“I’m Windsong. I raised him, with most of the rest of us here. Who are you? Why is he not in the capital?”

  “I am Raliel Dark-Smile. This is my friend Moon, and Osian is my companion for my Heir’s Journey.”

  Windsong paused in obvious but very brief shock before she bowed at the waist. “Heir. Welcome to Four Ridges. We can put you in the teahouse while we send for Syra.”

  Lovely, simple buildings of bright wood and plaster spread within the boundaries of the manor walls, few higher than one level. Lanterns danced in the cold breeze, strung across lanes and allies. Chickens wandered, feathers fluffed; Raliel heard the clang of a smithery, and somewhere someone played a flute. A handful of women approached them, looking between Moon, the horse’s obvious burden, and Windsong.

  “Osian?” called another of the women. “Sunrise?” said another, and Raliel smiled. It was a good nickname for him.

  Osian’s head bobbed awkwardly, and he lifted a hand, but his smile was painful. “Auntie,” he said.

  Raliel stepped forward. “I am Raliel Dark-Smile, and Osian was injured in my service. Anything you can do for him will put me in your debt. He needs his mother.”

  A woman with mounds of long black hair bound in three buns rushed forward, putting her hands on Osian’s knee—nearly shoving Moon out of the way. Another woman followed, arm going around the first woman’s shoulders, and she glared at Moon. Moon sneered back, then wiped its face of expression, ducking around to hide beside Raliel. Many of the women shot it suspicious and fearful looks.

  More and more women appeared. They were all older than Raliel, a few wrinkled enough to be grandmothers. Most were pale ivory or light copper, but there was a woman with skin darker brown than Raliel had seen outside the palace. A few had the shaved heads of witches, and they all dressed in heavy wool layers, trimmed in fur and bright ribbons.

  “Let us care for… him. In his childhood home.” Windsong eyed Osian affectionately.

  Raliel looked to Osian for an answer. “Please,” he said, voice hoarse. “Aunties, I need to remain with Raliel. She is… I am… I should be near Moon if something…” He trailed off.

  It was his illness exhausting him, but it sounded like a dramatic pause.

  “But, Osian,” said a woman with more wrinkles than Raliel’s grandmother Love-Eyes.

  Osian took a breath and coughed, listing to the side, and the women on either side caught him. He stood on his own, carefully stepping away. “Aunties. Raliel is good. Moon is good. I will be well with them until Mother comes.”

  A new woman stepped closer. She wore bright blue and her eyes were a startling pale-brown, like sunlight. “I am Tali. I nursed him because his mother was ill,” she said, with a dazzling smile despite the fat tears that plopped off her lower lashes as she patted Osian’s cheek. “Come with me. I will settle you three in our finest room.”

  Windsong remained with Moon to care for the horses while Tali and Raliel each took one of Osian’s elbows. Tali took them to a house with long silver bells clinging to the eaves and round windows with their shutters flung open. “We have two other guests at the moment. They shouldn’t bother you.”

  The room was large enough to have two screened bedchambers, a common dining area, and a bathroom. Once Tali had promised food and left, Raliel nudged Osian toward one of the beds. “Sleep as long as you need,” she ordered. Then, as he stumbled around the screen, she followed and crouched to help him off with his boots.

  “Ah, Raliel, you shouldn’t,” he protested, bending too.

  She batted his hands away. “You nearly died protecting us. Again. So stand there and take it.”

  Osian pressed his mouth in a line under her sharp glare. He looked so different without the demon-kissed coloring. Younger and more vulnerable. Which, of course, he was not. It had always been an illusion. Raliel drew a deep breath and softened her expression.

  “What are we going to do?” Osian asked.

  “We are going to rest. Until your mother comes.”

  “She’ll hate you.”

  “But help you?”

  Osian looked away. He was too pale, too wavering, the bruise of his bones under his paper-thin skin filled her with fear. Raliel did not force him to speak. She’d leave her forcing for Syra Bear Mistress.

  Once his shoes were off, it was quick work to remove his outer layers and tuck him into the low bed. He passed out before she’d finished gathering his things for the laundry.

