XV
A Shield for the Hounds
MATILDA Thile, god of dusk, oaths, and summer. The Lord of the Skywards.
And yet my father’s name—a sound I had longed to hear—struck no chord within me as I held my dead mother in my arms. Time seemed to melt away, leaving me frozen in a moment that felt as dark, cruel, and cold as the winter solstice. My vision blurred as tears stung my eyes. When I blinked, they fell, gathering on my mother’s face like rain.
At last, the chime of shifting coins, the clatter of a silver chalice hitting the ground, the rustle of dresses being yanked off their hooks prompted me to look up at Phelyra. The goddess of coin and revelry, who now had taken fire, winter, and cunning. Her power was immense. I could feel it in the room as if she were an eddy in the ocean.
“Why?” I rasped.
My query made her pause, but only for a second, as if she had forgotten all about me. I realized she had been darting about her burrow, packing in haste. Filling her enchanted pockets with as many of her possessions as she could carry.
“Oh, sweet child,” she said, voice soft with pity. “Our well-laid plans have fallen apart, and it was either her or me. Your mother would not fault me for it. I had to protect myself, and that meant removing her voice. You will understand this one day.”
“No,” I said, my shock burning away into fury. “No, I won’t. I will never betray an ally like you have.”
“You are fortunate that your magic is so humble that I do not want it.
That I have spared you.” She continued to pack, shoving a blue cloak into a pocket, then a small coffer that overflowed with a string of pearls. “You should run, Matilda. It is no longer safe here for you. Run, child. If Dacre catches you, he will torture you for answers.”
With that, Phelyra was gone.
She darted from her burrow, leaving the door wide open.
I wondered where she was going, where she would flee to.
And while the last thing I desired was to take a treacherous ally’s advice, I heard shouts in the corridor. Alva’s voice, followed by Dacre’s.
They were heading this way.
Sparks stirred in my chest, smoldering through the despair, the lingering numbness.
When I tried to lay my mother down, I couldn’t. Not with the shaft of wood still piercing her neck. Teeth gritted, I yanked it free, wincing to feel the scale shred through her again. But the weapon was in my hand now, slick and golden with her ichor.
My mother had not known Phelyra possessed a scale. If she had, she would have never turned her back on her. It would have ended their allyship, because the power between them would have been imbalanced.
And I wondered where Phelyra had come by this scale. My mother must have assumed Phelyra had traded it on the black market, not realizing her ally had kept it instead.
I hesitated, then tucked the eithral arrow away into one of my pockets.
Gently, I laid my mother down.
It devastated me that I could not do more for her. That I had to abandon her body here.
“I will not forget this, Mother,” I whispered, and then rose to my feet.
“Find your rest in the mists.”
Trembling, I ran to the forge.
I ran to Bade.
He must have known I was in danger.
Bade found me in the corridors, the two of us nearly colliding in a swirl of fog. His eyes widened as he took me in—ragged, blood splattered,
shaking like a leaf.
“Are you wounded?” he asked gruffly.
I had learned long ago that he took this tone when he was worried and trying to hide it. I shook my head, words buried between my bones. If I spoke, I would weep, and I could not afford to look feeble.
Voices continued to echo in my wake. The shouts were angrier, turning decisive. In the distance, a hound began to bay.
Bade glanced behind me, alarmed.
I could only hope that Dacre had summoned the hounds to track down Phelyra and my mother. But once he realized Zenia was dead, I had no doubt the hounds would come for me next. And there would be a slim chance of me evading them. They were strong, fast creatures who followed scent trails.
Bade took my hand, and I could have collapsed in relief. To feel his warm, strong fingers take mine bolstered my courage.
“Come with me,” he murmured, and together we ran to his burrow.
Hem was working in the forge, but he paused at the sight of me, hammer in hand, brows arching.
“Hem?” Bade said calmly. “Will you please find a sword and a shield for Matilda?”
Hem bowed his head and set down the hammer. Bade continued to lead me through the door to his burrow, our strides hurried as we left the metal and smoke of the forge behind. He expected me to fight, but I did not know if I was strong enough to ward off the hounds. I wondered if Phelyra had spoken truthfully; would Dacre torture me for information?
“Adria?” Bade called when we reached the common room. Here, he finally released my hand. “Will you pack some provisions? Water in a flask, and food that will last a sennight?”
Adria appeared from the adjacent room, a stack of books in her arms.
She was wearing a white dress, ruby brooches pinned at her shoulders. Her light brown hair was brushed smooth as silk, her face radiant. Upon first glance, I would have never known she was not one of us. I would have
never known she had been born mortal, so gracefully did she wear her immortality and power, save for the compassion that dwelled constant in
her eyes, in her heart.
