11



The valley was silent that rainy morning, except for the distant croaking of ravens. Mikah led them in the direction opposite the one they’d come from, along the lakeshore, until they found a stream. They followed this uphill. Where the path was too steep, it was carved into steps. It took them to the mouth of a tunnel carved into the mountainside.

Mikah passed out lanterns. “The boggles live in here, and they resent people passing through. They’re surly little beasts. They won’t attack us -- they’re afraid of me -- but they might throw garbage. Just ignore them.”

“What’s a boggle?” Magda asked.

“Kin to pisgies, cave-dwellers, not very smart, with short tempers. Math tamed them as much as they can be tamed, but they’re still not nice to know.”

“Oh.” As they entered the tunnel, Magda craned around, looking for a boggle to study. If she’d thought the creatures would be available for view, she was disappointed. The tunnel was broad and tall, big enough to pass a small wagon, smooth-walled, and without turnings or holes.

Kastor knew he should be interested by this construction. All he could see, though, was Mikah. I have to shake this off. We have work to do. He has to be able to rely on me. I’ve gone all soppy and soft; this won’t do at all. He made an effort to pay attention to his surroundings: “Who dug this?”

“The boggles did,” Mikah answered. “When Math came here, they were already a good way through the mountain. The tunnels were little and rough, of course -- boggles don’t naturally have this kind of finesse. It was just a warren. He tamed them to do his will in the simplest way possible -- he hired them.”

“Makes sense.”

“It was a bit cleverer than that, my wildling. He didn’t speak their language, and they’d never seen humans before except as a difficult sort of meat. They didn’t have any concept of trade or currency, and they lived like rats, in filth. But they like good food and shiny trinkets as much as anyone else. And he discovered something in them they didn’t know they possessed: a love of good craftsmanship. Once he taught them the use of proper tools, they took to it with a will. Now they abide by his rules, as long as he keeps them paid and busy, and there isn’t too much traffic on this route.”

Lucien said, “Who is Mathonwy, exactly? I’m surprised I’ve never heard of him. He’s clearly very powerful. He has a Kyri name and a Semnian look and manner, and he consorts with the strangest beings as if they’re ordinary. I’m very curious.”

“He was raised to it, I suppose. It seems ordinary to him. His father was -- or is, tenses are difficult with him -- the only master of time-magic who ever lived. Surely you’ve heard of Arneth.”

“No. Sorry.”

“Never mind. Arneth’s father was a demon, and his mother was a sorceress, the Hag of Taneire.”

“Her, I’ve heard of,” Lucien said -- a bit sheepishly, because of course they all had. She was still used to scare children, in the lake country of eastern Semnia.

“Yes, well, at the time, the word ‘hag’ didn’t mean an ugly old woman. It meant a particular kind of malevolent sorceress. She was quite beautiful, in fact, and lived centuries on stolen youth until her son turned her into a wyrm. Some say she’s the mother of the wyr, but that’s not true. Anyway, Arneth was a logical-minded man, and he saw that evil was self-defeating, and denied one the finer things in life. He passed this on to his son, who took the logic a step farther, and deduced that foresight and charity accomplish far more than self-serving power. Math has great plans, long plans, and I sometimes suspect we’re all just pawns in his game.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good man to me,” Magda put in. “Using people as pawns.”

Tanner corrected her. “Any leader has to do that. A good leader doesn’t sacrifice his people without their permission, that’s the difference. And Math’s is an all-volunteer army.”

“Precisely,” Mikah said. “I trust him absolutely -- and that’s something I haven’t said often, in my life.”

Kastor said, “Do you think he has plans for us? We haven’t volunteered.”

“I’m sure he’ll find a way to turn our task to his advantage, whether we succeed or fail. I know he would rather I killed Stiaan than -- anyway, he knows now I won’t, and he’ll be planning accordingly. Possibly he’ll send out some of his fireflies to dispel Stiaan’s demons, perhaps capture his newborn Mara or ally with them.”

“Fireflies -- those androgynous people who are so fond of games?” Kastor was skeptical. “What can they do?”

“What can you do, love? They have the same potential.”

“I begin to suspect you know more about my parentage than you let on.”

“I only have guesses. I’d rather not say.” He paused in his striding, gingerly skirted something on the floor. “Mind you don’t step in the boggles’ greeting.”

“Ewww.” Magda lifted her hem out of the way.

There was a pile of dung in the middle of the tunnel. The chill of underground kept it from stinking too badly, but they gave it a wide berth anyway.

“Rude little bastards,” Tanner said.

“I did warn you,” said Mikah.

Shortly after that, they passed the first turning. The side tunnel was lower than the main passage, but just as smoothly arched. Kastor thought he could make out a glint of eyes in its depths. He heard chittering voices, distorted by echoes. The travellers went without speaking after that, disturbed by the sound of those voices. They were hostile, warning. No boggles showed themselves. There were dozens of these openings, widely spaced. There was a mild but pervasive stink about the place. Magda had to apply herself constantly to keeping the animals calm.

Once they’d passed the boggles’ habitation, the air cleared. The tunnel began to slope gently upward. It was impossible to guess how many hours passed in the darkness; thoughts wandered into daydream, with nothing ahead to look at. Their voices sounded strange when they spoke, and they conversed less and less. It seemed they would never reach the end. Kastor wouldn’t have minded. For all he hated being underground, he was walking with Mikah, which made the darkness a great deal friendlier. But the tunnel couldn’t go on forever. At last light showed ahead.

“Warm clothes, everyone,” Mikah said. “We’ve gone right through the range at the thinnest place, and the weather’s different on the other side. You too, Kastor. The Kyrith Sei’s a garden paradise compared to the Amrani Waste.”

