Rules for Spies

20

"Are you cold, little spy?"

Gwyn wakes to Koschei's breath on her ear, his shadows swarming the branch on which she'd perched to get out of the snow. Beyond the roiling darkness, the forest is gray, still in the hours just before dawn.

"Surely you can guess," she says, too tired to smooth her temper.

She's rewarded with a small explosion of pain behind her temple, but her mind remains clear.

"Your kinsfolk are coming soon," he says, in that same self-satisfied croon, as if she had not spoken. "And then we will be joined, you and I. After that, you will not be so cold or so angry. I can promise that your life will be far more pleasant."

"I would like to know more."

As she says it, she opens her awareness to the frequencies around her. In this form, Koschei is distinct from his presence inside Merrill, and there's a fortress around his inner self, built of onyx a mile wide. She will need the shadows to get inside. But in the meantime, she gathers up the snatches of melody and countermelody as she pretends to listen to him.

From Koschei's tone alone, she knows there's more lie than truth in his words. But as he speaks of his women, the warriors and queens and scholars who serve him, who remake the world according to his vision, she tries to nod and smile, imagining what such a thing could be if it were true.

Even as she tries to think it, tries to listen, tries to unlock the keys to command the death-god, Gwyn feels the shadows, his presence, move inside her mind.

I can sense your power, my siren, he says.

She cannot get inside his mind, but behind her own mental shields, she holds tight to Vassa's words -- let him think you are weak -- as she unleashes the melody that will command him. Hoping one of Azriel's shadows is nearby. That it's listening.

That, in the meantime, Koschei thinks this is the only attack she can make, feeble and unconsidered.

No hand touches her, but she is falling, the shadows with Koschei's voice surrounding her, making it impossible to see the ground.

Still, by some miracle of grace or training, Gwyn rolls into the snow, springing to her feet.

"Too weak by far, little spy."

These words are spoken, echoing in the woods. For the moment, he hasn't taken root inside her mind. Could it be that the death-god is frightened of her power?

But Koschei will not admit defeat. Within seconds, the shadows cover her eyes, land like blows on her legs and shoulders, grinding her back against the icy snow. Gwyn does not bother to hold back her cries. He cannot kill her, or break her irrevocably, not if Beron is coming. Let him think she is weak.

Sooner than Gwyn anticipates, the being of shadows disappears, pulling his absent magic with him. Her cheek is swollen but she can't help a smile.

Her moment is coming, and she will not be useless.

The shadow returns to him with a song that is more cacophony than melody, but it sings those notes over and over until all of Azriel's shadows echo it, heedless of the fact that they're in midair, that as they approach Koschei's lake, they must go quiet. Next to him, Cassian focuses on flying, but in his arms, Nesta watches the shadows with interest.