Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

Look, look, look, cried the jewels.

Look, Lir commanded, as she and her brother released Valara’s hands.

Valara drew a sharp breath of surprise. The plain wooden ring she had worn for so many weeks had vanished. In its place was an emerald. Lir’s emerald. But not as she remembered it. No longer plain or dark, it gleamed like burnished magic.

Lir brushed fingertips against Valara’s cheek, her caress like the touch of memory. Toc’s blank gaze turned toward her, his gaze as penetrating as if he still possessed eyes.

Lir who quarreled with Toc and then forgave him. Toc who carved the world’s foundations with his sword, purely because he could. For all his strength, Toc had died. For all her wisdom, Lir had wept in the darkness, uncomprehending. Each night, she set her glittering tears in the sky, in remembrance of her lover and her brother, until he returned.

A warm breath tickled Valara’s face. A sharp green scent, like that of wildflowers and new grass, filled the air. Lir was speaking, but her voice was too much like the wind and thunder, and Valara could not understand what she said. Her vision blurred; the unnatural light dimmed. She blinked again, wiping away the unexpected tears from her eyes.

Lir and Toc had gone.

She knelt beside the Agnau, her hands clenched so tight, they ached. Dazed, she unfolded them. Two jewels lay there, emerald and sapphire, gleaming softly against her hands.

I wasn’t dreaming. The gods came.

“Your majesty.”

Valara stumbled to her feet. Karasek stood a short distance away. A few steps behind him came Ilse, whole and unharmed. Ilse gave Valara a brief smile. No humor, but an assurance. Of what? Her attention veered back to Karasek. Dust and sweat streaked his face, and dark bruises circled his eyes. He met her gaze steadily. “I’ve come to negotiate.”

He took a cloth bundle from inside his shirt and unwrapped its folds. When she saw what lay inside, Valara sucked in her breath. Rana. He brought me Rana.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“Peace. Honor, for us both.”

The same demand that Raul Kosenmark had made. Again, she had the sense of history pressing in toward her.

“I am not yet the queen,” she began.

“And I am no king,” Karasek said. “But I think we both have some say in our governments. If we do not speak first, who will?”

He pressed Rana into her palm—a brief contact, no more—then stepped back. Valara closed her fingers around the jewels. She and Karasek looked at each other. “How did you find me so easily?”

“You and your companion left a trail. I’ve erased it.”

So much revealed behind that simple statement. A part of her listed that as an item to remember when they negotiated in truth, with her installed as queen, and him an emissary from abroad. That would not be honorable, said a voice she remembered from lives long ago.

Honor. She had once held that above all, but then she had lost her way between lives. She remembered once, centuries ago, a chance with the same soul as this man Karasek. She could not recall exactly what passed between them. Not dishonor, but a misunderstanding.

There were no simple patterns. No single thread that one might pluck away, and thus undo centuries of mistakes.

Dimly, she heard Ilse speaking. “Remember what you promised. The jewels are not mere things. They are thinking creatures like us. We cannot treat them as objects to bargain with.”

Honor. A promise kept. Her brother’s voice saying, Yes, it is time to die.

“Yes,” she murmured, half to herself. “And I think I know the way.”

Without giving herself time to consider, Valara spun around and rushed to the Agnau’s edge. She plunged her hands into the lava. Fire burst into life—magic fire that coursed through her body, stronger than any she’d ever experienced. Her head jerked back and her throat opened in a scream.

From far away, she heard Ilse’s voice, calling to her. Then Miro Karasek’s. Thereafter, she heard nothing but the jewels. Their voices rose into a single note, so pure that her bones ached and her blood sang. Each gem burned a pinpoint in her palm, searing her flesh. Two pinpoints, then three, then two again, marked her palm, the count wavering with her concentration. She lost track of how many she held. Now they filled her hands, swelling to gigantic size. It was the ending. She had died and her soul taken flight into the void. One moment between, one moment of stillness and expectation, before death lifted her into forgetfulness …

The moment ended. A voice rang out. Like the rushing tide, the magical current surged forward, and a brilliant light exploded in her mind.

Three. Became two. Then one.

For a long moment, Valara could not breathe. The magic had released her, but she could not bring herself to open her eyes, to see what the jewels had become.