Her fault line was my own.
And when our gazes met, I saw something flicker through her.
Something dark and beautiful, reflected from myself. There was more to her magic, just as there was more to mine.
“Matilda!” She dropped the books. “You’re hurt!”
“I … no, my mother is dead,” I managed to say, and the words emerged as a hollow announcement.
Both Adria and Bade stiffened, continuing to stare at me, wide-eyed.
“Who killed her?” Bade asked quietly.
“Phelyra.”
I told them about the eithral scales, the black market.
A muscle shifted in Bade’s clenched jaw. He had not been aware of any of this, and he glanced at Adria. The two of them seemed to speak without words, a current that went over my head.
The moment was broken by Hem, who had arrived with a sword and shield for me.
“Sir?” he said, extending the offerings.
While Adria rushed to pack food in a leather satchel, Bade took the weapons.
“Admit no one,” he said to Hem, who bowed once more and left to guard the door. “Here, Matilda. These might slow you down, but you need to take the sword and shield with you and be prepared to use them.”
I swallowed, gazing at the familiar broadsword. It was my favorite one, forged by Hem, and I had practiced relentlessly with it over the past few seasons.
Where am I to go? I wanted to ask. Can I not stay with you?
That is what I had been fervently hoping for—that Bade would hide me in his burrow. But what a foolish fancy; of course he would not. I was not his daughter. I was only a god-child he had reluctantly sworn to aid.
Instead, I said, “I do not need a shield. I still have the one you first gave me.”
Bade blinked. “Where is it, then?”
I recalled my shield from the moonstone pocket. It flashed upon my sinister arm, ready, and Bade chuckled in awe, a smile tugging his mouth.
“Very good. Take up your sword.”
I returned the shield to its holding place, adding the sword to a pocket I could quickly reach with my right hand. As Phelyra had once promised, I did not feel the weight at all.
My nose wrinkled at the mere thought of her, like the air was foul.
“What is that look for?” Bade asked.
I did not want to say her name, so I asked, “What should I do? Do I run or fight?”
He was quiet for a moment, as if measuring his words. “In battle,” he finally said, “there comes a moment when you must decide if you want to stand your ground and fight, even if it brings death, or if it is time to retreat and run.”
“How do I know which decision is right?”
“What do you think Dacre will do if he catches you, Matilda?”
“I … think he will torture me for information. Wound me and then heal me, again and again.”
“Then you run. And you do not look back.”
I exhaled, preparing to ask another question, when we were interrupted.
“Bade,” Adria called from the back room. “The water…”
I followed Bade to where the underground rill trickled through their burrow to see the water was misbehaving. It was boiling, emitting curls of scalding heat. I had only ever seen this happen two other times in my life, and they had each corresponded with a blistering mortal summer.
“Wine, then, Adria,” said Bade, taking hold of my arm to distract me from the hot rill. “We need to think about where you can go for sanctuary.
Quickly. Our time is almost expired.”
Where can I go? The question reverberated through me, making me acknowledge the terrible truth that there were not many places I felt safe.
I gnawed on my lip, conflicted. But then I thought of him, and my heart leapt, hopeful.
“Matilda?” Bade prompted, seeing my countenance change.
“I could go to Vincent.”
“Vincent? I do not recognize this name. Who is he?”
“A mortal friend.”
“You would find sanctuary with humankind? Can their walls hold back the Underlings? Do they dwell on a ley line? Is their fortress compromised with a hidden door that connects our two realms?”
He was rattling off questions that I did not have answers to. My anxiety began to bubble over; my breaths quickened.
“I do not know,” I whispered. “But I trust him. He would protect me.”
“Then I assume he has an army to defend you? Troops he can command? A gate he can keep lowered and locked and doors he can keep barricaded? Provisions that can fuel a siege? Because once you leave this realm, Dacre will send his hounds and his eithrals after you.”
No.
Vincent was a mortal boy. He was my age, still growing into his role as the lord’s third-born son. He was no nobleman yet.
But his older brothers? His father? Would they defend me? I knew based on Vincent’s nightmare that his uncle, who also lived in their fortress, would want to use me. And yet I suddenly could not imagine asking Vincent to protect me, not when it would come at a high price for his kindred and his people. I also did not know where, exactly, his fortress was located.
Only that its roots were beside a river, and that there was a bridge with three towers that we had often explored in his dreams.
My hope began to fracture.
“Where did Phelyra flee to?” I asked.