Kastor obediently donned his cloak and gloves. The others bundled up as well. Mikah resumed his colorful hat, and even put on the mittens he hated so much. They doused their lanterns and left the tunnel.

They emerged high on a long slope. The air was quiet in the fold of mountain flank where they were, but they could hear wind whistling farther out, see the puffs of dust it raised. They were looking down on a frozen desert. The land rolled gradually downward to the horizon, gray and white. Here and there a few lumps of twisted thorn grew in the lee of a stone or dune, but other than that, it was a land of death.

Tanner snorted. “This rates a name?”

“People live here, believe it or not.” Mikah started down the hill, so that they had to follow. “Not right here where we are, we’ve come out in the driest place. East of here, it’s actually rather nice, if you can handle the long winters. West about eight hundred miles you’ll find towns along the seacoast, fishing villages. Go far enough north and you’ll meet people who live on the ice year-round, eat raw whale, and don’t see the sun once all winter. You can imagine what amazing storytellers they are. Lecherous as rabbits, too.”

“Human?”

“Absolutely. Humans live everywhere. Can’t keep ‘em down. I’ve no idea why my brother thinks he can enslave them.”

“Enslave them?” Magda was aghast. “Is that his plan?”

“You understand he hasn’t actually told me this. I’m not so great a diviner as Mathonwy, so I may be missing details. But he doesn’t have such strong countermagic as we do.” That with a smile for Lucien. “I’ve been able to pick up fragments of his intentions and piece together the whole. He’s convinced that if there were enough Mara, he would be able to use them to subdue the world. He would turn the whole human race into laborers to support his Mara aristocracy. Worse, he would impose no sort of order, but allow -- encourage -- his Mara to amuse themselves however they pleased, using humans as toys. They would know no better; they know nothing but him.”

“But -- how could the gods allow it? No, I understand.” That was as far as Magda could go toward a crisis of faith; she answered her own question. “They haven’t allowed it. We’re here to stop it.”

“Precisely, my dear. As for the rest, the details, that will have to wait until we camp. I’ll have to draw diagrams for you.”

“Diagrams?” She was puzzled.

“Tonight. Now that we’re past the last chance for this information to leak out, I’ll tell you everything. I...” He swallowed so hard they could all hear it. “Everything.” He turned to Kastor, reaching out his mittened hand. “Distract me.”

Mikah’s fearful tone filled Kastor with questions, but instead of asking, he stopped to enfold Mikah in his cloak. The others had to wait until they were finished embracing, until Mikah broke free with a smile.

“Love conquers all, they say,” he said with forced cheer as they resumed walking. “And we’re on a mission of love. We’re not going to kill my brother. We’re going to save him.” Head high, he lengthened his stride, pulling ahead so they couldn’t ask him anything.

Several hours later, Lucien grunted and winced. By the time anyone could ask what was wrong, though, he’d already relaxed.

“That’s the way, son,” Mikah told him. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

“Of what?” Tanner demanded. “What’re you using him for?”

“He’s not using me,” Lucien said. “He’s set me free. He’s right, I’m learning to do this on purpose. Countermagic, Jennet. Somehow it’s inherent in me, and I think I’m protecting us all right now. Something tried to get at us, but it couldn’t. And it won’t. It doesn’t matter how powerful it is. I’ll hold the shield.”

She looked at him admiringly. “You’ve got guts, Luce. You know that?”

“I’m figuring that out, yes.”

Evening was long and bitter in the Amrani Waste. The red sun took forever to set, turning everything strange with long shadows. They found a hollow that kept the worst of the wind off, huddling close together. There was nothing to burn but thorn and thin grass, not enough to cook on, let alone warm them, so they didn’t bother with a fire. Mikah lit a couple of lanterns and got a book from his pack, a beautiful book of black leather stamped with a pattern of twined flowers in silver gilt.

“Magda, may I borrow your pen?” He took Mathonwy’s gift from her and opened the book; it was blank, a ledger book bound like a royal commission. “Bend close, dear. Lucien, listen but don’t come too near, lest the pen stop working. Your aura prevents sorcery when you have it spread like this, but too close and it will disrupt set-spells as well.”

“Let me know if I get too close.” Lucien leaned on Tanner, not trying to look at the book. He no longer blushed or apologized when told to stay away from magic.

“You can help Magda understand this, once I’ve finished. Between you, I’m sure you have the learning to make sense of it. The general theory, you’ll all understand. How do I begin? Let me see. Do you know what an angel is?”

“Messenger of the gods,” Tanner said questioningly, sensing this wasn’t the whole answer.

Magda was more technical. “An intelligence inhabiting the astral world. When it intrudes on the material world, it takes the form of a heatless flame, but can shape itself to resemble whatever it wishes. Genderless, somewhat unfixed in time, and constrained utterly by the will of the gods. An angel may have free will in small matters -- there are questions about that -- but it can’t oppose the will of heaven. Its matter is the will of heaven, and it can no more disobey the gods than water can run uphill.”

“Very good,” said Mikah. “And what is a demon?”

“An intelligence inhabiting the cthonic world, purely malevolent. Denied the ability to create, it expresses itself through destruction. When it intrudes on the material world, it accrues matter to itself in a semblance of flesh, but when that flesh-form is destroyed, it’s only banished back to its cthonic self. Though this is difficult to do,” she added with a nod to Kastor.

“And finally, dear saint, what is a Mara?”

She shook her head. “All I know of your kind, Mikah, I’ve learned from you.”

