Then she remembered her grandmother telling her that the Elfstones couldn’t be taken by force if they were to be of use to the holder. They had to be freely given.
Pancea Rolt Gotrin was waiting for Mistral to break down and do just that, and she would use Phryne as leverage. So if she wanted to make sure that her grandmother’s sacrifice in coming here with the Elfstones—in believing, even mistakenly, that this was the only way she could get them into her granddaughter’s hands—meant something, Phryne had to act now. She caught Mistral’s eye, a quick glance that revealed what she intended to do. She saw the look of dismay in her grandmother’s face and realized that
there was something else at work here, something she had missed. But it didn’t matter. If there was even the smallest chance, Phryne knew she had to take it.
She leapt forward from the water’s edge toward the marker against which Mistral was pressed. She had a momentary glimpse of her grandmother’s arms raised in warning, stretched out as if to try to stop her. Then Pancea Rolt Gotrin was screaming and something as cold and heavy as frozen iron slammed into Phryne with immense force, knocking her off her feet.
She went down in a heap, gasping for breath, tried to rise, was struck again, and then everything went black.
WHEN SHE WOKE, she was lying on her back, staring up at the stalactite-encrusted ceiling of the cavern. Mistral sat a few yards off, her back against the stone marker, a weary look on her shade’s white face.
Child, I did not mean for this to happen.
Phryne took a moment to recall exactly what it was that had happened and failed.
“What did she do to me?”
She has magic at her command even here, even in death. She used it to keep you from reaching me, to prevent me from giving you the Elfstones. I came here to ask for her help, trying to stay alive until you reached me. But my wounds were too much for either of us. Once dead, I asked her help again. But she would not give it. She wants the Elfstones for herself. I made the mistake of tel ing her early on that you would come for me, that I had left a message for you. She was waiting for you to come, knowing what I intended, determined that she would not al ow it.
Phryne raised herself up on her elbows, trying to clear her head. Every part of her body ached from whatever the Queen had done to her. “Why can’t you just give them to me now? Right now, before she knows what you have done?”
Look behind you.
Phryne did, and she saw Pancea Rolt Gotrin perched atop her triangular marker, watching closely.
If I attempt to pass them to you, she wil kil you before you can make use of them.
Phryne studied her grandmother’s face, still trying to come to terms with the fact that she was dead, a shade with no physical presence and no place among the living. She remembered so clearly how her grandmother had looked the last time she had seen her —sharp and flushed with the excitement of her intention to give the Elfstones to her granddaughter. She thought of Isoeld and her minions coming to Mistral’s cottage to take the Stones by force, and her sadness turned to icy rage.
“Won’t she grow tired of watching us?” she demanded. “Won’t she eventually leave us alone?”
The dead do not sleep. They are patient. They are good at waiting. Besides, she has no choice. To be of use, even to the dead, the Elfstones must be freely given. They cannot be taken by force. You know this already, child. She wil keep us here until one of us gives her
the Stones. In the end, if she must, she wil destroy us both.
“But what more can she do to you? I am the only one she can hurt.”
She can use you to hurt me. She can even use her magic to take away what little remains of me. She has that power.
Phryne felt whatever small hope remained draining away. “What can we do?” she asked.
We can wait. We must. At some point, she may become distracted, and we wil have our chance. When that happens, we wil have to act swiftly. I cannot touch you. I must set the Elfstones on the ground, and you must snatch them up instantly. If she sees what we are doing, she wil kil you in the blink of an eye. The dead are quick; do not think otherwise. If we are slow or careless, whatever we attempt wil end in failure.
Her grandmother paused, her voice become a whisper.
Pancea is a monster, child. She keeps you safe now so that you can persuade me to give the Elfstones to her so that you can go free. But once she convinces you to do this, she wil take your life.
“And waiting is our only choice?” Phryne’s voice was a low hiss of dismay. “I can’t wait! Isn’t there something else we can do?”