The small laugh was knowing and ironic. “Deceit is part of the game, and she plays it quite well.”
“What was the bargain you made with the kings?”
“To hide the runes until it was safe to return.”
“It was never safe, though.”
“No. Deceit was all they knew. And a craven need to destroy. Had I returned, I would have been dead before I could speak.”
“And what was the bargain with Aine?”
“A refuge from the weight of the world, in exchange for declawed queens.”
I tipped my head. “You didn’t foresee the outcome?”
“You think to trick me, girl?” The mother was gone. In her place was the crone with her dowager’s hump, her toothless smile in a wrinkled, age-spotted face. She wore rags, tied together with many scarves, a sad mimic of the disjointed creatures she put together, tried to bring to life.
I let pity for this sorceress burn for fifteen seconds before I smudged it out. “Two of the greatest seers are dead because of you. An entire coven suffers. Imposters roam the world pretending to be you.”
A cackle as the laugh. “None of them have my power.”
“None of them are held prisoner.”
The old woman shook herself, and once again it was the young girl in white who faced me. Effa’s agitation was a warning, along with Caerwen’s still, ready posture.
“What bargain do you wish to make, girl?” the young Pelonie asked.
“Allow me to put the seidr magic right. End the cycle.”
“Impossible. You cannot wield such magic.”
I glanced around the cave, at the misassembled skeletons, the carved sticks thrust into the ground. The niches carved into the stone walls, hundreds of niches, holding hundreds of stones, some carved with runes.
A throbbing pulse, faint and thready, floated in the air. My throat closed up until I swallowed.
“You still have the trapped wolves,” I said. “The rune stones.”
The young girl waved a languid hand. “Somewhere in this mess. Although most of them have died.” Her smile turned coy. “They only live as long as their queens, and it’s been centuries. All of them, dead and gone. Good riddance.”
“Amal is alive,” I said. “An original queen. Return her wolf.”
Pelonie stilled. “How can this be?”
“Vampires turned her. She’s as immortal as you are—an unending chance for you to put this right.”
“Vile abominations—vampires. I’d rather rot than do what you ask.”
Effa plucked at the bow slung over my shoulder. Caerwen had stepped to the side. Her hands were at her sides, but her fingers twitched, and small pebbles at her feet began to roll around.
From the shadows, I saw what had alarmed the nymphs. Small, bony creatures were creeping forward. Some were crab-like, with flat, wide bodies and jointed legs. Others reminded me of those Amal created, but without flesh and blood, and impossible to kill since they were nothing more than animated bones. I reached into my pocket and closed my fingers around the effigy. Around the energy vibrating through it.
More skeletal things emerged. In the corners, they were already several layers deep, like rolling skulls, some of them. A faint clacking sent frissons of distress down my spine.
I stiffened, let the ice creep in, the ice I’d always felt when facing bullies.
“What of your spiritual descendants?” I asked the young Pelonie. She’d folded her hands in front of her, framed by her white gown. “Amal will continue to hunt and kill them.”
“They are not my concern.”