“A Mara,” he said, “is the difference between an angel and a demon. It is the arithmetic of heaven. Angel, minus demon, equals Mara. Or to put it even more simplistically, if you split an angel in half, you get a demon and a Mara.”

There was a long pause.

Tanner said, “Weird.”

“I see.” Magda frowned in thought. “That’s what you meant by ‘sectioning souls.’ That’s why your brother is releasing both demons and Mara. But how could anyone do such a thing? I mean, how is it possible? To -- to break an angel?”

“Like this.” He bent over the book, writing quickly. Kastor watched over his shoulder, but could make no sense of the symbols he was scribbling.

Magda, however, seemed to be catching on. Her expression grew more and more horrified as he wrote. By the time he was finished, her lower lip was trembling.

“He’s doing this?” she asked quaveringly. “Tricking them, tearing them apart like that -- oh Mother, oh mercy.”

“Angels aren’t hard to summon,” Mikah said. “You see why I kept you in the dark so long. If this were generally known -- pass the book to Lucien. Once he’s done looking, I’ll tear out the page and burn it.” He let her take the book and hand it along. “That’s how all of us came to be. All Mara are made of the death of an angel. But I want both of you to understand the spell from first principles. I know neither of you will ever be tempted to try it.”

“You’re right about that,” Lucien said with a shudder, staring revulsion at the diagram. “Why do we need to understand it?”

“So you can reconstruct it, because you don’t have time to memorize it. You see, the same spell will separate a Mara from a demon in a different manner. I need you to part Stiaan from his devil-trap. It won’t come off otherwise; it will have set its hooks in him, so that it can’t be removed.”

“I can’t do it,” said Lucien. “It’s regular thaumaturgy. At least, after this point.” He tapped the page.

“You’ll need to know when to withdraw your shield. Magda will speak the spell.”

“But, Mikah --” Magda looked distressed. “I’m no mage. I understand the theory, at least enough to see what’s being done here, but I don’t have the power. And it will take a tremendous lot of power.”

“I’ll give you that. I can feed you all the power you’ll need.”

“Mikah.” Tanner cleared her throat. “How come you can’t do the spell?”

The Mara studied his clasped hands. At length he answered, “I can’t be sure of my concentration. This is likely to be rather emotional for me. Stiaan will use that. I’m vulnerable to him in a way he can make use of, he knows everything about me, and it will take all my strength to keep my will from wavering. I know how he fights, when he feels cornered. I’ll get my power started flowing into Magda -- tap a vein, so to speak -- and then it will flow by itself; more than that, I can’t offer.”

“Is that what you fear so much?” Kastor said softly.

Mikah shook his head. “Are you finished?”

Lucien handed the book back. Mikah tore out the page, rolled it up, and poked it into the lantern. He watched the parchment burn and stink until it had burned right down to his fingers, opening his hand to let the last flaming scrap fly away. Then he looked to Kastor with an expression so raw that the world seemed to spin. He’s about to do it again. He’s about to break my heart again, and this time he knows he’s doing it. Involuntarily, Kastor shook his head, began to murmur incoherent negation. Mikah silenced him by taking his hands.

“Kastor, promise me something.”

Frightened, Kastor began to ask what the promise was, but realized there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t promise, if Mikah asked it. In a hollow voice, he said, “Whatever it is, I swear it.”

“Promise me you won’t hurt yourself, when I’m gone. Promise you’ll remember to eat, and talk to people, and, and live --”

Tanner said it, since Kastor couldn’t. “What do you mean, gone?”

“The last thing. The thing that -- the last thing.” He took a shuddering breath. “What the Forge will do. It will reverse the process. Recombine Mara and demon, make the hedzaii’ha into an angelic artifact. The demon is already within it. The Mara must provide the element of will, since a demon has none. I mean that it has to be a volunteer. I’ll be volunteering.”

Kastor couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. It was all ended in that moment. Hope, life, light, all gone. He couldn’t say no, don’t -- because this was what Mikah had to do. He couldn’t even end himself right afterwards, because he’d promised.

Mikah went on in a stronger voice. “I won’t die. It’s not death. But I’ll cease to be Mikah. I’ll be part of something else. My personality, my memories, will all be melted down for scrap. Even if the angel were to be separated again, the Mara thus born wouldn’t be me. My will is what I’ll impart to it. My will is to heal Stiaan, help him undo the harm he’s done, help him see how to do right. When I told you that saving the world was incidental, a while back, I was being flippant. I’m afraid I care about that rather a lot. Even enough to leave you, my joy. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Kastor whispered. “I wish to all the gods I didn’t.”

“I don’t think it would work, if I weren’t afraid of ending. I think it’s important that it be a sacrifice. But it’s a sacrifice on your part as well as mine, and that, I regret. Do you think you can forgive me? Do you think you can work to bring about this thing that hurts you?”

It was terrible to have to say it, but he did: “Because you ask it of me. Because I know how important it is. Yes, I can.”

Mikah nodded without breaking their locked gaze. His eyes said that he understood what it was costing, and was grateful beyond thanks. After a long moment, he gave a deliberate slow blink and looked away. His gratitude to the others, he was able to speak aloud.

“Thank you,” Mikah said. “Thank you all. I’ve been abrupt with you, bossy and portentious and in general hard to live with, and yet you stand by me. Thank you. It’s not something that happens often -- for a Mara to have friends.

“Now we must make a plan. I believe Stiaan will welcome us in, because he’s never been able to resist the urge to show off to me. But he won’t just let us put him in his own magic circle and pry his devil-trap off him. He’s a pure mage, and couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper sack; but then, I didn’t think I was a fighter either, and I seemed to impress you when I tried it untrained, so we’ll have to assume he’ll be able to resist. I doubt he’ll have any of his Mara or demons about him. The demons can’t be bound, in material form, and the Mara would be a threat to him if he allowed them too much time near his center of power. We need to figure out how to proceed.”

