She writhed in his grasp, scrabbling desperately for the dagger at her hip. She tore it free from its sheath and drove it upward, as hard as she could, but it merely passed through him.
“I told you, little Empress. You cannot kill a shadow.”
She twisted around so she could look into his eyes—their fathomless depths seemed to swallow her, and her hatred of him evaporated her fear. “When I find you in your Mountain, you will not be a shadow. I will kill you then.”
He laughed. “Then run. Run to the Mountain. See what awaits you there.”
He released her so suddenly she fell in a jumble, her right hand sliding in a pool of blood. For an instant all she could do was stare, horror clawing at the edges of her vision: the youngest priestess lay dead on the floor, a jagged red line slashed across her throat, her eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.
And then a hand closed around Eda’s, and someone pulled her to her feet, tugging her insistently to the door. She had a glimpse of a blue and red poncho and a boy’s dark hair, before they burst out into the night, the spray of breathtaking stars savagely incongruous with the slaughter they had left behind.
She planted her feet and looked back at the great hall, her head wheeling.
“We have to go,” said the boy. “We have to gonow.”
She allowed him to pull her down the path, stumbling over loose rocks as she ran. She felt numb and strange, the shadow-god’s words echoing in her ears:You are to be queen, when the spirits are free. It’s why I made you. Why I called you.
A distant part of her realized the boy running with her down the mountain was Morin.
Chapter Thirty
EDA YANKED HER HAND OUT OFMORIN’Sand stopped dead on the trail, gasping for air.
He stopped too, though the tension evident in every line of his body screamed his desire to keep running.
“What are you doing here? Where are you taking me?” She couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t shut out the images of the dead priestess’s eyes or the Haldan woman’s headless body crumpling to the floor.
“Up the Rise.”
“What?”
He grabbed her hand again, his eyes intent on hers. “I’m taking you to find Tuer’s Mountain.”
And then they were hurtling down the path again, the stars a blur of silver above them.
They slowed a little as they reached the village, a haphazard collection of stone cottages sprinkled about the sprawling valley. A river curled away to the west, hugging the shoulder of the mountain.
Eda couldn’t run anymore, pain stabbing up through her ribs, but she walked as quickly as she could, gulping mouthfuls of icy air. Beyond the outskirts of the village, Morin led her up a worn track to another stone cottage. Flags flapped on a line that stretched from the peak of the roof to the top of a stone well. A pen of sleepy goats butted up next to the house.
The door creaked open and a girl looked out—Tainir, the same girl who had operated the aerial lift. She looked older somehow than she had earlier, her hair tangled about her shoulders, her face smudged with dirt. Eda realized why her eyes had looked so familiar, why she’d recognized Tainir’s surname—she must be Morin’s sister.
“Is everything ready?” said Morin.
Tainir nodded. “We can leave as soon as she changes.”
Morin waved Eda toward the door and she stepped inside. The cottage was impossibly cramped, a worn canvas couch facing the fireplace, an iron stove in the corner, a table under one small window, and a doorway hung with a leather covering that Eda assumed led back to sleeping quarters. Three huge packs were piled by the front door with coils of rope and a battered kettle.
A lantern burned from the center of the table, which was covered in half-drawn maps, ink bottles, and paint jars. An intricate collection of pen nibs and brushes marched neatly beside the inks and paints, organized by size. Eda was reminded with a pang of Niren and her illuminated manuscripts.
Tainir pressed a mug into Eda’s hands, steam curling up. “Drink it quick—we’ve a long way to go before morning. You can change back there.” She waved toward the leather-covered doorway.
Numbly, Eda slipped behind the covering, which concealed a short hallway and two tiny bedrooms. In one, a set of clothes was laid out for her. With shaking fingers, she clawed at the priestesses’ dress, having to rip the buttons off because she couldn’t undo them by herself. The white silk puddled on the floor, spattered with red. She drew on the trousers, shirt, and thick poncho quickly, then gulped down the contents of the mug: gods-blessed Enduenan tea.
Morin and Tainir were waiting for her in the front room, each wearing a pack. Tainir helped Eda into the remaining pack, adjusting it on her shoulders and tightening the strap across her chest.
“Let’s go,” said Morin grimly.
All three of them stepped out into the night, Morin pausing to lock the door. He led the way up the path that wound behind the house, and Eda followed in a daze. She was dimly aware of a pair of graves a little ways off the trail, spread with wildflowers and illuminated by a single lantern. Tainir went to blow it out.
