Valara Baussay lifted her head. Her tattoos stood out sharply against her cheek and lips, now gray from the cold. She spoke, but her words made no sense to Ilse. The language was neither Veraenen nor Morenniouen. It reminded her of the old text from Karovi that her brother, Ehren, brought home from Duenne's University, a time and world so long ago, they could have been a previous life.

The wind shifted, carrying with it a hint of warmth, and the overpowering scent of magic. Ilse squinted. It was impossible to see more than a haze of white and gray. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes and blinked. Her vision cleared, and she gave an astonished cry.

A mile away from them, argentine cliffs rose tall and straight from the snow-dusted plain, a vast rippling curtain of stone that interrupted the smooth horizon. And like a curtain, there appeared a gap in the front, where dark sand and gravel spilled forth to the plains below. Above, the air shimmered, as though fires roared inside that fantastical creation.

It was like all the paintings and ink drawings she had seen in books. It was like her own memories of this place, from lives and lives ago.

The Mantharah and the Agnau.

She knew exactly where magic and the void had flung them, as if a map lay before her. They were in the far north of Karovi, a hundred miles or more from Rastov. Oh, but this was more than some lonely mountain. Here the G.o.ds had feasted upon each other's love. Here they'd fashioned the world, drawing out a never-ending ribbon of life from the Agnau's molten stuff-from the magical creatures of Anderswar to the ordinary beasts and all mankind.

Wind blasted through her thin clothes. She shook Valara's arm. "We can't stay in the open," she shouted. "We'll take shelter over there." She jabbed a fist toward the Mantharah.

Valara nodded dumbly, but gave no sign of comprehension. Ilse shook her again, hard. The other woman gave a gasp. She snapped her head up to face the Mantharah. Her eyes narrowed in awareness. And recognition.

Ilse didn't need to say anything more. They helped each other regain their feet. Both of them were stiff and clumsy with cold. Ilse sheathed her sword. She drew her hands into her sleeves and tucked her chin into her collar. Valara scowled, as if she could subdue the cold with her fury, but she did the same. Heads bent against the constant wind, they stumbled toward the Mantharah and that narrow gap between cliff and cliff.

By the time they reached its ash-strewn slopes, Ilse's face was numb. She caught a whiff of strong magic, of warmth, from above. She and Valara scrambled up through loose dirt and gravel, breathing in that incredible scent, as though spring had bloomed, invisible, just beyond their sight.

The slope led up to a hard-packed crown of stone. From there, the cliffs swept around a lake of silver, its sh.o.r.e a perfect circle of ink-black sand, washed smooth by the Agnau's waves, which rolled ceaselessly from sh.o.r.e to distant sh.o.r.e. Surrounding the lake, the cliffs rose straight toward the sky. Here and there in the silvery walls, Ilse saw shallow indentations, as though fingers had touched them before they had hardened.

The hands of G.o.ds.

It was all too much. She wanted to weep at the impossibility. She sat down hard on the ground and began to curse. Her mad outburst must have frightened Valara, because the other woman retreated farther along the Agnau's sh.o.r.es.

"You." Ilse scrambled to her feet and drew her sword. "You will tell me the truth, Valara Baussay. No more lies. I am sick to my soul with your lies. Sit over there."

She pointed to a small, broken off boulder next to her-an anomaly in this strangely smooth and perfect setting. Valara glanced from the boulder to Ilse. "You want to kill me."

"No," Ilse said harshly. "I want to hear the truth for once. Sit. And speak."

Gingerly, Valara took her seat on the boulder. Ilse remained standing.

"Where should I start?" Valara asked.

"With you and Leos Dzavek. No, with the jewel you found in Morenniou."

Valara flinched. "Yes. That."

She chafed her hands one within the other, as if searching for the words to begin her story. She still wore that plain wooden ring, Ilse noticed. It had turned darker over the past few days, and its polished surface took on a brighter gleam. A brother's gift. A very strange one, much plainer than one would expect from a royal prince to his sister.