“I’m on it,” Tanner said. “That’s what you wanted me for, right? Give me everything you know about the place, and all the possibilities you can think of.”

Mikah bent over the book again, drawing for her. Kastor knew he should be paying attention, but he just couldn’t. There was a dull roaring in his ears that made it hard to listen. All he could look at was Mikah’s profile. He wanted to memorize every flicker of expression, every mannerism, every movement of hands and lips and eyes -- as if that would remake Mikah once he was gone, or somehow keep this thing from happening. He wished desperately that Mikah hadn’t told him, so that he could have held out some hope; for all those ominous hints Mikah had been dropping recently, he’d still had hope until now. He wished he could abandon himself to grief, wished he could feel some anger, some madness to armor his soul. But he saw all too clearly why Mikah had done things the way he had. He wouldn’t let Kastor think he’d been tricked or betrayed. They all had to go into this with their eyes open.

He’ll be an angel, Kastor told himself. Not dead. He’ll be made whole. He won’t miss me, he’ll forget me. That, oddly enough, provided some relief. At least Mikah wouldn’t be left wanting. And if Mikah were happy, Kastor thought he could bear it as well.

He shifted closer, put his arms around Mikah’s waist, laid his head on Mikah’s shoulder. He sensed rather than saw Mikah’s sad smile; the Mara didn’t pause in his conversation with Tanner, but rested a hand on Kastor’s encircling arms. In this way, Kastor listened to their planning as if it had nothing to do with him.

Tanner’s plan was based on what Mikah knew of his brother’s personality. Stiaan had always been the more methodical of the pair, and had always craved Mikah’s approval -- or craved to show him up, surpass him. Stiaan had a history of crowing his triumphs in Mikah’s face. He tended to resent Mikah’s moments of brilliance, and sieze gladly on Mikah’s flaws.

“Some brother,” Tanner said with disgust.

“That’s not all there is to him,” Mikah answered gently. “There isn’t time to tell you all the ways he’s better than that. There is something in him that could be brighter than sainthood... But the demon in the trap will exaggerate his jealousy of me, and his percieved superiority over me, and he will have to show me all he’s accomplished. We can use that.”

Tanner agreed that they could. Provided they were welcomed in, and the floorplan he’d given her was accurate -- no guarantee there, as it had been many years since Mikah had last seen his brother’s stronghold, and building additions was no trouble when the whole place was made of ice.

“Ice?” Magda cast a worried glance at Lucien.

Lucien reassured her. “Even if it were high summer, so much ice would melt very slowly. The place won’t collapse if I only use my countermagic for a few minutes.”

“Question,” Tanner said. “From what you told us, Mikah, Stiaan sees humans as livestock or toys. However much he wants to talk to you, that doesn’t mean he’ll let us follow.”

“I have something that I think might forestall that. This is going to sound like a tangent, but I assure you it’s pertinent. Do you recall all the speculation about how Mara reproduce? Where are the Mara women?”

“You’ve said yourself that you don’t -- that you aren’t --” Magda frowned. “Emrys is half Mara. Therefore Mara are crossfertile with humans. That implies that you aren’t all barren, which would mean there should be Mara being born in the normal way, unless...” She glanced upward, remembering. “The spell... it provides a kind of template -- rather, a reference to an event, which -- no, you couldn’t do it any other way, because --” She returned her gaze to Mikah’s face. “You’re all male.”

“Well done,” he said warmly.

“Because the first Mara was male, and because the process of taking material form refers back to that event, you’re all male. In fact, you’d all be identical copies of him, except that all thaumatopoetic processes introduce a random element because -- sorry, the theory’s not important now, is it? The point is that the only way to create a Mara -- or something like one -- without destroying an angel would be to interbreed with humans, then mate the half-Mara. A certain proportion of their offspring would be substantially similar to Mara.”

Mikah nodded. “It’s more complicated than that. But that’s the central point I wish to present to him, yes. You all have a part to play in this. As examples of what could be.”

They all looked confused, but Kastor felt understanding snap into place. “My father...”

“Was a Mara.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. At first, it was because I didn’t want the possibility publically discussed. After that, I really don’t know. Perhaps I feared...”

“That I would want to stay with those ‘fireflies’ of Mathonwy’s? That I would abandon you on the basis of that kinship?”

“I didn’t know what I was afraid of. When in doubt, wait.”

Kastor shook his head, smiling. “That’s a sentiment I never thought to hear out of you. Half Mara -- it beats a demon, by a long shot. Wait, you said, all of us?”

“There have been Mara in the world for a very long time, and though most of us have no desire to lie with women, there are those who like to experiment. All of you have some trace of Mara blood in you. Much fainter; Kastor’s the only one who’s fully half. Actually a trace more than half; the whole Kyri race have a drop or two of Mara in their veins. How do you think black-haired, dark-skinned people got such pale eyes? Never mind,” he said to their puzzlement. “We’ve gone far afield. What I set out to answer was how I knew Stiaan wouldn’t simply murder you the moment you walk into his keep. He’ll wish to study you. He knows that he could, in theory, impregnate a human woman, but he would consider it perversion, and avoid the subject. He certainly won’t have collected such a spectrum of the results as you represent. It would require too much contact with mortals. He’ll be thinking that once he’s subdued me, by words or force, he’ll examine you. Fortunately, that won’t come to pass; it would be a most unpleasant process.”

“And there’s our plan,” said Tanner.

Lucien snorted. “What, lull him off guard by being dissected?”