“She most likely went far below, down to the old catacombs, to bide her time and outwit the hounds until she can return, which could be years from now. It is not a safe area for you to shelter.”
I was at a loss. There was no other place for me to go.
Bade heaved a sigh. The hissing water of the rill caught his attention for a split second before he looked at me again, framing my face in his calloused hands.
“I think it is time for you to go Skyward,” he said gently. But his expression creased, like the words were barbed on the edges, cutting him
from within. “You traveled there once on my behalf. You can do it again and plead the protection of your father.”
Thile of Skyward.
Suddenly, I understood the boiling water. Why the stone walls around us, as well as beneath our feet, were steadily growing warmer, like summer’s heat was traveling as far below as it could, touching the darkness.
My mother had broken her vow.
She had spoken his name for the first time since their parting fourteen years ago, saving it for a dire moment. A moment when I was in trouble.
She had known uttering his name would summon him, that he would be looking for her and the daughter he did not know existed.
“He might want to kill me,” I said, hoarse.
“He might.” Bade could not deny it, not even to assuage my fears. “And if he attempts it, you defend yourself with your shield and your sword, just as I taught you. You protect your fault line for as long as it takes his anger to die down.”
I nodded, but my heart felt burdened, struggling to beat.
“Bade,” I said. My chin quivered against his palms. “I am afraid.”
There was a moment when the god of war seemed to waver, and I thought he was about to tell me to stay. That we would barricade the forge and hold off the hounds and Dacre’s commands for as long as we could.
Until the cupboard was empty and we had nothing to eat, and the rill’s boiling waters evaporated and left us with nothing to drink, and our disgrace was a permanent mark upon our skin.
“Sir!” Hem’s voice, which was never frantic, pierced the air. “They are
coming.”
Bade’s hands fell from my face.
“We need to go,” he said, and I followed him back to the common room, where Adria met us.
She passed me a satchel of food and a flask of wine, which I stored in another moonstone pocket. I was about to rush after Bade when she took my hand, squeezing my fingers.
“You are strong,” she said. “You are brave. And you will return to us.”
I breathed in her benediction, surprised by how much it steadied my resolve, but there was no time for me to thank her. Bade shouted at me to hurry, and Adria relinquished my hand.
I chased after him, emerging into the forge. Bade had donned his red cloak and a shield was on his arm, his great sword sheathed at his side.
“You are coming with me?” I asked, hopeful.
“I will escort you to the mortal door,” he replied. “Once above, you must find your father on your own.”
Of course, I thought, hating how my chest ached.
“Swift travels, Matilda,” Hem said with a bow. And then, with a glimmer of pride in his eyes: “Strike true.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but a hound’s bark cut me off. They were close, just around the bend of the southernmost route, which was laden with shoulder-high fog.
“This way,” Bade said, indicating the eastern corridor. “To the Wirewood’s doorway. You lead, I will follow.”
I broke into a run, my legs feeling stiff at first. With a start, I realized this was the same passage I had once followed Bade through, when the thorn was no longer a thorn in his side. How strange to be flying through this corridor now with him, pursued by hounds.
Five breaths later, my skin shone with perspiration. My dress clung to me, damp. The air was uncommonly humid and hot. Even the walls surrounding us were weeping. Water dripped down the stone and gathered in pools, making the floor slick.
My father, once again, sending his magic to the very depths of the earth, seeking Zenia.
Four breaths later, the fog receded entirely.
I was so startled that I slid to a halt. Bade nearly bowled me over.
“What?” he barked. “Why did you stop?”
“The fog! Where is it?”
“Dacre has called it to heel. No doubt to see us better in the corridors.”
“He can do that?” I resumed our run. “That is like halting time.”
“He can do many things as lord.”
The thought made me shiver. We were nearing the stairwell that would lead to the Wirewood Door when I saw hounds in the passage up ahead, their translucent skin and fiery hearts an easy marker. With the fog gone, they could see us, just as I could see them. My pace faltered; fear burned the back of my mouth.
“To the right,” Bade said, steady. “We can reach the Blue Meadow Door.”
I careened to the right when the passage forked, Bade panting on my heels. But the hounds followed, their bays growing excited as they sighted their prey again, their claws scratching the stone floor with speed that only intensified when the corridor became a long, flat tunnel studded with chalcedony.
Another pack of hounds appeared in the distance, blocking our path.
“They are cutting us off!” I cried, losing speed.
“Right passage!” Bade directed, and we took another turn to evade. My mind felt muddled as I sought to etch a map, orienting myself. We could still reach the Blue Meadow Door, if we could remain on this route.