  When Raliel emerged, it was to Moon standing in the middle of the floor, their shared bag slumped against his ankle.

  She blinked. It should be disorienting to see the stark lines of her dream-Osian-Moon in the rich blond of the wooden room, against green and teal hangings and in bright sunlight streaming through the latticed windows. But, instead, she felt a surge of relief. Of gladness.

  “Bath?” it said.

  Raliel nodded.

  The tiled floor of the small bathroom was quite cold, but a fire burned in the stove, directing heat through several pipes for a warming rack and easily heated water. Raliel used a bit of Moon’s stored aether to heat it faster, then stripped and got into the tub. Moon picked up her dirty clothes, rolling them for laundering, as she scrubbed at her skin with a soft bar of apple-smelling soap.

  The great demon dragged over a short stool and set it beside the tub. “Hair?” it offered, and Raliel glanced at it. Nothing showed on its stark face—its pretty, dimpled, sweet face borrowed from Osian. Then Moon blinked and lifted brows so that it seemed to gently plead with her. Raliel sighed softly and sank deeper into the water, burying herself in it so that her hair floated and sank too. She wiped her cheeks as she held her breath, heat prickling her eyelids, her lips, filling her nostrils until she gently blew them clear and sat up, careful not to spill over the rim.

  Moon gathered her hair and slowly worked in soap. It kneaded, combed its fingers through, lathering well and saying nothing. Raliel brought her knees up to her breasts and held them, letting her eyes drift shut. “Sing something,” she murmured, and the great demon hummed one of her mother’s slow, sweet compositions.

  Raliel relaxed slowly, nearly to sleep, except for the tender tugging of her hair and the splash of water keeping her alert. Moon let its fingers brush the nape of her neck, the shells of her ears, and when it finished rinsing her hair of soap, twisted the weight of it into a knot and slid two hair sticks to secure it. Then Moon rubbed gently down her neck and squeezed her shoulders. “We should contact your parents.”

  Raliel groaned. She did not want to. The demon slipped its hands back to her neck and curled its fingers gently around her throat. Shivering despite the steamy water, Raliel pushed back to lean against the tub, and Moon shifted until its arm came around her neck instead, embracing her. Its sleeve touched the water, its elbow pressed to the silver amulet she hadn’t removed. Moon pressed its cheek to hers.

  Its voice whispered past the corner of her lips, and Raliel leaned into it. “Raliel. My Raliel.”

  Being here in its embrace, hot in the water, she felt safe. And Osian was as safe as could be until his mother arrived. So finally Raliel said what she’d feared for weeks, “I think… something must be wrong in the palace, Moon. They wouldn’t have risked hurting us if they didn’t need us—you—back. They are sending messages with the Warriors of the Last Means for a reason. But if I talk to them, I’ll know, and I won’t be able to stay away. I’ll take you back.”

  “They couldn’t hide my absence forever. They need me home. To protect the empire. Their reputations.” Moon’s lashes brushed her temple as it blinked quickly.

  For a few breaths they remained so, until Raliel whispered, “Is it home to you?”

  “Yes,” Moon answered immediately. “But that doesn’t make me want to return. I like being out with you, like this. A self of my own.”

  “I like it,” she whispered. “I like you with a self of your own. I wish we had more chances to… enjoy it.”

  “We’ll keep enjoying it,” Moon said ferociously. “We can now. I don’t know if—I don’t know if you’re a sorcerer. I don’t know if what we’re doing—what we’ve done—counts. I don’t know what will happen if we can change the amulet, if we can make it a real sorcerer binding. But I won’t stop trying. I won’t go back unless you promise not to stop too.”

  Raliel thought back to the promises they’d made to each other. On the beach at midsummer. To help. To do no harm. “I promise,” she whispered.

  FOUR

  RALIEL DRESSED, AND AFTER Moon combed her hair she offered it more of her blood to gobble up. Together they headed down to the lobby to brew a pot of tea.

  Seated at one of the low tables, already with a steaming teapot and two cups, were a beautiful woman the Second Consort’s age and an androgynous youth with watery blond hair cut sleekly at their jawline. The two turned immediately to Raliel and Moon.