“You know me better than that,” she said, and laid out her plan.

It wasn’t the greatest plan, but it was the best they were going to get. Tanner plotted, not like a general -- in terms of force and bluff and feint and maneuver -- but like an engineer, in terms of available resources and applied leverage. She considered contingencies in as much depth as she considered the main scenario. Kastor understood why Mikah had chosen her. If all went well, there might not have to be any blood spilled, and none of them would be in real danger. Not even Stiaan.

She outlined what parts each would play. Her role for Kastor made him smile despite himself.

“Can you do it, Kas?” she asked him seriously. “Think hard. Because so far your only antidote to insane honesty has been to clam up.”

“You don’t think I can play the pampered pet? Mannerless short-tempered consort to a powerful master? Because that’s so very different from anything I’ve ever been, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m an idiot.”

“No. Just polite enough to forget what I’d prefer to hide.”

“Then we’re ready. How far to the place, Mikah?”

“We should reach it midday tomorrow if we set out early.”

“That soon?” The words came out of Kastor’s throat in a high, thin cry. He clenched his teeth and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know. Every day we delay...”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Tanner broke it by standing and taking one of the lanterns. She said, “Look, there’s no delicate way to put this, so I’m going to be blunt. I think you two should camp in that hollow over there.” She offered the lantern. “Luce can spread his shield big enough. Can’t you, Luce?”

“Easily,” said Lucien.

Kastor shot the soldier a look of pure gratitude. Mikah stood and bowed to her. “We leave at sunrise.” Taking Kastor by the hand, he shouldered out into the wind.

In any other circumstance, it would have been mortifying to hear his friends suggest that he and Mikah run off for a private fuck. No doubt that was what they were thinking; Magda hadn’t made any attempt to meet his eyes. But in this case, all Kastor could feel was relief that this one last night, he’d have Mikah to himself. He didn’t even care if they were overheard. The moment Mikah pulled him out of the wind into the lee of the next dune, Kastor followed the motion into the Mara’s arms, fastened his mouth to Mikah’s, clutching at him ravenously.

Mikah responded with the same abandon. Despite the biting cold of the night, clothing was thrown aside with no thought for how it would be retrieved later. Kastor fought free of his baldrics and tossed his swords clattering in a heap, fumbled to help Mikah unbuckle his armor while he hindered their combined efforts by refusing to stop kissing Mikah’s face. He tasted salt there, and heard the seeds of weeping in Mikah’s voice as the Mara gasped broken poetry.

“You flight of birds, you flight of angels, star, my Kastor, my destroyer, my perfection, my true, my love, mine --”

“Yours,” Kastor echoed between kisses. “Heart and soul.” Buttons popped loose from Mikah’s shirt and pattered away. Fabric tore. They fell, frost stinging skin, legs tangled, biting and groaning, crushing together with the will to melt flesh and lock bone and become one thing.

Stiaan’s laughter must have been echoing for some time before they heard it.

Rich, mellow, hearty with contempt, it went on and on. They slowed to frozen stillness. Kastor met Mikah’s eyes for a moment, and found there only startlement, before they both looked up.

At the top of the dune stood a figure of moonlight and ice. If it were possible for any being to be more beautiful than Mikah, Stiaan was that being, but his beauty was a completely inhuman thing. He was utterly white of skin, silver of hair and eye, even his lips and eyelashes colorless. Despite the cold he was bare-chested and barefoot, dressed only in a flowing long kilt of white silk fastened with a belt of silver plates. More silver wrapped his arms and wrists, draped his shoulders in the form of a collar set with diamonds. The swirling cloud of his hair, long enough to brush his ankles, was held out of his eyes by a circlet of polished bone.

He looked down on them and laughed, as if he had never seen anything so funny in all his four thousand years. Unlike his golden brother, he showed every one of those years; not in any marring of his form, but in its very perfection. He was not a person, he was an artifact.

Kastor never for an instant doubted who the being was. He rolled Mikah under him in a misplaced impulse to protect him, scrambling to catch a loop of his baldric and get his swords into his hands. He was thankful he still had his trousers and boots on. The wind scoured his bare back when he stood up.

This gave Stiaan fresh cause for mirth. Ignoring Kastor, he spoke to Mikah. The syllables of an alien language rolled from his tongue, full of spitting consonants and drawling vowels; it should have been an ugly language, but from him it pulsed with primitive vitality. The first language, the one of which all others were corrupted dialects. Kastor thought at first he was spellcasting, raised his swords before him to ward off whatever was sent, but Mikah answered in the same language, and he realized that what was thaumaturgy to mortals was merely conversation to these creatures.

Then Mikah went on in Semnian, “I’ll speak this language now, for the benefit of the others. You’ll be hospitable, won’t you, brother?”

“It costs me nothing,” Stiaan conceded. He had no accent, of course. All languages were as one to him. Despair crept into Kastor’s heart. They were going to trick this demigod? They were going to force him to -- to anything? It wasn’t going to happen.

“Put away your swords, my slaughterling,” Mikah said. “We’ll be visiting my brother a trifle earlier than I thought. Stiaan, may I introduce Kastor Auberlane, exiled Arthane of the Kyri, ruagh feahar, poet, half-immortal, my consort.”

“Your consort, dear brother?” It wasn’t quite a sneer, but his tone implied it. “Well -- a prince, eh? It would not do to call him a toy to his face, would it? Gather up your scatterings. I’ve swift steeds for you. I can’t imagine why you’ve come plodding on foot. You must develop some idea of dignity, if you’re to associate with me.” In a swirl of silver hair and white silk, he was gone.

