Etched in Silver

6

NIGHT was sweeping away the dusk, leaving a solid layer of stars overhead. As we slid through the streets, Trillian kept hold of my hand. My mind was racing with thoughts of Roche, of finally catching him and skewering my boss when I told the YIA that he’d been in on the perv’s escape.

But, overshadowing everything was the lingering tingle of my skin, the memory of what had happened between Trillian and me. There are legends that sometimes a Svartan will meet another Svartan with whom the mesh is so right that they spontaneously bond. For good. It’s rare, but it does happen.

His words reverberated through me. What did this mean? But I already knew. Something—by fate or chance—had brought us together. I’d known since our first meeting. And now we were bound, whether for good or ill, I didn’t know yet. My father was going to have a field day with this one.

“There,” Trillian whispered. “Calisto’s.”

As we watched, a figure emerged from the gloom. He was the right size and shape and an alarm sounded that yes—it was him. I clutched Trillian’s arm.

“It’s Roche,” I said. “I know that energy!”

We waited until he’d entered the building, then we slipped past the rawhead who had passed out, an empty bottle of booze on the counter. The stench of stale vomit filled the air.

As we tiptoed up the stairs, I steeled myself. Roche was up there. Roche, who liked to carve up women and children. Darynal’s warning came back to me—Roche wouldn’t play by the rules, so I wasn’t going to either. Whatever it took, I was taking the dude down. Hard.

As we reached the top of the stairs, Roche had already disappeared into the room and we could hear the sounds of fighting from behind the scarred door.

“Come on! Darynal’s in danger.” Trillian slammed open the door and rushed into the room. I followed.

“Stop or I’ll kill him!” Roche whirled, holding Darynal by the throat, a knife with a glinting razor’s edge poised at his jugular. He stared at us for a moment, looking totally confused. “Who the f*ck are you?”

Darynal was limp, but alive. I could tell he was doing his best to relax into the hold, a good way to fool your opponent. Only Roche wasn’t the sanest peach in the pie, so what might work on a normal psycho wasn’t necessarily going to do the trick for him.

First things first—get Darynal out of Roche’s grasp. I whipped out my knife from the sheath circling my thigh. The leather strap looked like it was fastened around the illusionary trousers I was wearing.

Praying my voice had changed along with my looks, I said, “Give us all your money—jewels, whatever you got.” Yep, my voice had deepened, thank the gods. If we played guards-and-bandits, we just might confuse him long enough to throw him off guard.

Trillian took my cue and pulled out his own knife, a dangerous-looking kris. “Whatever beef you got with this guy, we don’t care. We’ll go through him to get to you if you don’t give us your money. Now!”

Roche frowned, but apparently the magic of our disguises was top-notch and he slowly lowered his knife and pushed Darynal to the ground. “You can take my pack over there.” He nodded to the table.

“Empty your pockets on the bed,” I said with a snarl, waving my blade toward his face. As he began spilling his pockets on the bed, I suddenly felt the energy shift. The camouflage was breaking. Shit, we just needed a few more moments. While Roche was focused on Trillian’s blade, which was dancing around his midcenter, I dropped my knife and whipped out the death scroll from my bag.

I had barely unfurled it when the illusion broke. Roche bellowed and grabbed for what looked like an amulet around his neck. Trillian thrust with his blade, but Roche darted away from him. He caught hold of the pendant and stared at me, his eyes gleaming as he shouted something in sorcerers’ tongue. A whirling orb of energy blasted out of the talisman.

A blink of an eye till impact. No time to leap out of the way. I steeled myself for the flames. But before I could stop him, Trillian pushed me to the side and took the blast right in the chest, shouting as the magical flame burned through his clothes.

“No!” I swung around to face Roche, bringing up the scroll. “Enough mayhem. Enough murder. Enough! Mordente dezperantum, vulchinin, mordente la saul ayt Roche!”

Time seemed to slow. My voice hung heavy in the air, the words trickling out like honey on a cold morning. Roche’s eyes grew wide and he dropped the knife. His head fell back and his mouth opened, as a black smoke poured out of his throat. Above our heads, a swirling vortex opened and sucked the smoke into it. With one last solitary shriek, Roche tumbled forward as the vortex closed.

Ignoring Roche’s body, I dropped to my knees beside Trillian. “Trillian, Trillian, are you okay?”

Darynal kicked Roche once, very hard, then joined me.

Trillian groaned, wincing with pain. There was a platter-size burn on his chest—the material had melted to him. “I’ve been better.”

