His mother ignores him. “It has been this way since the beginning of time,” she continues, her eyes steady on me.
I shift uncomfortably on the prickly hay bale beneath me. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It is not surprising,” she observes, “that you are ignorant of your own history. Sad, but not surprising.” Professor Volya regards me coolly for a moment. “This world,” she says, leaning forward, “and everything in it, was made by the Great Mother. And the first people she made were the Three Sisters. This is your history.” She waits a moment for this to sink in as I stare back at her. “After they were created, Ama, the Great Mother, saw that the Sisters were lonely, so she took a bone from each of their fists and made the First Men.” She holds her fist straight up as she tells me this, then lowers it again. “The First Men were not grateful for all the Goddess had done for them. Instead, they tried to convince the Three Sisters to join them and slay the Great Mother, so that they could rule over all of Erthia.” Again she pauses.
I’m amazed at how different this creation story is from the one I’ve grown up knowing.
“One of the Sisters refused to betray the Goddess. She went to her and warned her of the terrible plan. The Great Mother renamed this First Sister Amaz, and set down a curse on the others.”
“How did she curse them?”
“The two Sisters who betrayed the Goddess were sent to live with the First Men, who were strengthened by the extra bone in their fists and emboldened. They sought to enslave these two Sisters and abused them in every way. But the loyal Daughter was greatly blessed by the Goddess and remained strong and free. So you see,” Professor Volya says, sitting back again on the hay bale, “from the beginnings of time, men have been untrustworthy and only interested in cruelty and domination.”
“But your own son,” I say, “he seems a decent sort...”
Her eyes take on a faraway look. “He is kind and good because we perform every ritual the Goddess requires. In return, She has taken pity on him and blessed him greatly.” She’s quiet for a moment, considering me as a nearby mare snuffles and pulls at some hay. “You should be going,” she says, getting up. “It would not be good for the Vu Trin to find you here.”
I get up and brush the hay off my tunic.
“Good luck with your Selkie, Elloren Gardner,” she says to me. “You have done a brave thing. May the Goddess help and protect you.”
*
Andras is standing next to a large Keltic workhorse, stroking its neck, speaking to it softly. He keeps his eyes on the horse as I approach.
“So,” he says, “did my mother tell you the story of my cursed fist?” The disdain in his voice is surprisingly sharp.
“She did.”
Andras makes a disgusted sound as he continues to stroke the horse’s neck. “It’s a powerful story,” he admits, a hard edge to his tone.
“I’d never heard it before.”
Andras shakes his head in bitter disapproval. “She never stops recruiting for her tribe, my mother. Shunned for more than eighteen years, and still she’s loyal to them. The ironic thing is, my mother’s a brilliant scientist.” He holds his hand up for my inspection. “She knows that I have exactly the same number of bones in my fist as she does in hers, and yet, she believes.”
Andras peers off into the distance, where his mother is astride a white Elfin mare, riding away from us, her tunic’s rune-marks streaking red trails in their wake. “If she’d had a daughter, instead of me, she’d be with them still.” He turns to me, his brow tight. “I ruined my mother’s life.” He reaches up and strokes the horse’s neck. “And so,” he continues, his face full of resignation, “I go with her every full moon to perform the rituals the Goddess requires. Every morning we leave offerings and pray to Her. We follow every last Amaz tradition to the letter of the law. All except one.”
“What would that be?” I ask hesitantly.
He turns to me, his hand still on the horse. “My mother refused to abandon me at birth because I’m male, as Amaz tradition dictates. And she’s spent every single day of her life trying to atone for it.” He shakes his head and lets out a deep sigh. “Do you know what else is ironic about all this?”
I hold his gaze, waiting.
“I’ve never once had the slightest urge to raise my fist against a woman, contrary to what the Amaz creation myth says about men. The only person I’ve ever wanted to seriously hurt is the University groundskeeper, but I’m sure I’m in complete agreement with my mother in that regard. She may wind up killing him before I get a chance to.”
“Actually,” I say, “I think Diana Ulrich is first in line.”
He looks surprised. “The Lupine girl?”
I nod. “We had to talk her out of ripping his head off earlier.”
Andras stares at me for a moment, then laughs. He has a nice smile, wide and open. “I think I would like this Diana Ulrich.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Safety
When I return to the North Tower, the sun newly set, I find Yvan waiting for me in the upstairs hallway.
He’s sitting on the stone bench, a sack propped next to him. He snaps to vivid attention when I enter and rises.
My steps halt as I catch sight of him, the breath momentarily hitching in my throat. Our eyes lock, and I stare at him, blinking. His larger-than-life presence fills the narrow hallway, the low ceiling making him seem taller than he already is.
“Dried cod,” he says, not taking his eyes off me as he lifts the sack a fraction and sets it back down on the bench. “For the Selkie.”
My eyes flit to the sack then back up to him. I clutch at the sides of my cloak and close the distance between us, feeling self-conscious and flustered. There’s a gentleness about him that’s unexpected, his green eyes intense, but newly open and unguarded.
“I met your lodging mate,” he tells me, his tone significant. “Diana Ulrich.” His brow rises in unspoken disbelief.
His voice is always deeper than I expect it to be, smooth and alluring.
I let out a deep breath and shrug. “Yes, well, Diana’s been living here for a while now.”
“You’re living with two Icarals and a Lupine,” he states as if I’m not already aware of this fact.
“And a Selkie,” I remind him, fully comprehending how surreal this is. And increasingly risky.
And now there’s a disconcertingly attractive Kelt in my hallway.
But even with a stolen Selkie sitting in my room, it’s impossible not to have my thoughts completely scattered by how disarmingly handsome Yvan is.
He blinks at me, clearly surprised, the color of his eyes deepened by the dim lamplight, warm gold flecking the bright green, his gaze full of sharp intelligence. He holds himself in a long, stiff column, so formal, as if reining his emotions tightly in.
I ignore my fluttering pulse and eye him with arch amusement. “I never imagined you of all people would be standing in this hallway, Yvan.”
His lip twitches up. “About as unexpected as having a Selkie here, I’m sure.”
I let out a short laugh. “Actually, it’s stranger having you here. By far.” I shoot him a pointed look.
He stares at me, his lips parting slightly as if in question then closing again. He takes a deep breath, then glances sidelong at my bedroom. His face tenses, and he steps back a fraction, clears his throat and averts his gaze from me, suddenly ill at ease.
I’m abruptly uncomfortable, too, both of us clearly aware of how inappropriate this is in both of our staid cultures—a single male, unchaperoned, here, so close to my bed. The two of us alone.
I’ve been in his bedroom, and that was pushing the limits of scandal, but it was always in the presence of one or both of my brothers. Except that one time, back when Yvan and I hated each other.
Yvan’s eyes catch on Wynter’s white bird tapestry, and his unease seems to drop away. He focuses in on it as if noticing for the first time that he’s surrounded by artwork.
“That’s beautiful.” He exhales, taking it in.
A flock of Watchers. Gliding above a summer field.