They were not, however, alone. Ranged along the edge of the dune, holding the bridles of a string of white horses, were three more Mara. They were as different from each other as Mikah was from Stiaan. One was coppery, nearly auburn-haired; one dark-haired and pale of skin; one blond like Mikah but with eyes black as stones. All were dressed in Stiaan’s manner, though their kilts were of different colors; all were impassive as the animals they held.

There were five horses. Lucien, Magda, and Tanner were also invited to ride. Mikah told Lucien to pull in his shield. “Now that we’re here, there’s no point to it. Your work is finished for now.” Until the plan calls for you, his look implied. Lucien nodded.

Kastor had never donned his armor so fast. There was no way he was going into this without a layer of waxed horsehide between himself and Stiaan’s disdain. He knew it was irrational, to feel that his leathers protected him from ridicule, and even more irrational to care what the demon-controlled immortal thought, but he still felt much calmer once the last buckle was buckled.

Magda was reluctant to mount. “These aren’t natural animals,” she said, a note of fear in her voice.

“Natural animals are unpredictable,” Mikah explained. “My brother prefers things to be completely within his control. But even so --” He glanced to the three Mara. “Why are you lads acting like golems? That’s not the way Mara should be.”

They returned his look in total incomprehension. Maybe they didn’t speak Semnian. Maybe they’d been pithed like a vivisectionist’s subject. A shiver crawled up Kastor’s body to his scalp and stayed there; he was sure his hackles were standing up like a wolf’s.

His voice came out in a growl: “Let’s get this over with.” Then he realized what he was wishing to speed, and followed his growl with a whimper and a wild look at Mikah. “I don’t mean --”

“I know, beloved. He spoiled our farewell. I won’t let him spoil anything else.” Mikah dug his heels into his unnatural mount’s flanks, and the animal leapt away like a streak of starlight.

The others followed, with various sounds of astonishment for the animals’ incredible gait.

The white horses ran like cats, low and flowing, so fast that the wind made their riders’ eyes water. Kastor was grateful for the excuse to let his eyes run over. Deep inside, some part of him was laughing bitterly: Riding a magic steed to the evil wizard’s keep in the dark of night, and all I can do is bawl because I didn’t get laid. But the laughter couldn’t stop the more honest thought: Tonight, then. Tonight Mikah stops being Mikah. Tonight he’ll be taken from me.

When the fortress of ice rose before them, glowing from within, he could only see it as a tomb.

It was as Mikah had drawn it for Tanner; Stiaan had not added to it. Three stories tall, rectangular, its foundations dug into the permafrost. The blocks that made up its walls were translucent white, transmitting light from the lamps inside; it shone like a beacon. As they neared it, Kastor could see twining abstract patterns carved into the walls, shaded by the opacity of the ice, and had to marvel at its beauty even as he hated its purpose. He wondered what the locals made of it, if any of them were left alive.

He didn’t know what he expected when they arrived. To be offered rooms, perhaps, treated as guests; or, conversely, thrown in a dungeon, or slaughtered outright. He was trembling slightly with the effort of anticipation. His hands itched for his swords’ hilts. He saw the same look on Tanner’s face that he knew was fixed on his, when they drew up their strange horses and dismounted. She had her chin up, lips thinned, eyes flicking to take in every element of the scene. The look of a veteran who scents danger.

But that wasn’t what Kastor was supposed to be. He remembered the role that was required of him. He’d thought it would be easy for him -- he’d once been that thing in truth, after all. But for a long, panicked moment, he could not dredge up the self-involved boy he’d once been, child-groom of a queen, center of his own world. The twenty-four-year-old Kastor who feared his own blood-madness was too strongly present to allow the other to surface.

While he stood debating with himself, Stiaan appeared in the wide doorway of the keep. He clapped his hands. The five horses gave out whinnies of protest that dwindled to a chorus of yipping as their bodies shrank; five arctic foxes scattered into the night. Kastor watched them run, and the incongruous thought came into his head that five white fox pelts would buy a very nice saddle. He siezed on the thought, clamping his eyes shut to avoid being distracted by his surroundings. He imagined himself setting snares for those foxes; imagining became memory; he remembered the feel of a bow in his hands, numb hands, numb nose, numb ass and aching toes, none of it mattering because that was what it cost to take caribou in autumn. Would he bring some of the carcass to his mother? No, it was cold enough for the meat to keep. He’d eat it all himself. She could sponge off her relatives for another few weeks. She could sponge off the Gethane’s snotty daughter, who looked at him with such lust. Of course the woman hungered for him. He was a perfect predator, and humans were, at heart, animals. Not a condemnation, simply a recognition of the natural order.

He opened his eyes, and as he did, he felt his body settle into a loose posture it remembered better than his mind had. Staring around in panic was for rabbits. He met Stiaan’s gaze, and they stared in mutual appraisal. Stiaan was the alpha wolf, that much was clear, but there was something a bit off about him, a hint of sickness; an outsider could play that weakness and defeat him. And there was desire in his look as well. The white Mara was, Kastor realized, considering whether he could take Kastor away from Mikah. Stiaan wanted to play with his brother’s toys.

The presumption of the creature. As if Kastor’s choice of lover weren’t Kastor’s choice alone.

“Welcome to the farthest house,” Stiaan said, his rich voice echoing from the frozen walls. “Welcome to my keep at the top of the world. It’s been some time since you came to see me, Mikah. Perhaps you’ve forgotten how hospitable I can be when my beloved brother visits.” He turned away, but as they followed, he turned back with a sharp negating gesture. “Leave your slaves outside.”

“I brought them for a reason, you ass, and I’ll bring them in if I like. So much for your hospitality.” Mikah sounded peevish. Kastor looked at him curiously to see if he were acting; it was impossible to tell.

