Tonight or tomorrow. Once I've eaten and slept. Then I won't make any mistakes.

A mistake would be fatal. She might fall into the wrong world. Or into the gaps and voids between them. There were accounts in the old histories of companions who dared to journey between worlds. One came home. The other remained lost forever.

They drank the rest of their water and started off along the ridge. By noon, they came to a cleft that snaked down the ridge into a ravine choked with pine trees and coa.r.s.e gra.s.s. A stream gave them water to wash and to refill their water skin, but then they marched on. Soon the ravine opened into a wider valley surrounded by low hills. They plunged into a forest of yellow gra.s.s, which swelled from short clumps to a thicket that rose above their shoulders. Warm rain spattered them throughout the rest of the afternoon. The ground had turned into a treacherous bog, and they made slow progress along a narrow path.

A cl.u.s.ter of lilies, its blooms like russet stars against the pale gra.s.s, was the first sign that they had crossed the marshes. Beyond, a stand of pines made an island in the muck. As the land rose from the marsh into new slopes of red clay, the filament of a breeze washed against Valara's face.

Galena called a halt under a stand of pines. "We'll camp here."

Valara slumped onto the bare earth. She cautiously touched her swollen feet, chafed by the miles in too-small boots. "How far have we come?" she asked.

"I don't know," Ilse said. "Five miles?"

"Ten," Galena said. "I used to hunt here with my brother. We should make the next valley tomorrow afternoon. Then come hills and more hills until we reach the Gallenz River."

Ilse refilled their water skin from a nearby stream while Galena gathered pine branches and covered them with their blankets. When she had done with their bedding, Galena washed her hands, then picked a heap of marsh gra.s.ses, which she started to braid together.

"What are you doing?" Valara asked curiously.

"Making snares. With luck, these will bring us lunch tomorrow. For tonight, I'll have to forage a bit."

So many things she had not considered before her desperate flight. Valara absently rubbed the wooden ring. She'd not heard anything from the emerald during their long trek. Even now, the ring felt lifeless to her touch.

Daya? Can you hear me?

A wisp of magic's green scent, then Valara felt a cool wind against her face, heard the shriek from a startled gull, tasted the heavy tang of salt from the bay. Below her, she saw a figure running through the underbrush. He stooped, threw a glance over his shoulder, before he darted across the bare patch. Something in the man's height, the way his night-black hair swung around, reminded Valara strongly of Karasek.

Impossible. He died. I know it.

She blinked and found herself back in the swamp. The sun had already sunk beneath the hills, the sky had darkened to violet, and the full moon shone bright and sharp against it. Once more, time had sifted away.

Karasek dead. She felt a pang of regret, which puzzled her. She had known about his death weeks before. Or rather, she had guessed it. No one, not guards or prisoners, had mentioned him in Osterling. He would have been a prominent prisoner there.

I knew him, though. Long ago.

She wiped away the images from her past and glanced around. Ilse had built a small fire. When Valara stirred, she asked, "Did you discover anything?"

Of course the woman had recognized the magic.

Valara shrugged. "Nothing dangerous."

Ilse tilted her head, as if she wanted to ask another question, but returned her attention to the fire without speaking.

Not long after, Galena returned with a woven basket of provender. They dined on stale bread and turtle eggs, served with cattails and fresh water. She insisted they douse the fire right away, and went on to list the many dangers they faced, from dogs to magical spells to the patrols themselves. Her voice had taken on a nervous quality, and Valara remembered she had not wanted to come at first.

Finally Ilse laid a hand on Galena's arm. "We should sleep. We have a long march tomorrow."

Galena twitched away from the other woman's touch. "I'll take first watch."

Interesting, Valara thought. So much revealed in a few gestures.

They had a.s.signed her a bed in the middle. She lay down on the mattress of pine branches, which creaked underneath. The rich tang tickled her nose; it reminded her of the hills above Rouizien on Enzeloc. From far off, she heard a bullfrog's deep-throated song, the rill of water. Her thoughts winged back-as always-to Morenniou and Vaek's soldiers. To her father's council, now hers by default. If she could have transported herself back to Morenniou that instant, she would have done so.

SHE WOKE IN the middle of the night. Ilse was shaking her arm. "Your turn to watch," she whispered. She said more, about keeping time by the moon's angle, but Valara paid no attention. Here was the opportunity she needed.

She took her post beside the stream and waited for her companions to settle into sleep. It was the first quiet moment she had to observe her surroundings. The trees and marsh looked far different under the moonlight, their colors bleeding to silver and gray. Shadows blurred the distance, changed perspective. Sounds were different, too. Rain had fallen while she slept. Now she heard a constant silvery trickle from the trees onto leaves, a stronger rill from the stream.

She counted the moments to herself, well into the thousands, until she felt certain Ilse slept. Then, she rose silently onto her feet. The moon had reached its midpoint in the sky, and she could easily see the best path, but she moved cautiously nonetheless. Even one careless step might bring Galena awake.

The hillside dipped into a fold, not far from their camp, then rose steeply into a forest of pine and oak. Valara climbed until she reached a small clearing. Here the moon was hardly visible, and the musty smell of old leaves filled the air.