My hopes were dashed when I saw Dacre waiting for me twenty paces ahead, gleaming in the firelight. Golden hair and robes so brilliant they looked like woven moonlight. He knew the very door I had been seeking to escape through.
“Matilda!” he called, and the walls shuddered. The fire in the sconces guttered at his power. The hounds let out a chilling howl. “Matilda, do not run from me.”
“Keep running,” Bade urgently whispered. “Take the sinister path.”
A third time, we veered.
And then when the route branched, Bade guided me to take another right.
“Do not slow, and do not look behind, but listen … listen to me.” He was winded. I could tell he was slowing; there was a lag between the pound of our footfalls. “You can make it to the Dark Lake Door if you take the sinister path and follow the shadows. You fly, Matilda. You do not stop until you reach the mortal realm.”
I felt a whirl of empty air behind me. A beat later, there was only the sound of my sandals, clipping the floor.
I could not resist.
I glanced behind, and my pace eased.
Bade had stopped. He was watching me, the distance between us expanding, his eyes blazing. He had drawn his sword, and his shield was ready. Behind him, I could see movement. It was the hounds, coming for us like a foamy ocean tide.
“Keep going!” he shouted. “Do not stop for me.”
Was he a fool? Why had he given up?
A moment later, I realized why when the hounds slammed into his body.
They tore at his cloak; they shredded his skin, drawing his blood. They were desperate to slip past him, eager to reach me, but he was as stalwart
and unyielding as a gate.
He held them back.
“Bade!” The scream tore up my throat, echoing down the corridor. I slid to a halt, recalling my shield.
“Run, Matilda,” he said, his voice husky with pain. “Run!”
A sob nipped my breath, but I followed his orders. I stored my shield and resumed my run, tamping down my tears.
I left him and the snarl of the hounds far behind.
The crossroads was imminent, and the narrow passage to the Dark Lake Door branched off like an afterthought. But even here, there was no relief.
Alva held a torch up ahead, waiting for me to reach the juncture. Her shrewd eyes saw me dart into the shadows of the Dark Lake route, and she was quick to pursue me.
“Matilda! Stop, dear one, and let us speak!”
I raced into the darkness, my hand outstretched, following the wall as my eyes struggled to see the winding path. Small pebbles scattered beneath my feet; I danced with the fear of slipping. Alva’s torchlight bled into shadows at my back, alerting me that she was gaining speed.
Just a bit farther, I thought, pushing myself to run faster.
“I am your ally!” Alva’s voice chased after me. “I know you are not at fault here. I know this was your mother’s doing. Please, stop! Let me help
you.”
My heart dangled, uncertain. I wanted to trust her. All those hours I had passed reading her scrolls, soaking in her magic secondhand. I wanted to believe she would not harm me.
I almost slowed. I almost gave in. My lungs were heaving, my legs trembling from the effort.
I almost let her catch me, until Bade’s voice welled in my memory.
You do not stop until you reach the mortal realm.
I sprinted the remainder of the way until I saw the dim outline of the stairs, cast in blue light. I began to ascend them, Alva and her torchlight following.
“Matilda!” This time, her voice had become glass, cutting the air. “I gave you Vincent, and this is how you repay me? By running like a
coward?”
That stopped me in my tracks.
I turned to glare down at her, only ten stairs between us.
“You gave him to me?” I snarled, breathless. “You gave him to me?
Like he is some vassal? Like he is a mere pawn in your scheme to make me trust you?”
Alva slowed, her face sweating but composed. She continued to climb the stairs, torch held high.
“Listen to my words,” she said. “I know you are frightened. I know you had nothing to do with your mother and Phelyra’s crimes. We only want to know which Skyward she was bartering the scales to. But if you run … if you step through that door and leave our realm, it will be a very long time before you can return here. Consider that.”
I knew there was truth in what she was saying.
Once I fled Skyward, I would be disgraced. Many years would need to pass before it would be safe for me to return. Years until the fire of Dacre’s anger was quenched, and my mother’s crime and my disobedience to him were a distant memory.
I knew all these things, and yet Bade’s voice cut through my wavering
heart.
It is time for you to go Skyward.
I turned and lunged up the remaining stairs.
Alva hissed, reaching out to snare my ankle. Her long nails pierced my skin, but I slipped from her hold. Blood dribbled down my foot; I could see the light of the mortal realm, seeping around the edges of the door. A taunting promise of the unknown.
I reached the threshold, that heady place of in-between. A space that swarms with both magic and the mundane. My hand was quick to find the
iron handle.
The door swung open with a rumble.
I staggered into the harsh, unforgiving heat of the summer sun.