  Raliel nodded and made her way to the wall of tea sets. She knew neither.

  Before she could begin selecting, she heard a sharp gasp behind her, just as the great demon hissed, “Selegan!” and flew at the youth with inhuman speed.

  The great demon grabbed the blond youth by the neck and flung them away in an explosion of aether. The youth twisted into a dragon—a very small dragon, hardly larger than it had been as a youth—with three tails, a long feathered mane, horns, rippling silver-rainbow scales, and bright blue eyes. It hung in the air, wingless, exuding waves of bright aether that forced Raliel to shield her eyes with a raised hand.

  The dragon’s companion had not moved from her seat at the low table. The woman’s perfect posture held, and she gracefully lifted a teacup to sip, watching.

  Raliel stared at the dragon. Moon had called it the Selegan River. But here at the Fourth Mountain they were days and days away from its house. Raliel hadn’t even known a river spirit could do such a thing. Was it also a familiar to this woman sipping her tea?

  As Moon had not attacked again, but glared at the dragon, fists clenched at its sides, Raliel chose to continue selecting her tea, forcing a semblance of calm. Turning her back to the room was difficult, but she managed, picked a tray with a deep red pot and cups painted black and red.

  “The third drawer from the left has a very crisp winterberry,” said the beautiful older woman, her voice as lovely as her face.

  “Do they have juniper or evergreen?” Raliel asked, thinking of her father’s favorite.

  “Two drawers below that.”

  “Thank you,” Raliel said, and found a satchel that smelled sharp and cold. As she carried the tray to the hearth for hot water, she glanced at the great demon. “Moon,” she said firmly.

  “What are you doing here, Selegan?” Moon demanded.

  The dragon landed on two feet, back in their youthful shape. Sixteen, perhaps, neither particularly masculine or feminine, wearing traveling tunic and boots in all the blues of a mountain stream. “We came to see the heir, on behalf of her family,” they said, and bowed.

  Raliel lifted her eyebrows. She nodded to the dragon, then looked at the woman. “I am the heir,” she said, giving the woman a chance to introduce herself in return.

  From her seat the woman smiled without showing teeth. Her eyes changed: from homely brown, one melted into a deathly yellow-white like old bones and the other brightened into a brazen green. “Shadows of the Fifth Mountain,” she said simply.

  The sorceress of the Fifth Mountain. Raliel held herself very still. Was the great demon Night Shine here too?

  Moon’s entire body wavered before it caught itself and solidified. Its shoulders heaved with the effort, then resettled, and its hair drifted up as if suddenly untethered by gravity.

  “Sorceress,” Raliel said, and nothing more before bringing her tea to the same table. She sat across from the sorceress. Moon stomped over and joined her, a scowl marring its pretty white face. And then came the dragon-youth, slipping silently over the tiles to perch across from Moon.

  The four of them remained silent as Raliel’s tea steeped, and she poured it for herself and Moon, even knowing the demon wouldn’t partake. Then she offered some to the sorceress and politely poured. The tiny honey pot she’d found with the tea sets had a little dipper of pale wood, and the honey curled off it in perfect little streams Raliel found soothing. The Selegan River asked for some, too, once Raliel had added hers. Raliel handed it the little pot, and the youth grinned, using their finger to scoop out a large golden dollop.

  Moon scoffed, as if above such things.

  Raliel drank her tea and studied the sorceress, who studied her back. She said, “Why did they send you?”

  Moon said, “The sorceress of the Fifth Mountain is not sent anywhere.”

  Ignoring him, Shadows said, “They wish to know you are well, to offer aid you require, and remind you of your duties to the palace, to the empire.” Shadows’s voice soothed Raliel just like the honey, very silky and confident. Even wearing plain black and brown robes and a long braided wool jacket like a pilgrim, something about the sorceress exuded refinement and skill. Raliel wondered if it was an aura she actively cultivated with magic.

  Moon leaned forward. “Where is Night Shine?” it asked quietly, dangerously.

  “In your palace, of course,” Shadows replied. She met the demon’s gaze without fear. Which made sense, as she was the only other confidant of a great demon in the known world.

