Other patterns, other bonds, had become obvious.
Those ties lacked the angry finesse Thyran’s work had possessed, because they had been formed unintentionally. Gizath hadn’t meant to stick Veryon’s spirit in the knife any more than he’d meant to leave the best part of himself behind. Actions had simply resonated when the world was new and the gods had walked with mortals.
Veryon’s trap was to the Sentinels’ delicately crafted soulgems what fermented windfall apples was to good wine: accidental, not nearly as good, but the similarities were there. As with the soulgems, the jewel was the center of the bindings. Unlike the soulgems, it hadn’t been reinforced.
Olvir bent his head closer toward the polished stone. The magic there was another howling din, but he didn’t have to worry about being delicate with that one.
“Silver Wind, guide your servant,” he said, “even now.”
He lifted his spirit, lifted his voice, and sang a single note with all the skill that Edda had ever taught him.
Veryon’s prison shattered.
Chapter 41
Joy, incredulous and overwhelming, flooded Vivian. Even at a distance and secondhand, it swamped her mind. She stood frozen. Ulamir was a faint presence, as awed as she was, Olvir knelt in front of her, and that was as much of existence as Vivian could take in just then. In the shadow of that great elation, she was barely aware of herself.
It would kill her to stay too close to the joy’s source for long—normal humans had never lived side by side with the gods, and she was no priest—but that knowledge brought no fear, only floated within her as an unimportant fact. Such a death was more than Vivian could ever have asked for.
So she didn’t bat an eye when the world glowed before her, taking on a brightness that dwarfed the mirrors and the lightning. A rainbow of colors spread themselves in front of Vivian’s sight, forming stars that dissipated, re-formed, and melted once again into the ever-changing spectrum. It was as hard to keep track of as the Battlefield, but Vivian felt no discomfort observing it.
Within her or around her or both, Letar withdrew slightly. The sense of the goddess resolved itself into words again.
Thank you.
One of Letar’s symbols was a teardrop, like those that marked Vivian’s cheeks. She sounded as if she was weeping now, or would have been had she been a mortal woman. These were tears of joy, though, which the Dark Lady had never shed in any legend Vivian had heard.
Thank you,she said again, and now her voice was flavored with quiet mirth as well.Words have grown smaller in my absence, or I larger, but I doubt they would have sufficed for this moment if I’d spoken them at the beginnings of existence. My children—my saviors—not my mother herself could have foreseen this last act.
Wherever they were was not quite the living world any longer, Vivian realized. Among other differences, Ulamir kept flickering in both appearance and location: the sword she held, then a lithe stonekin man at her right side. He was kneeling, long ruby-red hair falling across his face.
“Cutter of Threads,” he said, and despite being sure she’d come to the limit of her capacity for astonishment, Vivian still blinked when she actually heard his voice. “Lady of Mercy. It was our duty and our honor.”
And your service not least, blood of my beloved,said Letar.You, who turned from my halls for duty, without whom my sorrow would have perhaps never ended.
It was the work of many, said Ulamir, and my companions most of all, here at the last.
Vivian hadn’t, couldn’t have, forgotten about Olvir, but hearing the plural from Ulamir yanked her attention sharply away from even the goddess’s presence.
The knight still knelt as he’d been kneeling all along, hands on a knife whose hilt now held a shattered stone. Vivian could see his chest rising and falling as he breathed, but otherwise he remained immobile.
She stepped—or moved, since her feet worked oddly—forward and put a hand on his shoulder. It was like touching a living statue.
The pain of her broken leg had been nothing in comparison.
“Olvir,” she said, choking on the second syllable of the name. Then she looked up, though the sky overhead was no different from the world in front of her. “Lady—”
I understand,said Letar gently.He went beyond his strength at the last. A shard of our power may burn its vessel, if used too long and hard. But healing is mine to command, and you love him.
She didn’t bother asking, but Vivian said “Yes” anyhow.
Then there is yet work we may do.
“Anything.”
Suddenly, Olvir was facing her. His hands were empty now, but his head was still bent. He stared at his interlaced fingers and the colors shining in the air beyond them. Clearly, he saw nothing.
I have helped to make you a weapon,said Letar.Will you be a vessel for me, in this moment, on this ground?
