vaporized it in an instant. But with a glitter of determined fire in her eyes, Sylvia met Adelheid’s blade with her own, bracing the hilt of her saber with both hands. Adelheid’s ice sword shattered on impact, and the sound rang out like the clap of thunder. With a shout of frustration, Adelheid drew her own steel.

Lorelei had never truly seen Sylvia in her element, with no reservations holding her back. She moved like the rush of a river, every motion fluid. Adelheid met her blow for blow. Between the two of them, it looked like a perfectly choreographed dance, too fast for her to track. She desperately sought an opening to intervene, but she couldn’t risk striking recklessly, or she might very well skewer Sylvia alive.

At last, Sylvia caught Adelheid’s sword, locking their blades together. She slid it easily down to the cross guard and, with a flourish, sent it sailing across the clearing. It landed in the river with a dull plunk . Adelheid let out a breathless sound of surprise.

“You never were much of a fencer,” Sylvia said, with a smile Lorelei would have once found infuriating. Now, it was almost dashing. Ugh. Sylvia swung her sword across her body, and water wicked off the end of the blade. “Surrender, Adelheid. Call off this plan, and I will spare your life.”

Adelheid smoothed out her expression. With almost bitter amusement, she said, “You’re not much of a channeler anymore.”

The mist around them funneled like a tornado and clotted into thick, angry clouds. Thunder rolled, and then the sky cleaved open. Rain drenched them in seconds. Sylvia’s hair snapped in the wind, and leaves flurried wildly around her. She called on her own power. Judging by the strain on her face, she was battling for control of the storm. The raindrops surrounding her and Adelheid froze in midair, shrouding them in a veil of water. It was as awesome as it was terrible to watch. For a moment, Lorelei believed they might truly be easily matched.

Then, Adelheid’s eyes flared with aetheric light. The suspended rainwater dropped like a stone. She launched a column of water directly at Sylvia, who staggered backward at the impact. When the second volley came, Lorelei attempted to divert it, but it felt like the reins of a galloping horse slipping through her fingers. This time, however, Sylvia was ready. She extended her hand just in time to cleave the water rushing toward her; it flowed past her on each side, like a stone in a river’s course.

Adelheid did not hesitate to retaliate. Another flex of her hands, and the rainfall overhead solidified to hail. Lorelei held up an arm to shield herself from the renewed gust and gritted her teeth against the cold sting of water in her eyes. Through her blurred vision, she could read the panic plain on Sylvia’s face. Where Adelheid’s magic was another limb, Sylvia’s was a crude weapon whose weight she was still testing. But Adelheid could not go on like this forever. Blood beaded on her temples like sweat and dribbled from one nostril.

Just like the king and his mirror, Lorelei thought bitterly. This power was killing her. Aether always strained its wielder’s body. No one could hope to channel this much of it and survive—especially when it had been stolen.

“Why are you doing this?” Sylvia shouted over the howl of the storm.

“There is no other way forward,” Adelheid answered. “Wilhelm has sat by idly while our harvests rotted in the fields, while our homes burned, while my family and subjects have starved. And now he plans to sacrifice us all for his own ambitions. I cannot allow it.”

“We would have helped you! I would have helped you.”

Adelheid curled her lip. “You have always been so na?ve, Sylvia. By the time Wilhelm is through, this country will be ruined. Whatever influence you have will be gone. What culture you cherish will be diluted when we are all forced to assimilate. Some of us will be snuffed out entirely.” She flung her arm out, as if gesturing over the vast expanse of Brunnestaad. “Open your eyes. We are relics already. Can you bring yourself to hasten our demise?”

Once, all of them had been royalty. This was what he’d reduced them to: dogs fighting for scraps.

“I have brought myself to do many things.” Sylvia set her jaw. “I will protect what is mine.”

In response, Adelheid lashed out with a whip of water. Immediately, Lorelei focused her attention on the puddle at Sylvia’s feet. She brought up a wall of ice to shield Sylvia. Sylvia did not look her way, but she could almost feel her gratitude. Lorelei could never hope to compete with either of their raw power, but she could certainly make a nuisance of herself. If Lorelei could distract Adelheid, perhaps Sylvia could find an opening with her saber.

As Sylvia fought to close the space between her and Adelheid, Lorelei sent chips of ice and bursts of water hurtling toward Adelheid. Even with two opponents and her strength sapped by the Ursprung’s curse, she was an automaton of violence, cold and controlled as she swatted aside Lorelei’s attacks and launched her own against Sylvia. But one moment of distraction was all she needed for Sylvia to get within range. With inhuman speed, she landed a blow on Adelheid’s arm. Blood arced from the wound.

Adelheid reeled back, her eyes gleaming like a cornered animal’s as she realized she was losing ground. As Sylvia readied herself to strike again, magic screamed through the air like a riptide. A shudder moved through the earth, and then the river spilled over its banks. The force of the current nearly bowled Lorelei over. She scrabbled up onto a low-hanging branch. Birds were flushed shrieking from their roosts, and branches groaned as they were torn asunder from the trees. She even caught a glimpse of a schellenrock clinging to a shiny shard of sea glass as it was swept, wailing, from its den.