  “Doing what?” Moon seemed to be a little larger than usual. Its hair and eyes crackled with shadowy aether.

  “Guarding it against danger. From Syra Bear Mistress, apparently. And the twin sorcerers of the Third and Second Mountains, who have been inquiring lately.”

  Raliel remembered the appraising look A Dance of Stars had given her in the palace corridor, and her father’s bitter warning that the sorcerers wanted a great demon.

  “We all felt it,” Shadows said. “When you and your great demon stepped into the paths of sorcery last month. All masters of the mountains know—that is why they attacked the palace.”

  “A Dance of Stars?” Raliel demanded as Moon hissed through blunt human teeth.

  “A Still Wind, but”—Shadows shrugged with all her elegance—“those two do nothing separately. They want your demon.”

  Beside Raliel, Moon rippled. It clamped down on its power, but she could feel it seething.

  “Is everyone all right?” Raliel asked.

  “Yes. Night Shine held the sorcerer off, and they will not be allowed to attack again. A compromise has been reached between the mountains.”

  Moon bared its teeth again. “What is the price of this compromise?”

  The sorceress turned her death-white and vivid green eyes onto Moon. She studied it for a moment, and her expression seemed to soften into something like fondness. In response, Moon snarled.

  Shadows laughed lightly. “No price for you.”

  The Selegan River suddenly said, “Raliel Dark-Smile, I’ve wished to meet you for all your life—but especially since I heard your name.”

  Smiling as much as she could manage under the circumstances, Raliel said, “I am glad to meet you, Selegan. I haven’t had a chance to swim in your waters, but I have admired the glint of light along your length and the way you cradle the western city.”

  The youth looked down as if to hide a flush they could not experience. “You would be welcome in my waters,” they murmured.

  Raliel finished her tea and set the cup down. She turned fully to Shadows. “Sorceress, how did you give your great demon a piece of your heart?”

  Shadows laughed once again, her expression warming further. “Enough with the pleasantries, I see.”

  Raliel waited. Beside her, Moon leaned on its elbows, eyes vivid black and fixed on the sorceress.

  “Magic, of course,” she said. Then she grinned, and her teeth were layered and jagged as a shark’s. “It was no trick. I simply took out a piece of my heart, because I am a great sorcerer, and I gave it to my demon to fuel its transformation. Just as you have done something”—she slid a look at Moon—“traded something of her body to achieve this manifestation. Not a piece of your heart. Blood? Sex? And away from a house, indeed. Unless you are its house, Raliel Dark-Smile?”

  “Partially,” Raliel admitted. She breathed deeply and poured more tea. She did not look at Moon. And she did not think about sex.

  “Why didn’t it work?” Moon demanded. “Why did your demon appear in my house?”

  “That I do not know, though I have theories. Tell me what you really want to know, and I will tell you the theory that fits it best.”

  Moon bared its teeth in a sneer, those dimples it stole from Osian flashing, and Raliel touched its wrist. She said to the sorceress, “You lost your familiar, then, yes? You gave Night Shine your heart, and she was reborn a living demon far away. But you were bound until then, weren’t you? A true shared binding?”

  “Yes.” Amusement fled Shadows’s face.

  “How did the binding change then? Your sorcerer-demon bond.”

  “That part was only a question of names.”

  “Names?”

  “Names, yes. Names are all that matter for the binding, whether witch or sorcerer, familiar or great demon.” Her tone said, You should know this. “We changed my great demon’s name when I gave her my heart, and it changed our relationship, her entire self, her power, her heart, her life.”

  “That’s all it takes, even for a great demon’s bind?” Moon slouched. “My binding is different from most.”

  “But does anything else power the great amulet of the palace? You exchange names and vows, and the power of the amulet takes over, yes?”

  Moon nodded.

  The sorceress lifted her eyebrows as if to say, That’s all it takes.

  That and an incredible amount of pure aether.

  “So all Moon must do is change its name,” Raliel said softly. “No heart, no sorcery. Just, change your name.” Growing incredulity heated her, and she struggled for her snowy calm. That was too simple, too easy. The Scale would have known that!