Valara met her gaze. Her lips quirked into a smile. "My ring. Or rather, Lir's emerald. I called it a gift from my brother. In a sense, that is true. I would not have it except for him. Leos Dzavek, I mean. He is not my brother now, but he was, once."

Ilse's pulse took a sudden leap. She lowered her sword and stared at Valara, who glanced away. Of course. It explained so much. The magical storm that destroyed the three Karovin ships. Valara's escape from Osterling's prison. How she killed those soldiers with a powerful magic that seemed to surprise her as much as it did others.

It took her many moments before she could collect her thoughts and focus on the essentials. Even longer before she trusted herself to speak in anything resembling a rational tone.

"When did you find it?"

Valara opened and shut her mouth. Then she wiped a hand over her eyes and smiled, a strange sad uncomfortable smile. "Last year. Shortly before my mother and sister died. When I became my father's heir. You must understand..." She stopped a moment, pressed her lips together and sent a glance upward to the cliffs, as if she would find an answer there. "Or perhaps you cannot understand. You were not there, after all, through these past three hundred years. You see, in Morenniou, we have certain conventions. There are magic workers, mages, wizards, whatever you like to call them, but none of them are kings or queens. Even the n.o.bles do not cast any spells other than the simplest ones. Lighting a candle, sealing a letter."

"Those are not necessarily simple spells," Ilse murmured.

Valara gave a soft laugh. "No. Over the years, the definition for ordinary has stretched and twisted and changed. But I can a.s.sure you that powerful magic-including a journey to Autrevelye, to Anderswar-is strictly forbidden. I broke the conventions because I was curious, at first. Later, when I discovered that Leos Dzavek was my brother, and I the one who hid Lir's jewels, I studied more magic so that I could reclaim the jewels for Morenniou. I knew that one day, Luxa's Hand would fail us and we would have to face the world. I did not wish to do that without a weapon at hand."

She twisted the ring around her finger. "I had not realized that day would come so soon."

Luxa's Hand. What the Veraenen called Lir's Veil. It had stood so long-three hundred years-they had all forgotten to question its existence.

Except Leos Dzavek. He forgot nothing, whether good or evil. Was that a factor of his long life? Or of himself, his own nature, refusing to take anything for granted?

She knew the answer already, from her life dreams. So did Valara Baussay.

She turned back to her questions. "Dzavek sent his soldiers after you and the emerald. Did Markus Khandarr know?"

Valara's mouth tensed at the mention of Khandarr's name. "No. He would not have allowed me to live so long, I think."

Very true. Ilse could understand this woman's reluctance to speak openly. She was a queen among her enemies.

It would have been simpler if she had trusted us. But then, we did not entirely trust her.

A savage ache had settled between Ilse's eyes. She was hungry, weary, frightened. Angry with herself for not guessing the truth earlier. For trusting too much and not enough, all at the same time. Absently she rubbed her free hand over her forehead. Smelled the lingering scent of smoke and blood, overlaid with the strong scent of magic that permeated the air. I cannot stop the questions yet. She is speaking at last.

"Did anyone else in your court know about the emerald?" she asked.

Valara shook her head. "Not at first. I had not decided when, or how, to introduce the matter. It is a delicate subject."

And you were not certain you wished to share this information.

Ilse kept that thought to herself. "You say not at first..."

"I told no one at first. It was too dangerous-dangerous the way I used to understand such things. Court dangerous. Politically dangerous. There were several factions who- Well, never mind about them. I told my father and his mage councillor, but not until that very last day. They are both dead now."

More glimpses into the woman's life and Morenniou's Court. Ilse had the impression of a strict and cold existence, of a life requiring exquisite balance. Like walking the knife edge above spinning worlds in Anderswar.

Which reminded her of another question. "What about now? Why did you remain in Veraene? Why bargain with us at all?"

