The mirror was one of his prize possessions, won from Sammael’s kingdom after a border skirmish a few centuries ago. Encased in a ribcage of blackened Styxa bones, the glass was enchanted to show Gadreel what he most needed to see. In the past, this had often been himself, clad in the colors that would showcase his blue eyes to best effect, or a member of his court who threatened to betray him. Never had it shown him what took place aboveground; that was beyond its power. But now, it revealed fathomless waters, lapping at strange shores under the light of the Bone Moon. In their depths, Gadreel made out the reflection of a white fortress, its battlements and towers wavering as the water rippled. Though he had never been here in person, he recognized it well enough.
This was Volshetska, the fortress that housed the Magiya Library.
Intrigued, Gadreel stood and stepped closer. Why would the mirror show him this? His Dimi and her companions could not have reached the Magiya yet. Besides, his kind could not cross Lake Svetloyar. It was running water, blessed by the trifold Saints and guarded by some of Iriska’s finest warriors. Did his foolish mirror expect him to go for a swim? Or worse yet, was it suggesting he attempt to put an end to himself?
It didn’t matter, at any rate. He had no means of reaching the lake’s location, not with the forest’s spirits blocking him at every turn.
“Stop it,” he said to the mirror, disgusted. “I have enough problems.”
But the mirror did no such thing. Quite to the contrary; it rippled again, in a manner Gadreel might have labeled as insistent if he believed glass capable of possessing a personality. The lap of water grew louder, in a way that almost sounded as if?—
As if this were not a mirror, but a portal.
Tentatively, half-expecting to be attacked by he-knew-not-what, Gadreel extended a finger and touched the mirror’s surface. It gave, the tip of his finger sinking into ice-cold water, and he snatched it back again as if burned.
What the Devil?
His finger was wet. Droplets clung to it, and he stared at them in wonder. There, on the other side of the glass, lay Lake Svetloyar, and beyond it, his Dimi’s destination.
Bewildered, Gadreel glanced back and forth between the mirror and his dripping finger. He tried again, this time immersing his hand to the wrist, and this time, he could swear something reached back, grabbing him?—
The Dark Angel of War yanked his hand out of the mirror and stepped backward, wary. He had no desire to meet the same end as his army, should a Mavka await him, eager to suck his soul out through his nether regions and send him hurtling into the pit.
The mirror gave what sounded for all the world like a huff of impatience. Its angle changed, delving down into the lake’s clear water. Multicolored fish darted by, weaving among reeds that bent and swayed with the current. Gadreel winced as he caught a glimpse of the long hair and pale face of a Mavka, reclining on a protrusion of underwater rock. What was the point of this little tour? Did the mirror simply wish to rub in his humiliation?
The water deepened, shading from aqua to cobalt as the sun’s rays retreated. At last, the image in the mirror stilled, coming to rest on a grand limestone structure that stretched from left to right, spanning the lake. This was the bridge that led to Volshetska, hidden underwater for purposes of safety, rising only when summoned on either side by a Dimi who knew the spell to raise it. Why would the mirror show him such a thing?
Gadreel peered closer. He could see the ward-runes engraved on the bridge’s surface, for protection, safety, Light—but something was wrong with them. The bridge’s stone had crumbled, but not in a way that seemed natural. It looked almost…bitten, as if something had been gnawing at it, erasing it bit by bit.
He recognized that particular style of destruction. This was the Darkness at work.
Was it possible that the Darkness had bubbled up through the waters of Lake Svetloyar? Rumor had it that Lake Wraith, at the foot of Mount Woe, was this lake’s twin. As above, so below, as the foolish Dimis and their Babas liked to say. If the Darkness had penetrated Lake Wraith, could it have reached this one?
Gadreel tilted his head, considering. In his years of wanting to invade the place Iriska most held dear, he had never dreamed such a thing would be possible. Even had he tried to fly across the lake in winged form, the magic that protected it would have dragged him down. But now, if the Darkness had erased the runes on the bridge, then perhaps he could cross it. He could enter Volshetska with what remained of his armies, catch the fortress’s guards unaware, and slaughter them all, then hide and wait for his Firebird to arrive.
But how? No Dimi would raise this bridge for him. Damaged runes or not, it lurked at the bottom of the lake, and he had no ability to lift it.
The image in the mirror shifted, changing again. Now it showed him the Druzhina Guard in their signature black-and-magenta uniforms, slipping through the forest, avoiding the tarlike patches of Darkness that bubbled up through the mulch and leaves. They marched in hot pursuit of Dimi Ivanova and her party, determined to intercept them before they reached the Magiya and drag them back for execution. Though Gadreel could not hear the words they shared, the grim expressions on their faces and the unmistakable sense of urgency that drifted through the mirror like sifting smoke conveyed as much.
The guards would reach the shores of Lake Svetloyar. Surely, they knew the spell to raise the bridge. All he had to do was step through this mirror with his armies, lie in wait, and then disguise himself as Dimi Ivanova and offer himself up for the taking.
The Druzhina would take the bait. They would lead him straight to their sanctuary, and the guards at Volshetska would welcome him and his advance party with open arms, thinking them to be the fugitives they sought. Then, once Gadreel had reached the other side, the rest of his battalions would cross. They would slaughter their enemies, leaving one alive long enough to lower the bridge, so as not to arouse his Firebird’s suspicions when she arrived on Svetloyar’s shores. And then, hidden from sight behind Volshetka’s walls, he would wait for her, for surely she knew the spell to raise the bridge once more. When she and her party crossed, he would be there to meet them.
It was a wild plan, dependent on luck, timing, and supposition. But Gadreel had always been a gambler, something Sammael had spent millennia mocking him for. He had tried to strategize where Katerina Ivanova was concerned, but look where it had gotten him: stabbed in the heart, bound by vines, and humiliated several times over. And he had had enough.
This was a gift, and he would not be foolish or cowardly enough to reject it.
He turned from the mirror and strode to his bedchamber’s door. Yanking it open, he roared a summons to any soldiers who remained on his palace’s grounds.
Time to roll the dice.
Chapter Thirty-Four
KATERINA
Seven grueling days of travel later, they reached the base of the mountain that sheltered Volshetska Fortress and the Magiya. The closer they got, the more Katerina worried that perhaps she’d pinned all their hopes on a pipe dream. The library was guarded by the members of the Druzhina who were ousted every two years by the newest victors of the Trials. They were unlikely to be any friendlier to Niko and Katerina than the members of the Guard in Rivki.
What did she expect, that they’d march in and be welcomed as weary travelers, offered hot drinks and clean clothes? That the scribes would wave them into the library’s stacks, saying, “Right this way?” It was far more likely that, were they unable to convince the scribes and the Guard of their pure intent, they’d wind up hanging from the gallows here. Perhaps all they’d done was delay their demise. But they had to try. What was the alternative?