She sat with her back against one enormous oak. With practiced ease, she turned her focus inward, folding her thoughts upon themselves until she brought her mind to a single point, to a single moment.

Ei ruf ane gotter. Ane Lir unde Toc.

The magic current breathed to life around her. Its scent was fresh and sweet. Valara continued the invocation, to the G.o.ds, to the magic. From a distance, she heard Daya humming a discordant song, but she did not pause to wonder.

Komen mir de strom. Komen mir de vleisch unde sele. Komen mir de Anderswar.

The trees around her dissolved into a diamond-bright mist. Beyond the mist lay a thick darkness, almost a presence. It was like a fog-bound night on Enzeloc's coast, when stars and moon were veiled and invisible.

The mist thinned to wisps and curls, for all the good that did. She stood in the midst of nothing, a void illuminated by a brilliant light. Even as the thought came to her, the light shifted, changed to an impossibly vibrant prism of color. She paused, uncertain. Though the familiar green scent saturated the air, this place was like none she had ever visited in Autrevelye, not even in lives before. No wheeling worlds beneath her. No sense of instability. All was too quiet and still, as though she stood in a bubble outside all worlds.

Because you do stand outside them all, Valara Baussay.

A tall figure strode into view-a woman with silver hair and a gleaming black face. When Valara fell back, the woman held up her hand. A long slim hand with eight fingers and nails curved into claws. Stop, the woman said.

Who are you? Valara whispered.

You know me.

There was magic in her song, a rainbow of hues in her words, and sharp sweet flavors with every syllable. She was a creature of Autrevelye, but unlike any Valara had ever encountered.

No, I am not of Autrevelye, though you abandoned me here a dozen lifetimes ago.

Cold trickled through Valara's veins. Daya? Why did you stop me? We cannot stay in Veraene. They will take you and use you- And you will not? I was captured and tormented. My soul was divided. You ... you promised me freedom, all those years ago, but you lied. You left me and my brothers-sisters. And now you would battle your brother again over us. We are not things, Valara Baussay. We are one.

But you helped me escape the prison.

I did. You will go home. I swear it. But not before you deliver us all.

What do you mean deliver?

But Daya had resumed humming.

... ruf ane gotter ... ruf ane zoubernisse ...

The mist streamed around them, once more a thick and brilliant white.

Wait, Valara cried. Tell me what you want. I'll do it.

Deliver me. Deliver my brothers-sisters-cousins-self. Promise me ...

Her words ran together into a chorus of silvery notes, high and clear and precise, the rill of water singing over stone, of raindrops cascading from the trees ...

The crackle of thunder brought her back. She started, found herself gripped by both arms. Galena on one side. Ilse Zhalina on the other. They were dragging her back down the hillside, which was awash in heavy rains. Valara twisted away to break their hold, but Galena smacked her across the face. "You filthy lying b.i.t.c.h."

"No more, Galena," Ilse said, but she didn't protest when Galena struck Valara again.

When they regained the camp, Galena flung Valara onto her mattress. Ilse stepped between them. She leaned over Valara. "You lied to us," she said in a low angry voice. "You said you needed our help to escape Osterling. Now we find you can walk between worlds. At least, you tried to. What happened?"

She could not admit what happened. That meant explaining about Daya and the other jewels. Valara pressed her lips together and met Ilse's gaze with stubborn silence. Galena laid a hand on Ilse's arm, but Ilse shrugged her away. She stood and stared down at Valara, her face a blank mask in the night.

"Never mind. She will speak or not as she wishes. If she does not, we leave her behind."

A bluff, Valara thought. Or not, as Ilse turned.

"I-" She stopped and licked her lips. Ilse did not turn around, but she was clearly listening.

"I did try to escape," Valara said. "I tried before and couldn't. I don't know why."

It was the truth. Even so, she didn't expect Ilse to believe her. She waited, not certain what the others would say. In the end, Ilse shrugged and told Galena that she would keep the next watch. The two of them would take turns after that.

Valara released a shaky breath. No reproach. No ultimatum. Just a choice.

UNACCUSTOMED SUNLIGHT WOKE her early the next morning. She rolled over and groaned. Her body was stiff from the previous day's march. Her clothes were still damp, and clung to her in patches. She levered herself to standing, biting her tongue against the painful blisters that rubbed against her borrowed boots.

The previous day came back to her in sharp, uncomfortable detail-the escape, the long trek through the tunnel, her failed leap into Autrevelye.

I shall have no chance like that again. Not soon.

Galena and Ilse were eating a breakfast of raw fish and more turtle eggs. They said nothing as Valara approached, nor did they acknowledge her beyond a glance. She noticed, however, that they had left her a mug of water and a share of the eggs and boned fish. She should have taken satisfaction, but she was too hungry.

Breaking camp took more time than expected. Ilse scattered the pine branches. Galena covered the latrine with dirt, then leaves. She had snared two rabbits, which she skinned and gutted before hanging the bodies from her belt. The two of them repacked their belongings in the blankets. Then they set off with Galena in the lead.