"Ah, that." Valara lifted her hand to show the ring. "Because Daya would not allow me. She-he-they told me clearly they wanted deliverance, for themselves and their brothers, sisters. I had not understood before what they meant. I'm still not certain."

More pieces from history and her own memories fitted together to complete the picture. Daya. Lir's emerald. Once joined together with the other two.

Even through the enveloping magic, Ilse could hear the wind thumping against the Mantharah, like a vast fist hammering on a door.

Or like an angry supplicant, demanding satisfaction of its G.o.d.

Deliver us all, the voice like bells had cried out.

We are all bound to these jewels, Ilse thought. Just as they are bound to us.

A man was created free, the philosophers said. It was his own choices, however, that bound him in the end. Even the choice to do nothing, to deny responsibility and claim that one was powerless to act, that, too, would bind a soul to the same life, the same questions, again and again.

"So then," Ilse said softly. "I have my answers. Now I give one to you. We do as the jewels ask of us. If we refuse, we are set to this same task in our next lives, and the next, and so on until the end of eternity. If we deliver them to freedom, that in turn sets us free. So. We must recover the other two jewels and join them all together, as they once were."

"I-" Valara broke off and stared at the Agnau's surface. "No, I cannot argue that. But how? Leos Dzavek has Rana-the ruby-locked away in his castle. We cannot hope to attack him in that stronghold. Remember how it was before?"

"I remember."

She did. If Ilse closed her eyes, she could see ghostly images of Zalinenka. The hundreds of guards who stood outside the gates and patrolled the lower halls. Even before Karovi divided itself from the empire, the court had its factions who did not always restrict themselves to mere speech to gain their point.

"So we do not attack," she said. "We infiltrate. But not yet. First we need to recover the missing jewel."

"Asha," Valara said. "I hid her, him in Autrevelye."

Three hundred years ago, when Valara Baussay had lived as Imre Benacka. And I read about you from a book written by a prison official named Karel Simkov. You died before you would admit to Leos Dzavek where you hid those jewels.

"So search your memories," Ilse told Valara. "Find Asha and bring her back here. I shall stay by the Mantharah and keep Daya safe. Once you return, we can plan our next steps."

Valara's lips curled back in a snarl, as if she were a dog. No, a fox. Then her eyes closed and she touched the ring again. Her lips moved in a silent conversation. A long pause followed before she released a sigh.

"No choice. Or as you said, the only choice left." She stared at the ring upon her finger, and for a moment, her features seemed to shift in the Agnau's strange light, from woman to man and back again. "The only choice," Valara repeated softly. "Would that I had accepted this before." She glanced up, once more the Morenniouen queen, no traces of her former selves apparent. "Let us make our plans then."

THEY SPOKE OF practicalities next. What were the implications of Valara's search? How long would it require? What if Leos Dzavek detected her presence there?

A few hours, no less, Valara insisted.

What if you need more? Ilse asked, equally insistent. And what about the time difference? A single hour in Anderswar can mean days, years, in this world.

More arguments followed. Each of them was practiced in evasion, obfuscation, the many other intricate maneuvers one encountered in royal courts. In the end, the knowledge that they had to act for the future-theirs and their kingdoms-decided the argument.

"One day, then," Valara said. "No longer."

"How can you know when you return? Anderswar-"

"-is not invincible. Trust me to know that." Her lips thinned to a sardonic smile. "Though, indeed, you have little reason to trust me. But what I say is true. Once I have the sapphire, I can traverse the void more precisely. I can return before the sun sets."

She took off the ring and laid it between them. "One day," she repeated. "If I do not return before then, consider me dead, and do what you must."

FOR VALARA BAUSSAY, it was as though she had carried a great weight this past year, one that grew heavier with every moment. Valara pressed both hands over her eyes a moment to regain her equilibrium. She still heard echoes of Daya's bell-like voice within, but softer now. Soon I will be alone.

"I must go in the flesh," she said. "I can read the signs more easily that way."

Ilse nodded. Her hand had closed over the ring, but loosely. A cautious woman. Good. She would need to be.