“Fine, just don’t let them make a mess.” Stiaan led them inside.

It was strange, to see rich carpets on floors made of ice. Heatless magical lights were ranged in strict ranks along the walls. Furniture of polished ebony and silver-gilt, couches with purple velvet cushions, bowls of fruit and dainties. The inside of the keep was one vast room, done up like a noble lady’s salon. There was no fire, no source of warmth anywhere. Kastor could see his breath, but Stiaan’s breath didn’t fog. A spiral stair made of wedges of ice took up one far corner, going both up and down.

Stiaan flung himself down on a damask-cushioned chair. His natural grace was like spider silk twisting in the wind. He gestured vaguely, and two more blank-eyed Mara appeared with trays of steaming food and hot wine. There were three cups; apparently he considered Kastor a guest, but not the others. Of course Kastor couldn’t raise any protest over this. The wild, self-centered boy he was pretending to be would not have cared whether the others were slighted. If they wanted more than they got, they could fight for it.

Tanner’s plan had included a contingency in case there were Mara hanging around, but it wasn’t a very good contingency. Kastor sincerely hoped these servants were newly made and had no idea how to defend themselves.

Mikah placed the iron box on the table. Stiaan raised an eyebrow at it. Mikah indicated with a wave that it wasn’t important. “A puzzle to amuse you. You can play with it later.” He took up his wine cup and toyed with it. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

Stiaan tossed back the scalding wine in one gulp. “Tell me, brother. What have you been doing with yourself?” He cast a glance at Kastor. “Other than rutting with the beasts of the field.”

“Now, Stiaan, be fair. He’s only half beast. In fact, I thought he might be one of yours. He has the white skin, the silver eyes --”

Stiaan’s cup clanged off the far wall; the sudden gesture of anger seemed to content him, because his voice was calm. “Have you been off siring bastards on human females, then, Mikah? Because I’ll have you know that I’ve never touched the filthy things. Maybe you’re fucking your own son -- do you keep track of your conquests?”

“He’s not mine, Stiaan. I’d rather hoped he was yours.” Mikah gave a languid shrug. “You’ve become vulgar since I last saw you. My passions never generated such contempt in you before. What’s the matter, dearling? Haven’t you been getting any?”

For a split second, white lightning flickered in Stiaan’s pale eyes, and Kastor wondered if Mikah had killed them all. Then Stiaan relaxed, and laughed. “Ah, I’ve missed you. You’ll stay, won’t you? Say you’ve come to stay.” Something crept into his voice with those words, some hint of expression in his face, that might have been his true self. The Stiaan that Mikah loved, the part the demon hadn’t sullied. It only lasted a moment, though; Mikah’s reply brought the ice back into Stiaan’s bearing.

“I just came to give you a gift. I heard what you were doing up here, and it got me thinking about questions of lineage. Allow me to present, for your scientific interest, several examples of mixed Mara and mortal blood.” He waved Magda forward. “This one’s almost entirely human. Her Mara ancestor is buried in the depths of time, and only the most sensitive could sniff him out. She has a slight aptitude for minor charms and spells, but that’s the only effect of such a tiny drop of our blood.”

Magda, to her credit, dropped a slight curtsey. Stiaan drawled, “Very interesting.” He was bored. Any moment he’d order the mortals killed.

“Here,” Mikah indicated Tanner, “we have a three-way mixture -- perhaps a sixteenth Mara, with a distant dose of woodwight. Didn’t know woodwights could breed with humans, did you?”

Stiaan was slightly less bored. “I hadn’t studied the matter. What’s your name, woman?”

Tanner stood at parade rest. “Sergeant Jennet Tanner, Fifth Royal Engineers, sir.”

“Delightful.” He glanced to Lucien. “Tell me this one’s got djinn in him. It would be too perfect.”

Mikah sighed polite regret. “Unfortunately, things are rarely that perfect. No, only human and Mara here, but what’s interesting is the variety of the mixture. I smell no fewer than nine Mara in his lineage, the most recent at least a dozen generations back. The noble families of Semnia, and especially the royal line, are full of our kin’s traces.”

“The royal line?” Stiaan raised an eyebrow. “Collecting princes, are we?”

“Just the one,” Mikah said modestly. “Lucien’s only the son of a count.”

“And your... consort. Is he available for me to study as well? He seems quite composed, for someone being offered up as a gift.”

Kastor took this as a cue to arch an eyebrow at Stiaan, as if he couldn’t believe the fellow had come to such a stupid conclusion. Mikah gave a little laugh. “Oh, no, brother. I’m keeping this one. Our blood is strong in him. His beauty will last fifty years, and his strength a hundred.”

This was new information to Kastor; he wondered if it was true. He didn’t let his surprise show, though. He just looked smugly at Stiaan over the rim of his wine cup, as if to say -- I belong to the most powerful one here, and there’s nothing you can do about it. He got the impression that anything less subtle at this stage would sabotage the purpose of his ruse.

Stiaan took up the challenge by laughing at Mikah. “You can’t mean to say you’ll keep this creature by your side for a hundred years. Mikah, you don’t even finish long books! The same toy for a century?”

“Consort.” Mikah was serious now. “Until I end, and return my substance whence it came. You mistake me, Stiaan; Kastor is not a toy. I love him.”

“Oh, nonsense.” But Stiaan seemed a bit nervous. “You sound like a human.”

