Chapter 23

The next morning, Ursula stood shivering on a small balcony. She’d slept late, the mountain air having a soporific effect. Her shoulder had now completely healed. On the mountainsides, a thin dusting of snow coated the trees. Frost glinted on the stems and petals of the wildflowers, and she realized she was lucky to have seen them at all.

In addition to the wildflowers, the chalet had sparked its own set of memories. Inside, she found black-and-white pictures on the walls. A man who looked like her grandfather, a pretty woman, and a little girl. There were no labels on the photos, but Ursula had known at once that the woman was her mother, and that the girl was her. A dull memory had flashed in her mind—a ginger-haired woman teaching her to fight with a sword.

But that wasn’t all. In a room in the back, she found a rack with a collection of weapons: swords, daggers, and spears. When she picked up one of the blades, she’d recognized its familiar weight. These were the weapons her mother had taught her with.

Yet so much remained missing. She still couldn’t remember any specific details from her childhood beyond the vague glimmers of training sessions. Bael had pointed out that there were no pictures of anyone who might be her father.

Bael joined her on the balcony and handed her a steaming mug of tea. “Did you sleep all right?”

“I did.” She’d been tucked under a thick down comforter, and it had kept her warm even as the night brought with it a frigid chill. But not as warm as when Bael had slept next to her. She’d woken to find herself curled around his muscled body, her legs embarrassingly wrapped around one of his.

“I slept pretty well,” he said, adding, “I’ve made breakfast.”

She crossed back into the chalet, greeted by the rich scent of bacon, and her stomach rumbled.

Bael grinned. “I made a visit to town this morning for supplies. No bat meat this time, I promise.” He’d laid out two plates of eggs and bacon. A steaming pot of tea sat on a trivet in the center of the table.

Ursula sat down, her mouth watering, then dug into the food with a quiet ferocity. “This is delicious. Thanks for cooking.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I was unable to make breakfast properly. In the Shadow Realm, servants wait on the lords. And in ancient Byblos, men never cooked. I went through at least a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon before I went outside to find someone to cook for me.” He nodded at a young man who sat in the corner of the room.

Ursula jumped. She hadn’t even noticed him, but now that she looked at him, she saw fear etched across his pale features. Bael, apparently, scared the shit out of him—enough that he had agreed to come into the chalet to cook for them.

“C-can I go now?” the young man stammered, his voice plaintive.

Bael nodded curtly. “You may leave. Thank you for your assistance.”

The young man rose on shaking legs and tripped over them to get out of the chalet.

Ursula held up a hand, stifling a laugh. “You’re ten thousand years old, and you never learned to cook eggs?”

Bael’s dark eyebrows rose up. “I was busy being a warrior of legendary strength.”

“Mmm. That does sound time consuming. Quite a lot of demands on your warrior time.”

“And I never needed to learn to cook. There was always someone to do it for me.”

Ursula suppressed a smile, imagining Bael’s perplexed face as he tried to scramble eggs that morning. Defeated by the unrelenting heat of a frying pan. “I can teach you how to cook someday, if you want to learn.”

“It does seem a useful skill.”

Ursula stifled another laugh. In ten thousand years, this had only just occurred to him.

A few hours later,Ursula and Bael were hiking up the slopes of Mount Acidale. Ursula’s lungs burned in her chest, and her legs felt like they were loaded down with lead weights. She didn’t know the exact altitude, but the air was definitely thinner. Fatigue burned through her muscles. Not that she was about to admit this to Bael.

Now they hiked through an aspen grove. The trees had lost their leaves, leaving only trunks of pale bark. To Ursula, if felt like they were walking through a forest of bones.

“How are you doing?” Bael’s eyes skimmed up and down her body.

“I’m fine,” Ursula lied, as she tried to hide her heaving chest.

They reached a ridge line, and from here, Ursula could see the roof of the chalet. It looked so small from here, like a toy. In the distance, thick clouds hid the city of Mount Acidale.

Directly above them was Mount Acidale itself. It looked like a peak from the Swiss Alps, with great snowy fields, jutting cliff faces, and massive cornices of ice. Ursula didn’t want to admit it, but she could see now why Bael had said finding the White Dragon—if she did exist—would be an impossible task.

Bael handed her a canteen, and she took a swig of ice-cold water. They’d now left the aspen forest behind and started up the edge of the ridge. A cold wind blew down from the mountain, but the exercise kept Ursula’s body warm. As she acclimated to the thin mountain air, she moved at a comfortable pace alongside Bael.

“What did you think of Frank?” she asked.

“He seemed interesting.”

There was something about his response that raised Ursula’s hackles. “Interesting? That’s all?”

Bael didn’t respond.

“He loaned us his carriage, and is letting us stay in his chalet.”

Bael stopped hiking and turned to face her. “He’s one of Emerazel’s.” Venom laced his voice.

Ursula stared at him in disbelief. “I’m one of Emerazel’s.”

“I trust you,” said Bael. “I don’t trust him.”

He turned, picking up the pace now, and Ursula had to push herself to keep up with him. Her lungs began to burn in her chest again as they reached another ridge. Apparently, Bael hadn’t quite overcome his rage toward Emerazel’s hounds. But given that the fire goddess had forced him to murder his wife, she supposed a bit of unresolved anger was understandable.

A broad snowfield spread out below the ridge. She peered up the mountain slopes. High above them, an enormous cornice of snow curved over them on the ridge, glinting in the light. Without stopping, Bael began to make his way onto the ridge.

Ursula chased after him. Even with the hiking boots, her feet slipped in the snow.

“Bael—stop!” she called after him, gasping for breath.

Bael slowed, then turned to face her. His eyes looked as cold as the snow. “I fought your grandfather in the Battle of Mount Acidale.”

She wasn’t getting his point. “Right. So?”

“Did you see his arm? I was the one that severed it. I almost killed him.”

“It was a battle,” said Ursula, starting toward him.

Shadows slid through Bael’s eyes. “You don’t understand. We’re locked on different sides of a war that has been raging since before I was born. Since the seven gods first fell to earth. Emerazel forced me to kill my wife. You’re mortal, too, and eventually, she will force me to kill you too. She still loathes me for choosing Nyxobas over her, and when she’s finished with you, she will try to use me to slaughter you.” He paused as his eyes faded back to their usual slate gray. “I love you, Ursula, but I can’t protect you. You aren’t safe with me.”

Ursula gasped at his confession, her chest warming and heart racing at the same time. She started toward him, but a loud crack stopped her in her path.

When she looked up, her heart paused. A monstrous piece of cornice had cracked off and was barreling toward them.