“We should get a doctor—” I glanced over at Darynal.

He shook his head. “I’m skilled at healing. I have to be, living out in the woods on my own. Let me look at it.”

Within minutes, he’d stripped away the burnt clothing and was smoothing the skin with his hands. A crackle of magic told me that his healing abilities weren’t limited to herbs. The pulsing heat of Trillian’s burn began to fade. After a few moments, it was bright pink, but the worst of the blisters were gone.

“How’s the pain?” he asked Trillian.

Trillian closed his eyes, then shrugged. “Bearable. Much better. Thanks, druneh.” He took Darynal’s hand and slowly rose to his feet.

I hesitantly moved toward him. “You saved my life. You took the hit that was meant for me. Being half-human, it would have probably killed me.”

He gazed into my eyes, then reached out and stroked my lips with one finger. “How could I not? After what’s happened between us? We’re linked—I don’t know how or why, but it happened. I’m not sentimental, Camille. You’ll find that out very quickly. But what’s mine, I protect. And you are mine.”

Normally, I’d snap off a quick f*ck you to any man who said that to me, but Trillian wasn’t playing testosterone games; he wasn’t being the macho he-man. He meant it, and it was true.


I slowly kissed his fingers, then bit them lightly. “And you are mine.”

“You should get the body back to headquarters now.” He motioned to Roche. “You bagged your killer. This should shut up your prick of a boss.”

“Aren’t you coming with me? You’re the one who made it possible for me to catch Roche. Without you, I’d still be trying to figure out where he was.” I wasn’t the kind of woman who took credit for other peoples’ work.

“No. I want no mention in this. You take him back, you tell them you managed to track him down, and you get that idiot off your back. Or I’ll take care of your boss in my own manner.” His eyes flashed dangerously and I realized he was more than willing to take out Lathe if I asked.

I nodded, slowly. I didn’t like lying, but in the greater scheme of things, what mattered most was that Roche was out of commission. “Thanks,” I said slowly. “I owe you one.”

Trillian shook his head. “Camille,” he said softly, “that’s another thing you’ll learn about me. With you, I won’t keep score.” He held out his arms and I slid into them. Once again, he held my heart. And in that moment, I knew what I had to do. What we had to do.





LATHE stared at Roche’s body. I’d hired a wagon to haul him back to the palace and then dragged him through the halls by the scruff of his collar, ignoring the trail of blood as his body bumped over the rough marble. I was determined that my boss wasn’t going to take credit for the catch and I made sure that every agent, guard, and noble that I’d met on the way to Lathe’s office knew that I’d taken Roche down and brought him in.

“You got him?” The look on Lathe’s face was priceless as I dumped Roche at his feet.

“No thanks to the false leads you threw my way,” I said. “But here he is. Sorry I couldn’t bring him in alive. He might have confessed that you were trying to help him get away then. But you listen to me, Lathe. Every agent and guard between here and the palace steps knows I collared Roche, so don’t you dare try to steal credit for this.” I jabbed him sharply in the chest, hard enough to leave a mark. “You play by the up and up or so help me, I’ll make sure you’re exposed for the sicko you really are.”

Lathe blinked, then reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t you threaten me, little girl. You won this round, but one of these days you’re going to go too far. And then, you’ll have to run straight to me. And my price for help just went through the roof.”

I pulled away from him and backed toward the door. “You wanted Roche. I brought him in. Do I get my promotion or do I tell people what scum you are?”

Without missing a beat, Lathe turned back to his desk. “Oh, you’ll get your promotion. You’ll get a raise for this, and eventually, you’ll get a promotion. But Camille, you’re going to wish you’d played it my way. Trust me.” And with the flick of a hand, he dismissed me.



THREE nights later, Trillian was waiting for me by the doors to the temple of Eleshinar, the Fae goddess of passion and love.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he asked, glancing up at the temple.

“I’m sure.” And I was. Sure of only one thing in the world: that this was the right thing for us to do.

“You didn’t suggest this out of some sense of obligation, did you?” Once again, he cupped my chin and gazed into my eyes. His touch was like fire, and I wanted him, all of him. “I don’t want you only because you feel guilty, or because you feel you owe me something. Especially like this.”

I clung to him. “I’m so hungry for you that I ache. I want you inside me. I want your arms around me. But there’s far more to it than that,” I whispered. “Last night, I asked the Moon Mother what I should do. And she confirmed what I was thinking. Eleshinar’s Ritual.”

“This ritual—it can’t be undone.” He gazed into my eyes, his own ice blue ones searching my face, looking for the truth of my heart. I opened myself up so that he could see . . . could see that I wanted this more than anything. That I had to go through with this.

