Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

She made a circuit of the room. The walls felt slick and damp. Smooth, except for patches where it looked as though the stone had melted into rivulets, only to freeze again. The air tasted sour with smoke and magic. Now what?

The light inside the cave flickered. A ghostly warmth brushed against her arm. Feathers. Stiff and likewise soft. Ilse flinched, smelled a rank animal odor, as the invisible presence circled her. Once. Twice. Nails clicked over the stone floor. Then she glimpsed a shadow against the far wall. The shadow darkened into a great hunched beast, with beak and wings and four thick legs ending in claws. A huge ruff of fur grew from its neck. The rest of its body was covered in a mad patchwork of feathers and more fur. As it stumped around to face her, she saw the creature’s sex, which hung stiffly between its hind legs. The sheath angled toward her like another threat.

You came back, it said.

Ilse drew a shaky breath. She had encountered this creature before, on her journeys in the spirit. Philosophers claimed Anderswar guarded its entrances with monsters and tricksters. Others argued the guardians were fabricated from the traveler’s own dreams and expectations.

The monster laughed, a rough, grating noise from deep within its throat. You remember me. Are you still afraid?

She recovered her voice. I’m always afraid of you.

Good. Then you aren’t as stupid as you look. It leaned toward her, its eyes glittering silver in the unnatural illumination. You want to find the jewels.

Of course it knew. There were no secrets in Anderswar.

Can you take me to them? she asked. Lir’s jewels, I mean. I know they are somewhere in Anderswar.

I can. For a price.

It spoke the truth—she sensed it. A giddy exhilaration filled her. This monster could lead her to Lir’s jewels, to wherever Leos Dzavek’s brother had concealed them centuries ago. Once she had them, she and Raul could end the threat of war between Veraene and Károví. They could end this miserable separation.

Show me, she said, and I will pay that price.

It regarded her for a long moment. There was no depth to those opaque eyes, which reminded her of a pair of old silver denier, the edges and impressions dulled by centuries.

Take hold of me, it said.

Ilse reached out and gripped the ruff at the creature’s neck. She stilled a shudder when it rose onto its haunches and wrapped its legs around her. Its strong scent made her gag, its sex prodded her belly. She shivered and felt the creature’s body shake with laughter. Oh, it knew all her terrors and nightmares. She had only a moment to wonder what other torments lay in wait for her when it sprang forward.

… and they were hurtling backward through a pitch-dark tunnel, so fast that Ilse could not catch her breath to scream. Starbursts blinded her. All around, voices rose into keening howls, broke off, burst out once more in a staccato chorus.

Where are we going? she gasped.

To find the jewels.

You know where they are?

I know where all Lir’s creatures are.

Without warning, it bit deep into her shoulder with needle-sharp teeth, then spat out a mouthful of blood. Ilse felt the creature’s grip loosen. She scrabbled to hold on, digging her fingers into its fur and feathers. It gave a rasping laugh and thrust her away.

You promised, Ilse cried out.

From afar, she heard the slow heavy beat of its wings.

And I have kept that promise.

Its voice faded as she plummeted through the void. Light changed to darkness; dimensions vanished. She was falling through a dark tunnel, silent except for the shrill whine of her descent, which echoed from the walls-not-walls, through the air-not-air that shrieked in her ears. Ilse cried out to the gods, to the magic current. Komen mir de zoubernisse. Komen mir de wërlt …

Her vision went dark.

* * *

SENSATION CAME BACK in bits and fragments. A yellowish light. Blurred. Something hard and warm against her cheek. Her fingers curled, felt the same smooth surface. Lying flat. Sunlight on wood. Skin, burning. Her heart beat slowly, erratically, as if unaccustomed to its purpose.

She drew a painful breath, tasted a ripe green aroma at the back of her throat. Just as quickly, the scent and flavor of the magic faded, to be replaced by the staler aroma of orange oils and smoke. Of paper and ink, and the memory of salt tang and pine. Melnek?

Her throat squeezed shut at the thought of her father. No, no, no. She’d abandoned him years ago, never to return. Never. No one could force her to. Not her father or Alarik Brandt or Theodr Galt. Then more memory returned. Her father dead. Alarik Brandt, the caravan master, too, executed by Raul Kosenmark. She was safe from them. At the thought of Theodr Galt, her certainty faltered. Galt was a man who never forgave any slight or insult. She had run away rather than marry him.