“You shouldn’t laugh at love, after calling me beloved. Or do you not love me after all? Tell me, and I’ll go. I came because I neglected you too long, and I do love you, brother. I was sorry to have left you alone. I wanted to remedy that. But if there’s no such feeling on your side --”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Again, that flash of something more real than this lord of ice. “I’m glad you’ve come to see me. I missed you as well. I even looked for you, but you were hiding under your counterspell --” He broke off with a glance at Lucien. “Why did you? Why not announce yourself? It’s as if you were trying to sneak up on me.”

“I didn’t want to lead anyone to you. People are beginning to catch on to your plans, and hardly anyone’s happy about it.”

“Pft.” Stiaan waved that away, suddenly jovial again. “Let them come. Now I have my brother with me, and no one can stop me. Come, let me show you my triumph. You’ll never guess.”

“But I have guessed, and others have as well. You’re not always subtle.”

“You’re not here to try to stop me, are you?” A flicker of suspicious hostility.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Mikah scornfully. “I’m your brother.”

He should have shown some hint of remorse then. It should have pained him to lie to Stiaan like that. Either he was a consummate actor, or he’d been playing them all false --

Or he’s so fully committed to this that he’s willing to lie his head off in order to save his brother from the demon. Don’t you dare doubt him now.

Kastor prayed that none of this had shown on his face. He decided it was time to begin being insufferable. He stood, took a swaggering pose. “I’d like to see this triumph. I want to see if it holds a candle to anything Mikah’s done.”

Mikah glanced at him with annoyance so genuine that for a moment he thought he’d botched it. “Hush, my glory. Don’t be so rude to my brother.”

That was his cue. Kastor gave a feline shrug. “Anyone can keep ice from melting or change animals into other animals. You said he was powerful.”

Stiaan laughed again, but it sounded a hair strained. “You’ve no idea, pretty halfbreed. Bring your pet, Mikah. I’ve a wonder that will stop his pouting.” He stood, beckoning them toward the stair. “Honestly, brother, you fall for such silly boys. You spoil him terribly, I can tell. I would be a much harsher master.”

“You won’t get the chance,” Kastor said haughtily. “I belong to Mikah and no one else.”

“Yes, yes, I gathered that.” Stiaan was getting annoyed. Annoyed enough that he didn’t notice that the whole crew was coming along. Kastor went on being irritating to distract him from the extra footsteps on the stairs.

“Don’t sound so bored. I can see the way you look at me. You think you can take me away from Mikah. You --”

“Quiet,” said Stiaan harshly. “Mikah, don’t allow him to speak that way in my hearing again.”

Mikah gave the hopeless shrug of the completely besotted. “He’s impossible, isn’t he? My wildling. I wouldn’t like to civilize him too much; it would ruin him.”

“You ruin him with your softness. He’ll turn fat and whiny in five years, at this rate. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already. Why is that, Kastor, Arthane of the Kyri? You seem like the sort of boy who has a taste for sweets.”

Unclear whether this was meant as a cut or not, Kastor made a general sound of disdain on principle as they reached the bottom of the stair. This room, as large as the one above, was walled with stone, which made the profuse lighting a shade less punishingly bright. He looked around, trying to make it seem like a cursory glance, taking in the two Mara servitors who’d sprung up from their game of chess at Stiaan’s appearance, the shelves of books along the walls, the three interlocked circles set into the floor in silver, orbited by eye-punishing tangles of runes.

He’d left too long a pause. Stiaan looked back, and noticed Magda, Tanner, and Lucien following. The pale Mara frowned. “What are they doing here? Can’t you train your pets any better than that, Mikah?”

“I didn’t tell them not to follow me,” Mikah said, as if this solved things.

Kastor took up the thread of what he hoped to turn into an argument. “You’re asking why I’m not soft and fat? It’s because I’m a hunter and a warrior. Unlike some people who lie around on cushions all day, doing nothing.”

“Oh, you think this is nothing, do you?” Stiaan gestured to the conjoined circles. “Do you know what this is?”

“Magic circles.” Kastor shrugged. “Bookish nonsense. I’d lay odds you couldn’t stand five seconds against me in a fair fight.”

“A fair fight?” Stiaan turned to Mikah, incredulous. “Where do you find them?”

“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here! You’ve been disrespecting me from the moment we met. Interrupting us like that, laughing at us -- you have the manners of a commoner and an idiot. I tried to tolerate you for Mikah’s sake, but you’re working my last nerve.”

Stiaan sighed. “Mikah, control him.”

“Must I? It’s such fun when he goes off like this. It’s not entertaining for you?”

“No. It’s tedious.”

“Tedious, am I? And a pet, and a halfbreed, and a slave? I’ll have you answer to that, you nothing lord of sand and salt!” Kastor suppressed a flicker of true fear, lest it drive him to attack for real, and drew his swords. Slowly and deliberately.

Stiaan’s eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He looked to Mikah again. “Do you want me to destroy him, brother? Would that amuse you?”

The two Mara beyond, by the wall, were watching with only the vaguest hint of interest. They didn’t think they were needed. Tanner was in position, unnoticed, flanking Stiaan, just outside the edge of the three interlocked circles on the floor. Magda looked worried, Lucien excited. Mikah gave a rueful little smile.

Kastor faked a snarl. “Destroy me? I’d be interested to see you try.”

With a sigh of irritation, Stiaan raised a hand and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, a ripple of forceless force rocked through the room. The two servitors showed their first expression: fear. Stiaan’s head whipped around, shocked eyes finding Lucien. The wizard looked calm, but his red hair was floating around him as if he were underwater. Pulses of countermagic flowed out of him with steadily increasing intensity.

All pretenses were dropped. Mikah showed his weariness, his sadness, as he said, “I’m sorry, brother. You can’t be allowed to continue. Kastor, do it.”

Kastor attacked.