Adelheid would drown them all at this rate.

Against her unbridled power, they didn’t stand a chance. Lorelei had to do something—and quickly. But Lorelei had never killed anyone before. She had thought about it in the abstract, of course, but confronted with the possibility, her hands trembled like a frightened child’s. She didn’t know if she could stomach it. Not the blood and certainly not the guilt.

No . She could not fall prey to sentimentality.

Lorelei knew that look in Adelheid’s eye, hollowed-out and bladed. She would cut down any rival who stood in her way. She would make any concession to guarantee her own survival. And Lorelei would die a thousand deaths over to protect Sylvia. The conviction coated her all over with armor. She refused to be afraid, when she had walked in the shadow of Death for so long.

This time, she would fight for what she loved.

But she couldn’t be stupid about it. She was no gallant fairy-tale knight. But if she could come up with a plan, any sort of plan…

Bare inches away from her nose, a pair of citrine eyes blinked out at her. The air itself rippled like a cloak caught in a breeze. Although she couldn’t see the shape of its body, she knew immediately what it was.

An alp.

Her alp.

She hardly had time to process it before the beast materialized out of the mist. The crimson of its tarnkappe was as bright as a bloodstain. It smashed the cap down against its head with its tiny claws.

Its hateful voice slithered through her skull. “Came back.”

She nearly toppled off the branch. “Now is really not the time!”

It dared to look offended. “Tried to kill me!”

“Consider us even, then!” Oh, she could throttle it. Maybe this time, she really would rend its tarnkappe— No, she had to remain calm.

An idea came to her, slowly at first, then burning as urgent as a flame. Channeling Sylvia as much as she was able, she drew a steadying breath and forced a smile. It flinched. “Right now, you and I share a common enemy.”

The alp regarded her suspiciously, clearly recalling her earlier trickery.

The water was still raging below them, frothing and brown as it tore up the earth. Sylvia and Adelheid stood knee-deep in it now. Great gouts of water lashed out at Sylvia like the crack of a whip, only to be held in trembling suspension when she lifted her hands. Her eyes glittered with stalwart determination. Adelheid’s shoulders heaved with every breath, and her face was mottled with streaks of blood. It pushed out of her pores and leaked from the corners of her eyes.

Hold on just a little longer.

“That woman,” she said, “is going to cause a war. I imagine you are old enough to remember the last time that happened. Armies will come with their machines and their horses, and they will destroy your home without even thinking about it.”

Lorelei could not read the alp’s expression, but something about its ponderous silence suggested it was remembering some distant loss. It looked quite pathetic, with its matted-down fur and sodden cloak.

“And when all is said and done,” she added, with great reluctance, “I do still owe you a cup of coffee in exchange for sparing my life.”

“Two,” it countered.

“You shall have a whole kettle for all I care.” She was too desperate to bargain well—and what did such a small show of generosity cost her, anyway? “Are we agreed?”

It looked spiteful but huffed out a childish “Fine.”

Lorelei nearly wilted with relief. “You’ve been following us, yes? Do you remember the man accompanying us?”

Without a reply, the alp’s form swirled into the rain. In the span of a heartbeat, it refashioned itself in the image of…well, not quite Johann. It had captured his imposing size well enough, along with the color and texture of his overlong hair, slicked back with rain. It had also somehow mastered the tortured glint in his eyes behind the steel frames of his glasses. But its features were…just slightly off, more delicate, more pretty, than they actually had been.

At least someone remembered him fondly.

“That’s the one,” she said. “Now go. Call out to her—and make sure she sees you.”

The alp hesitated for only a moment before plunging into the flood.

Lorelei’s heart thundered in her chest as she bent the mist around it to give it cover. She rummaged through her pack frantically until she found a knife, then slid off the branch. She landed with a splash. Rain and wind tore at her viciously. The current begged for her to surrender, its pleas bouncing through her head like nixie-song, but she waded in a slow circle to get a better vantage point behind Adelheid.

She had only one shot at this.

The alp had situated itself just over Sylvia’s shoulder.

Now or never. Lorelei sliced through the mist. It billowed around not-Johann, shrouding his form with a ghostly pall. From this distance, the only thing betraying him was the tarnkappe, which had taken the form of a crimson cravat. It looked like his torn-open throat.

“Adelheid,” the alp called out.

At the sound of her name, her head snapped toward him. Her entire body crumpled—with shock or hope, Lorelei could not be certain. She knew how it felt—that breathless moment when you realized the dead might not truly be dead—but she was beyond pity. Steeling herself, she stood and crept out of the mist, clutching the knife as hard as she dared. It felt impossibly heavy in her hands. It felt like judgment.

As she rose up behind Adelheid, Sylvia’s eyes locked on hers. Her gaze was steady and—God help her—forgiving. She could almost imagine Sylvia’s fingers encircling her wrist, guiding her true. Floating just beyond her, she could see Aaron there. It was a brutal reminder: never again. Never again would she hesitate to use her magic to protect someone. It burned up the last of her hesitation.

“Johann?” Adelheid asked brokenly.