Valara waited a few moments before she followed.

They climbed the hillside to the next ridge, circled around the clearing where Valara had attempted her escape, then followed a narrow track between the trees, which led them over the ridge and into a low range of hills. A hush lay over the forest, and already the air felt thick with summerlike heat. As they climbed higher, they left behind the dense patch of trees for another clearing, where sunlight filtered through a web of shadows. A breeze drifted between the trees, carrying the rich scent of pine. Relief, Valara thought, as she tilted her face to meet it.

A movement to one side caught her attention. She went still, her heart beating faster. Was that a soldier, an animal? As she stared through the dust-speckled sunlight, the patterns of light and shadow slowly resolved into human features.

A woman stood underneath the pine trees. She was of ordinary height, her coloring a pale brown, much like Galena's. Oh but this was no ordinary human. With a shudder, Valara realized she could see the blurred outlines of the trees through the woman's body, lines that fluctuated and eddied, then hovered still.

Daya. Watching her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

MIRO KARASEK BRUSHED the snow from the ground with one gloved hand. More snow dusted the mountainside, in spite of the advancing season, and his breath blew in white clouds. Light was fading from the sky. He needed a fire or he would not survive the night.

In spite of the gloves, his hands were stiff from the cold, and he felt light-headed in the thin air. It took him several tries before he could arrange the layer of bark and twigs properly. If only he hadn't lost his tinderbox in that gravel slide. But he had, along with half his gear. He still had magic, of course, but the cold made it difficult to concentrate.

It could be worse, he thought, beating his hands together. I could be starving. Or dead.

He wasn't. Not yet.

Wind sang through the peaks high above. The keening made him think of souls crying for release. Ghosts, the Veraenen called them. It was possible. Dzavek's first armies had fought in these pa.s.ses. According to legend, some chose to remain here as guardians instead of pa.s.sing to their next lives. The Erythandran armies had called those rebel soldiers goats-stubborn and crude. Karovin poets had turned those insults into praise. But even goats could not survive without warmth.

He tucked his hands underneath his arms and closed his eyes. "En nam Lir unde Toc. Ei ruf ane gotter."

Magic washed over his face, and his skin stung with returning sensation. Miro continued his summons until the current enveloped his entire body. Then he removed his gloves and bent close to his pile of tinder. "Komen mir de viur," he commanded.

He cupped his hand around the spark to shield it from the wind. It brightened as he continued to speak magic, and smoke coiled up from the bark. At last, the flame caught, and a thin sliver of fire crawled along the tinder's edge.

Magic. Lir's gift of breath. Precious beyond telling.

He fed the flame with more bark and twigs, then added branches one by one until he had built a sizeable pile. Once the fire burned steadily, he took up the two marmots he'd snared that day. With swift sure strokes, he skinned the carca.s.ses and cut the meat into strips, which he laid on stones beside the flames. Leaving those to cook, he filled his one cooking pan with snow, to which he added a treasured handful of late haws, and set that to boil.

As he worked, the sky had faded from indigo to black. The nearest mountains had become dark silhouettes, and he could no longer see any trace of sunlight on their upper peaks. For all he knew, the world had vanished, leaving only his firelit hollow.

More than a month had pa.s.sed since his landing on Veraene's sh.o.r.es. He'd stolen an old shirt and a mule from a small farm on the peninsula. The shirt covered his Karovin uniform, and the mule carried him as far as the Gallenz Valley. When the beast went lame, he abandoned it near another farm and took to his feet.

North and north he marched, keeping well away from town and village. When he sighted the mountains on the horizon, he doubled inland to avoid the border armies, and made a great sweep west and around until he came to the plains just south of Ournes Province. There he had turned east toward the elezny Mountains and a little known pa.s.s into Karovi.

Miro scooped up a handful of snow and scrubbed the blood from his hands. He rubbed another handful over his face, shuddering at the cold like a dog. Another week-maybe less-would see him through these mountains and into the province of Duszranjo. Once he located a garrison, he could command supplies and a fresh mount. He could reach Rastov and the king before the season turned.

To report my success. And my failures.

The greasy smell from roasting marmots filled the air. He stabbed the chunks of meat with his knife and ate them quickly, washing them down with gulps of hot tea. The meat was rank, the tea weak, but he didn't care. He ate until only bones and guts and sinews remained, then sucked the bones dry of their marrow.

Once there was nothing left, he buried the entrails, cleaned his knife and cook pot with more snow, banked his fire for the night. Once more the solitude pressed against him. He bundled himself in his blankets and stared at the night sky, where stars glittered like flecks of ice. Each one could be a soul in flight. How many were those of his soldiers, lost in Morenniou, or the ocean storm, or on Veraene's sh.o.r.es? How many had died because of his mistakes, his miscalculations and a.s.sumptions?

A breath of magic stirred. Once more he felt the touch of Dzavek's fingers against his lips, willing him to silence.

I am the king's chosen weapon. I execute his will.

The day's fatigue overtook him at last, and he fell asleep to that thought.