Valara seated herself on the sandy sh.o.r.e. She would do this properly, the way she had read in the old philosophers' textbooks and journals. The oldest ones of all said that forms were irrelevant. That you did not need even word or thought to work magic. For herself, Valara took comfort in the ritual.

Ei ruf ane gotter. Komen mir de strom. Komen mir de vleisch unde sele. Komen mir de Anderswar ...

Her first journeys to Autrevelye had taken place with wrenching suddenness that left her ill and almost blind. This time, she felt nothing more than a subtle displacement, a momentary dizziness as her body accustomed itself to new surroundings. Then the rest of her senses caught up. Mantharah's keening winds had vanished. The scent of magic was strong here, but nothing so intense as the steam rising from the Agnau. And less tangible, the sense that she was alone.

She released her breath, opened her eyes.

She sat in a darkened room that smelled of old stone and wet earth. Water trickled over the rough-cut walls. Strange how she had missed that sound at first-as if she had to relearn how to listen. The floor itself was smooth, worn to a velvet softness, as though many travelers had visited this chamber before.

Expectations, she reminded herself. Autrevelye read them from her mind to construct itself anew each time.

A plume of musk drifted past her. Shadows rippled away with its pa.s.sage. The shadows turned upon themselves, revealing a lean dark wolflike creature. It curled around to face her. Its lips drew back from yellowed teeth in an unnatural grin. Rikha. Her first and only guide in this other world for the past five years.

Rikha snuffed at the floor and growled. "You returned."

"I did."

"But without the emerald, without Daya. Did a thief overcome a thief, perhaps?"

She felt a p.r.i.c.kle of irritation, suppressed it. "I left Daya in safekeeping. Though that is not your concern."

"No." It laughed softly. "Nothing concerns me, not even your fondest wish."

True enough.

In her early days with magic and Autrevelye, Rikha's presence had terrified her. Then she had attempted to treat the beast as one of her subjects. She had mastered her terror, but Rikha had only laughed when she gave it orders. Slowly, they were learning to deal with each other.

"You want the sapphire," Rikha said.

She nodded. "And for that I need your help in remembering. I know about my brother, about his search and mine for the jewels, but that is not quite ... enough. Can you help me?"

Rikha tilted its head and regarded her with a clear implacable gaze. "Autrevelye never forgets, lady. Neither does your soul."

Her skin rippled at the tone of his voice. Of course. It was all a part of his nature, and Autrevelye's. They only knew death and rebirth. Life itself was only a brief interlude between the two. Strange, how humans viewed everything in reverse.

"I do not forget," she said. "Please take me to where Leos Dzavek last captured me, when I was Imre Benacka."

"Do you order me?" he asked, his tone soft with menace.

She smiled. "Of course not. I beg a favor of you, Rikha."

"Ah, that is different. Come, lady, and we shall find your past."

She stood and laid her hand on Rikha's shoulder. They paced forward slowly, and with a few steps, the darkness ebbed away, the stone room faded into a bleak desert, then to a jungle of sweet-smelling flowers. In silence they pa.s.sed through a grove of silver trees and crossed a river, skimming through the air just above the surging current. The sun above had stopped in the sky, and the air itself had turned still. In Autrevelye, in the outside worlds, time might be pouring into the future, but here it was frozen.

They stopped at last at the edge of a barren cliff. Ahead stretched a wasteland, a pale desert of sand and rock. The cliff itself was part of a stony ridge that divided the desert from an even more desolate mountain range. Valara didn't need Rikha's explanation for why he'd brought her to this place. She already knew-she'd come this way untold centuries ago as a different person, almost a different soul. Here, she had once fled, desperate, with Lir's jewels in her hands. Here, Leos Dzavek had captured her, when her name was Imre Benacka.

My brother, my king. The man who captured me, killed me, or nearly so, and revived me so he could take me prisoner and rip the truth from my throat.

And here, just last summer, she had returned in her quest to rediscover her past.