And almost fall through the floor.
I stared around in shock while struggling to hold on to the writhing girl. Because this place . . . What had happened to this place?
The great hall had been cleaved down the middle, like from the stroke of a giant ax. Far above our heads, a dome of ice had formed over the gap, which would otherwise have been open to the skies. Moonlight or starlight or some kind of light was flooding in, eerily blue and enough to allow me to see rain lashing at the top of the dome. But the ice held, holding it back, making it look like we were standing inside the world’s biggest snow globe.
The rain scattered the rays, strobing the room like a disco ball, and glistening off the snow that had covered everything. Including the sides of a huge scar in the floor, the other half of the ax stroke, which we’d almost fallen into. It was six feet wide in places, tearing a swath across the stones, ruining the mosaics, and clawing through the delicate mural of a smiling goddess on the wall.
I stared at the ruined portrait, and a cold shiver ran through me.
And then one of a different kind, when Jo stamped on my insole, elbowed me in the stomach, and broke away. Only to whirl back around and punch me in the face. It was hard enough that I tasted blood, and the next blow was worse, throwing me back on my ass, and scattering burning snow everywhere.
No one had bothered to mention that the bookworm was built like a jock.
I rolled when she tried to stamp my head into the stones, and felt that strange snow start to sear the side of my face.
“You bloody idiot!” she growled, and came for me.
Only to stumble when I jumped back to my feet and shifted behind her, getting her in a choke hold.
“Don’t you understand?” She fought and thrashed. “They’ll kill us both!”
“Thought you wanted to die,” I breathed as reality wavered and shook, as the air tightened around us, as magic swirled and hissed and arced across the room like lightning, prickling on my skin and sparking off the walls.
“Not before I finish this!” Jo snarled. “Now let me go!”
“Too late,” I whispered, because it was—for both of us.
And suddenly, the big, empty room wasn’t empty anymore.
Instead, we were facing a crowd of Pythias and their acolytes, arrayed like the audience at a play in the round. Splashed with falling rain-shadows, backlit by glittering ice, they were everywhere: Grecian robes and antique gowns and outfits I didn’t know and couldn’t place. Like the leopard skin draped across the shoulders of an African Pythia, her black braids swinging. Or the wild red curls of a girl in homespun and furs, like something out of Beowulf. Or the cold-eyed stare of a woman dressed like a pagan priestess, her elaborate dark chignon and elegant pleated gown looking like she’d just stepped off an ancient frieze.
Exactly how far back did they go for help? I wondered, staring around, while the women looked back, silently. They didn’t move, didn’t talk, didn’t even seem to breathe, or maybe I just couldn’t hear them over the sound of my own labored gasps. I was suddenly seriously impressed with my new acolytes, who had somehow managed to keep this many Pythias confused and off my ass.
As if she’d heard, a furious woman with a head of pale purple curls pushed through the crowd, dragging my two helpers by the arms, before throwing them into the open space between us.
“What have you done?” It thundered like the fey’s voices had earlier, like we were in a concert hall or a great cathedral. But she didn’t need the acoustical help. I was already plenty intimidated, thank you, Gertie.
I licked my lips and tried to figure out where to start, only to have Jo beat me to it. “A great deal,” she said quickly. “I’m so grateful to see all of you! My name is Jo Zirimis and I’m a Pythia, too—”
“Liar!” Hildegarde snarled, from off the floor, silver curls in her face, blue eyes flashing.
“—with a rogue acolyte!” Jo said, raising her voice to talk over her. “One who has been eluding me for months—”
“It’s not true—you know it’s not true!” Abigail said tearfully. She looked rough. Her smooth brown bun was down in a tangled mess, her nicely made-up face was pale and tear-streaked, and her carefully pressed homespun was muddy and wrinkled and sprinkled with leaves and hay.
I sent her a sympathetic look, but there wasn’t much more I could do. Except to release Jo, because the Pythias weren’t going to let her leave, any more than they were me. Not until we finished this.
Which would have been fine if I’d had any idea how to do that.
My hopes had been pinned on Hildegarde, but it didn’t look like the ties that bind had been used for anything but securing her wrists behind her. And I didn’t think she’d made much headway before that, because Gertie was giving me a look that might best be described as incandescent rage. But, for once, she was asking for an explanation, which was something.
“I’m the Pythia. She’s my rogue.” I gestured at Jo, who gave a scornful laugh.
“You know better than that,” she told them. “You’ve seen what she’s done—and so has Caedmon. Ask him if you doubt me. I warned him about her days ago!”
“She did.” I hadn’t seen the supermodel of the fey world until that moment, because I’d been concentrating on Gertie. But he was there, among the crowd, and he didn’t look any happier with me than she did. Dark green eyes surveyed me without pleasure, the beautiful face cold, the expression unreadable. “She and a man of our time stole a valuable relic from me. I also caught them attempting to steal the king’s sword, earlier this evening.”
“To keep it away from Jo!” I said, a little frantically, because his words had caused a murmur to go around the room. “Myrddin explained that—or he would have, if you’d given him a chance—”