“Seeing ghosts?” Lorelei plunged the knife into Adelheid’s back. She almost recoiled in horror. It had gone in so easily—and Adelheid hardly made a sound.

The alp dissolved into a whirl of shadow. Adelheid collapsed to her knees, and the storm dropped like a discarded cloak. The mist lifted. The last of the rain fell in one great, shimmering sheet. Finally, the winds slowed, sweeping a lock of Adelheid’s hair over her shoulder before it died with a mournful sigh.

The three of them stood at the center of all the wreckage. The glade was a graveyard of floating branches, snapped like broken bones. Small bodies of wildeleute floated face down in a tangle of leaves. But worst of all was Adelheid, now kneeling at Lorelei’s feet with her head bowed. Her hair fell over her face like a death shroud, but through the tangled mess of it, she looked utterly exhausted. Blood vessels had burst in her eyes, and bruises snaked down her arms. Her every breath was shuddering and wet, as though she were breathing through mud.

“I don’t want to kill you, Adelheid,” Sylvia said quietly. “We can treat this wound, surely. Don’t force my hand, I beg of you.”

It seemed to Lorelei baseless optimism, but she did not say anything.

“Very well,” Adelheid rasped. “I give up.”

“Truly?” Sylvia asked breathlessly.

“Yes, truly.” Her voice sounded broken. “I will give my family one less thing to be ashamed of. If I cannot protect them, I will at least die with honor in the capital.”

The relief on Sylvia’s face was immense. “Thank you.”

“I want to know one more thing,” Lorelei said. “Would you have kept your word to me?”

Adelheid lifted her head slowly. A challenge burned in her eyes. “For as long as it was convenient.”

It hardly even stung to hear her admit it. That was the problem with all of them. Not just the expedition, but this whole damn country. They clung to survival, striking like vipers in a mad scramble to the top. Adelheid’s reign in Ebul would have been fragile, and she knew it. She would have never rested easy another day in her life. What remained of Brunnestaad would be watching her for any cracks. But her promise to Lorelei was convenient, exactly as Wilhelm’s had been. As long as she had a Yeva in her retinue, she had one last recourse.

One more escape route.

“I understand,” Lorelei said.

And she did. Viper to viper.

Even more, she understood the despair that stole over Adelheid’s face. There was something desolate about the resignation in her eyes.

A telltale shiver of the mist lit Lorelei’s every nerve.

She followed Adelheid’s gaze and saw the moisture in the air solidifying, sharpening. It looked like the blade of a guillotine, glinting in the dismal sunlight. It was aimed directly at Sylvia. There was always a moment of perfect stillness, of suspended breath, when Death spread his wings and drew his scythe. This time, Lorelei didn’t hesitate. She pulled on the water around them with all of her strength. And with a clench of her fist, a jagged bolt of ice pierced through Adelheid’s chest.

The ice hanging over Sylvia melted suddenly, as if its spirit had fled. It dropped harmlessly onto her head, and she let out a startled cry. Her eyes were flung wide with terror as she stared at Adelheid’s slumped body. Blood had splattered Sylvia’s face. Her breaths came in quick gasps.

Thank God. Lorelei had been so close to losing her.

She wasn’t sure if she would collapse sooner from relief or panic. Adelheid’s gaze did not break from hers, even as that horrible alien light dimmed. Her lips were painted scarlet with her blood. Her body hung limp, suspended gruesomely by the spear impaling her. It had begun to melt from the heat of her body, and bloodstained water drip, drip, drip ped into the flood. It was horrific. She could not look away.

“You saved me,” Sylvia said. “Again.”

“You still sound surprised.”

Sylvia approached her on fawn’s legs. When she drew close enough, she wound her arms around Lorelei’s waist and collapsed her weight against her. “Oh, Lorelei. I’m such a fool.”

The steadiness of Sylvia’s heartbeat against her chest, the soothing warmth of her body, eventually brought Lorelei back down to earth. The film over her vision faded. The feeling in her limbs returned.

“You’re not.” She drew back just enough to crook a finger beneath Sylvia’s chin and tip it up. “You just always see the best in others. I don’t.”

“Could I have stopped it?” Sylvia whispered.

“No,” she said firmly. “You can’t walk down that path.”

“How can I not?” Sylvia buried her face in the crook of her neck and let out a soft whimper. Lorelei held her closer. The fairy tale Sylvia had clung to all these years—the childhood dream of the six of them, together, on the cusp of a better world—lay dead at her feet as surely as Adelheid. “How can I not despair?”

But all around them, water dripped from the trees, like the first thaw after a long, cold winter. In the distance, birds tentatively resumed their song. She could feel the wild thrum of Sylvia’s heart.

“Because life is as bitter as it is sweet,” Lorelei said. “It’s Yevanisch wisdom I’ve never believed in. Not until you.”

Sylvia met her eyes steadily, disbelief and hope mingled.

“Now, come,” Lorelei murmured, brushing away her tears as carefully as she could. “It isn’t good to linger where the dead can hear you.”

Together, they waded through the floodwaters, arm in arm, as the fog lifted and the sun filtered down again.