“We’re meant to be together. What happened . . . you know we forged a link. All we’re doing is formalizing it.”

“I know. I may not pray to the gods, but I have my own sense of destiny.” Trillian shuddered. “I’ve never felt this way before. You are part of my future. And so . . . for better or worse, yes, we’ll perform the ritual.” He let out a long sigh. “What will your family say? Do they know where you are?”

“They think I’m at the Collequia, as usual.” I laughed, suddenly happy and feeling like a bride on her wedding day. “Oh babe, trust me, you don’t want to know what they’ll think. You don’t want to know.”

There was nothing more to say. I took his hand and we walked through the temple doors.



THE altar was composed of a long, cushioned dais, surrounded by tables filled with lush baskets of fruit, loaves of bread, sweet chocolates, and pastries. Another table, near the dais, held inks of all colors, and several long, thin brushes. Near the altar stood a stone tub, embedded into the floor, steamed with swirling water as the scent of roses and jasmine and ylang ylang rose to perfume the air.

Nori, the priestess I’d spoken to that morning, slowly glided up.

She was beautiful, bare-breasted, and her skirt was a sheer drape of sea foam and silk. Golden armbands encircled her upper arms, and her hair was smoothed back in a long ponytail. But most arresting, a brilliant tattoo of green and gold curled its way across her forehead to wind down the sides of her face and neck, coiling farther still to encircle her breasts and spiral in to her nipples.

When she smiled at us, the room lit up and I stared at her, unable to tear my gaze away. She laughed, her voice a tinkle on the wind, and my heart lifted. Whatever magic the priestesses of desire wielded, it was infectious.

“You are certain of this?” she asked.

“I am.” I expected to hear myself waver but my voice came out surprisingly strong, as if I wasn’t the one speaking but instead, the Lady of the Moon herself.

Nori turned to Trillian. “And you? Are you so certain, as well?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Then we shall begin.” She gestured toward the tub. “Disrobe and enter the ritual bath.”

Suddenly shy, I began to remove my dress. I’d worn a simple shift, aware that the ritual would entail removing my clothing. It was much easier than fumbling with a bustier and buttons and ties. As I slipped the straps off my shoulders I glanced over at Trillian, all too aware that he was watching every move I made. As the shift fell away, grazing my nipples, I shivered in the cool air of the temple.

Trillian’s look said everything. Desire, passion, hunger, longing . . . it was all there. After a moment, he slid off his tunic and trousers and stood there, five-foot-ten inches of gloriously toned muscle. He looked like a statue carved out of onyx, polished and smooth. As I lowered my gaze to his hips, his cock rose, erect, smooth and with just a drop of liquid on the tip of the head. I licked my lips, aching to slide up against him.

Nori walked between us. “I can see it,” she said softly. “There is a cord that binds you already. This ritual will only be the confirmation of what you’ve already begun.”


She motioned for us to get in the tub. I carefully lowered myself into the chest-high water, spreading my arms as the bubbling warmth surrounded me. Trillian joined me, but we didn’t touch. We were forbidden to touch. Yet.

Inhaling the fragrant steam, I closed my eyes and let the stress of the week wash off me. I tried not to think about the coming months. My father would be furious, my sisters, too. But this was something that I knew would happen sooner or later, and the sooner, the better as far as I was concerned.

“Please, dip fully under the water,” Nori’s voice spiraled into my thoughts.

I held my breath and lowered myself under the water level, letting it immerse every part of me. Trillian did the same and when we came up for air, he gave me a glowing smile, all I needed to remove any lingering doubts.

We exited the bath and Nori handed us long bath sheets to wrap ourselves in. The air had grown warmer, though I couldn’t see any fireplace around. She pointed toward the dais.

“Please, lie down on your backs.”

I settled myself on the dais and she helped me adjust my soaking hair. Trillian joined me, and we lay there, not touching, inches apart, the lazy air currents playing over our bodies. I sucked in a deep breath. He was inches away and I could feel him there. I wanted to reach out, to touch, caress, but forced myself to lie still, the tension in my body driving me crazy.

Nori’s voice was a rustle on the wind as she began a faint chant. I gazed into her eyes as she leaned over me, adjusting my position. Her breasts hung heavy and full like my own. Her lips were thick and lush as she softly sang out her spell. Part of me wanted to reach up and caress her, too. But she was as far away from my grasp as the Moon Mother.

