I knew she wanted to ask how her father was—they were on the outs—but she didn’t, and I decided not to broach the subject. Trenyth seemed startled. He paused, then gave a sideways glance at Rozurial, who cleared his throat.
I turned to Roz. “What did you do?”
He hemmed and hawed for a moment, then gave a little shrug. “Well, I figured the elves should know what we’re doing. Just in case . . .” With a sideways glance back at me, he smiled and I realized he thought I’d be mad at him. Which wasn’t far off.
“Rozurial is right on one thing.” I sighed, then looked over at Trenyth. “We’re heading into danger. Some of the creatures in the Northlands could rip us to shreds without the least exertion. And my end goal . . . is dangerous as well. I suppose somebody had to know over here. Just in case we don’t check back in, would you let them know back home?”
Trenyth tried to keep his voice light, but his eyes were somber. “Of course, Lady Iris. But you
Smoky punched Roz in the arm, and not all that gently. “Good thinking, though I hate to admit it. But next time, I’ll take care of the worrying.”
“Easy, Dragon-Boy. I am not after your woman. She has three husbands, and there’s no room for me.” Roz arched one eyebrow, but now he was teasing and the tension slipped away. Though they had actually gone tooth and claw at one point, they were friends now. For the most part.
Camille shook her head. “No use arguing. They’d gang up on us.”
Feeling outnumbered—and loved—I laughed. “Not a problem, as long as we don’t miss our appointment with Howl. I’m not upset he spilled the beans.”
But inside, I was pissed at Roz for sticking his nose in where I hadn’t asked him to. I didn’t
Trenyth seemed to sense my mood. He leaned toward me. “Lady Iris, Ar’jant d’tel—the Queen knows only that you are planning a ‘vacation’ to the Northlands. I did not tell her the reason and, unless it threatens security, I will not tell her. I give you my word.”
Relieved, I forced a smile to my lips. “You’re all right, Trenyth. I owe you one.”
“Just do what you need to do, and reclaim what is rightfully yours.” He lifted my fingers to his lips, gently kissing the top of my hand. A shiver ran through me and I gazed up at him, wondering just how much he knew.
I let out a long sigh and nodded. “Thank you. And we gratefully accept your help. I’m afraid . . . but I have to do this.”
“I know,” he said. “I know.”
MY NAME IS Iris Kuusi, and I’m one of the Talon-haltija, a Finnish house sprite. I was born for greater things. Chosen by the Temple of Undutar when I was very young, I was carried away, much like the young Dalai Lama, and raised to be a priestess. My destiny was to become High Priestess—to rule over ice and mist and fog as the handmaiden of a goddess.
My consort was chosen in much the same way. We were raised together, never questioning our destinies, accepting that we would rule over the Order until we were old, if our goddess willed it.
But shortly before we ascended to our posts—before the elderly Priestess let go and fell into her final, mist- shrouded sleep—something happened, and I left the temple under a cloud of suspicion, never to return.
For six hundred years, when winter sweeps into the land, I feel the chill of the snow in my heart, and in every shadow I see Vikkommin’s accusing face. And I wonder—did I commit the crime of which they accused me? The Elders never ascertained whether I was actually guilty. And in my heart, I do not know the truth. I don’t know if I’m a murderer, or whether I was framed . . .
“WHAT ARE YOU thinking about?” Roz tapped me on the shoulder. I gave him a slow smile, thinking that he, too, had seen a life of pain and torture. The gods were cruel in their play and fate unmerciful in her choices.
“I’m wondering what I’ll find. Whether I’ll be able to find the answers.”
Trenyth glanced over at me from his seat opposite mine. “I have every faith in you, Iris. I trust you are innocent. But you need to prove it, once and for all, to lift the curse and to move on with your life.”
I nodded. There was no going back, no turning around and ignoring it. I wanted to marry Bruce O’Shea, my leprechaun lover, and have children—a whole passel of them. I was still young, young enough to have the large family for which I longed. But until I could answer the questions as to what happened that night, the temple Elders had cursed me to forever be barren.
With these thoughts running through my head, I stared out the window as we passed through the city streets. The houses in Elqaneve all had a mossy, leafy feel, even though they were made of stone and wood just like back Earthside. But their yards and lawns—they were brilliant works of art, living gardens that sparkled and popped with energy. Even in the winter, under a thick blanket of snow, they were filled with ice sculptures and the crystalline look of snow on conifers.
Camille leaned her head against Smoky’s chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. She was five seven, and next to his six four, she was positively diminutive. “Where are we headed?”
I let out a low sigh. “We meet Howl at the Wounded Warrior. It’s an inn.”
“How will we know him? I assume you know what he looks like?”
I nodded, quietly. I knew what Howl looked like all too well. “We’ve talked several times over the years. The last, near the fall equinox when I came to Otherworld with Camille. Howl and I met then, and I asked for his help.” And then I told them what I’d asked.
SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE, near the autumn equinox, I’d journeyed back to Otherworld with Camille and Morio—her second husband. While Camille reunited with her alpha lover Trillian, Morio and I’d prowled the streets of Dahnsburg. I’d left Morio outside in the streets telling him I’d be out later. Howl had instructed me to come alone and I didn’t want him to think I was cheating on our deal, so I entered the tavern by myself. The Crystal Bridge, a sister bar to the Wounded Warrior in Elqaneve, primarily serviced veterans of the Y’Elestrial civil war. Elfin vets, that is. Too many had been killed or captured by Lethesanar, the Opium Eater drugcrazed queen who had been taken down by her sister. A number had retreated to Dahnsburg, on the shores of the Wyvern Ocean, hoping for rejuvenation.
The bar was dark, gloomy, and filled with smoke from a dozen different herbal smoking mixtures. I coughed, glancing around. Amid the shadows that flickered in the dim lights, I saw a variety of elves mingling with Fae and even a few Svartans. But these elves didn’t have the easy look of most of their kin. They were weathered, some missing limbs or limping, and had a look in their eyes that reminded me of myself six hundred years ago. They’d been through hell, and returned.
One wandered up to me and leaned down, his fingers reaching for my hair. “Beauty. You are such a little beauty—”
“I can cut your privates off with a whisper to the wind,” I said, smiling sweetly. “Do you
Most people thought I was a pushover, an easy mark, since I was so short and petite. Some assumed I was mild and delicate; others thought I was a cozy maid. But I’d seen too much to ever be mild or cozy or an easy mark. I hid my memories well, but they were always there to fuel the need to fight.
He looked at me, looked deep in my eyes, and backed off. “No, I don’t think I do. Mistress, be safe on your way.” As he turned to leave, a small gleam of clarity peeked out through his fog-shrouded gaze.
I continued through the bar unaccosted, the cacophony of noise crowding my thoughts. The smells of ale and
