“You and your wife paid me a great service six hundred years ago,” I said quietly. “Your wife bathed my wounds, bandaged them, fed me, and helped me to sleep without pain for the first time in a long while. I wish you’d let me give you something—repay you for the kindness you showed me.”
“My wife?” Jonah blinked. “Althea’s been dead for nigh on two hundred years.” He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “You look familiar, but anymore, I’m afraid I don’t remember much that happened long ago. Thank you, though, for reminding me of what a gentle creature my wife was. The animals came to her for help when they were hurt. Came right up to eat out of her hands. She treated them and kept them in the stables until they were ready to head back into the wild again.” He brushed his hand across his eyes. “I do miss her.”
“What happened?” I asked softly.
“Werewolf got her. Tore her to shreds. I found her remains.” He shuddered.
“I’m so sorry.” I felt bad for bringing up the subject.
Camille noticed and jumped in. “This is incredible stew. What meat is it, might I ask?”
Jonah shook his head, inhaling deeply. “Oxen—the animal of choice around here. We add root vegetables: carrots and potatoes and turnips. Rich gravy and onions.”
Howl set down his spoon. “We are traveling to the ice fields. You know the shadow that lurks on the Skirts of Hel?”
“Yes . . . Don’t tell me you are headed up to challenge it. We’ve lost so many to that black shade of Hel. But then—you
“I am. And with me I have a dragon, a witch, an incubus, and your friend—the Talon-haltija. It is her fight, truly, but we come to give aid.” Howl frowned. “Have you heard any reports lately of the shadow creature?”
Jonah was staring at me in earnest now. “Talon-haltija?” Blinking rapidly, he scooted his chair back. “There were reports, so many hundreds of years ago, of a powerful priestess, a sprite, who misused her powers, and the result . . . was the creation of the shadow creature. Are you she? Were you the Ar’jant d’tel who was disgraced and turned out of Undutar’s temple?”
My cheeks flamed. “I do not know if I am responsible for the shadow—nothing could ever be proven and I have never been able to remember exactly what happened. But yes, I am Iris, and I was Ar’jant d’tel—Chosen of the Gods, the pariah of the temple.”
I bit my lip, praying he wasn’t regretting helping me all those years ago. “I come in search of the truth. To clear my name or to accept my punishment, whatever the case may be.”
Smoky leaned across the table. “We need to sleep. Hold your questions till later, dwarf. Iris is an honored friend of mine, and I am dragon. Do not entertain thoughts I would not cotton to. Understand?”
Jonah’s eyes grew wide. “Not a problem, Lord Iampaatar. I know who you are.” He turned to Howl. “As far as your question, yes, the shadow has been active lately—in fact, he claimed a village girl from the Edanuwit people recently. They found her, her life force drained, her body mangled.”
“How do they know it was the shadow?”
“It leaves a magical residue. If you go looking for it, you’ll surely find it.” And then Jonah bid us good evening and went back to the bar.
I finished my meal but felt terribly self-conscious. It was clear that our conversation had been overheard. The rest of the patrons skirted around us, which was probably just as well, but it made me feel like I had a big red bull’s-eye painted on my back, or a scarlet A on my forehead.
As we headed upstairs to bed, I couldn’t help but hope that when—if—I proved my innocence, every single person who had given me icy stares would hear about it. And in the pie-in-the-sky corner of my wishes, I wanted an apology from every one of them.
MORNING SAW US on the path at the break of dawn, after a hearty meal of eggs, bacon, bread, cheese, and soup. The network of trails joining the villages in the Northlands were a loose affair, opening and closing with the storms that raged down the mountains. We veered onto a fork that would take us to the Skirts of Hel, an ice field that buttressed up against Odin’s Glacier. Apparently, Vikkommin had chosen to make this his home.
“Vikkommin has been following you for years?” Camille struggled to stay on her feet. The trail was hard going, with large patches of ice glazing the surface. In places, small boulders the size of my head were buried just deep enough in the snow to trip over.
“You saw him—that one time when we linked minds. He’s been following me for hundreds of years, daring me to return. I think he believes I was the one who did it. He comes to me in my dreams, looking for revenge.”
As we turned the corner, we found ourselves at a copse of trees. The forest was dark and old, but at least we wouldn’t be pounded so badly by the elements.
Howl glanced at me. “Come. We must get through the woods with all haste.” He ducked under the low- hanging cedar boughs, setting off a shower of snow from the upper reaches of the trees.
I glanced back at Camille, who gave me a brave smile. “I’m sorry I brought you—I asked too much. This can’t be very pleasant.”
“You’re family, Iris. Smoky and I were happy to come.”
“That we were,” the dragon said, kissing the top of Camille’s head. “We would have been worried sick with you out here by yourself.”
“Ditto,” Roz said.
And so, after a long breath, I followed Howl into the depths of the snow-covered wood, with the others behind me. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of wolves howling filled my ears. They were singing of danger, and I knew they were singing to me.
THREE
THE TREE BOUGHS WOVE A SNOW-COVERED lattice above our heads as we entered the White Forest. The path inclined, a steep grade. There would be no respite from now on as we climbed toward the Skirts of Hel.
During the summer, the birches shimmered, their brilliant green leaves shining against white trunks. But during winter, they were barren, lodged between cedar and fir, a reminder of the season long gone.
Creatures lived in the White Forest, twisted and ancient—Elder Fae like the White Woman and Jack-A- Johnny, Blue Manan and Swirling Devon. There were also plenty of Cryptos who made this wood their home: trolls and ogres and others even more terrifying.
We moved silently along the path. I noticed Camille was having a harder time of it—she might be half-Fae with plenty of endurance, but the going was tricky, and the path was already taking a toll on her. She used her yew walking stave for good purpose, keeping herself balanced as she skirted the worst patches of ice on our upward climb.
As we entered the heart of the forest, with the snowfield behind us and the Skirts of Hel still far ahead, I began to notice the silence of the wood. Few birds were about during the season. Here and there a rustle in the wood warned of an animal. Twice, Howl stopped to let out a loud wolf-cry. His howls echoed through the forest, reverberating into the core of my heart.
“What are you telling them?”
“That their Master is here. That all who walk abroad with me are under my protection and not to be eaten.” Howl smiled down at me. “The wolves will listen even though their hunger is keen, and they seek fresh meat. But the others—perhaps not. Do not count on my presence to offer protection against every creature who makes this woodland its home.”
I blinked. “But you definitely help. As my granny used to say, ‘When the wolves are at the door, best have their king sitting inside by the fire.’ ”
“Your grandmother was a wise woman.” He seemed more comfortable now that we were in the forest, striding tall and strong, his pelts barely shielding his bare chest. The cold did not seem to bother him, the snow did not faze him. His feet were encased in thick fur boots, and his trousers were sewn of tanned leather. “So, Mistress Iris, tell me, will it be worth this journey, should you break the curse that lies so heavily on your shoulders?”
I shrugged. “In my culture, being a mother is the highest calling a woman can have. We are the ones who keep the race alive, we are the wellspring of history. Barren women are not ostracized, but those who have been