After a few moments she gently moved away. Trillian turned his head to look at me. “Are you sure?” he mouthed.

I bit my lip. “Yes. Are you having doubts?”

He shook his head. “Never. I feel like we’ve been together for years. I feel like I already know you, know your body.”

And then Nori returned, a second priestess with her.

“Liliabett.” The priestess introduced herself.

Between them, they carried the table with inks and brushes over to the dais. Nori held her hands over my chest and warmth rained down from her body. Liliabett did the same to Trillian. Living beacons of passion, they were desire incarnate.

After a moment, Nori said, “We’re ready to begin. Camille Sepharial te Maria, do you undergo this ritual freely, of your own will, knowing that what will be done can never be undone?”

I licked my lips. “Yes. I do swear.” My voice was a whisper on the wind.

“Trillian Leshon Zanzera, do you undergo this ritual freely, of your own will, knowing that what will be done can never be undone?” Liliabett’s voice was the perfect counterpoint, as sultry and warm as Nori’s was cool and melodic.

“I do, by my oath and honor.” His voice spiraled up and then out as if he’d never said a word.

“Then we begin.”

Nori narrowed her brow, focusing on me as she lifted a fine-tipped brush and dipped it into a silver paint pot. With a steady hand, she began to trace an outline on my forehead, a swirl of glyphs, fine-lined and delicately fashioned. I closed my eyes as she worked, line by line covering my face.

The tracing tickled, but I remained perfectly still as she worked her way down my neck, leaving a trail of runes that sang as they touched my skin. Magic, her art was, and magic was the paint.

Onto my shoulders, working in silence, she deftly covered me. And then to my chest, making me suck in a quick breath as desire rose fiercely. She stroked my nipples with the tip of the brush, then the curve of my breasts, the undercarriage and down to my torso.

I began to drift, the rhythmic kiss of the brush lulling me into an erotic haze. The bristles flickered over my stomach, then down to my thighs and across my mound. She gently nudged open my thighs and spread open my labia, painting runes along my p-ssy and onto my *oris. I shuddered, trying to control the hunger that flared as she touched me.

And down my legs, along my knees, encircling my ankles, she went. By the time she finished, I saw that Trillian was as covered—and aroused—as I was. The paint dried quickly, and we gently flipped onto our stomachs. The priestesses worked their way down our backsides, covering every inch of us with the silver glyphs and symbols.

When they were finally done, they asked us to stand. I gazed down at myself—a vision of silver fire on pale skin. Trillian cleared his throat. He was silver on black, the contrast incredibly beautiful. Like spun metal shining against dark velvet.

“Follow us,” Nori said, and the two women led us out of the main chamber and into a private room, in which there was a bed that sat atop a floor covered in runes. She held out a bottle as we knelt in front of her.

Liliabett reached for my hand and I offered it, palm up. She placed a silver goblet beneath my palm and with a curved blade, slashed an inch-long shallow gash across the pad. As I watched, blood spilled into the goblet. After a moment, she did the same with Trillian.

Nori poured the contents of the bottle into the goblet and a swirl of smoke rose, boiling over the rim. She held the goblet out to me.

“Take it.”

As I held the glass, she began to sing a low song in a language I didn’t understand. But her energy flared brightly. She was a shining jewel.

“Drink and bind yourself through your bodies, through your souls.”

I lifted the goblet, then glanced at Trillian. This was it. There was no going back. Before I could think about it, I swallowed a mouthful of the potion and fire raced through my body, arching me back. I would have dropped the goblet, but Nori caught it and handed it to Trillian, who tipped it to his lips and finished what was left. He shivered, clutching his arms to his chest as the pain took hold.

Nori stepped back. “And now, one thing remains to seal your union  . If you do not consummate your relationship now, you will forever be half-bound, weak and hating each other. You must finish the ritual.”

She and Liliabett excused themselves from the room.

I turned to Trillian, barely able to stand, the spasms were so intense. But as I tried to sort through the pain, I realized what I was feeling was actually desire—aching, searing lust so strong that it was cramping my body.

Trillian lifted his head to look at me. Behind the veil of his sky blue eyes, I could see the primal god. The lord of the forest, the lord of the rut, the lord of the horn. He leapt to his feet and for a brief moment I was afraid, but then the cramps hit again and all I could think about was finding a way to ease the gnawing hunger.

Panting, I stumbled toward the bed and he followed, his gaze never leaving mine. As I danced to one side, he reached out and grasped my waist, his touch firm and demanding.

“I will have you,” he whispered, his voice almost a grunt.

Shivering, confused by the flurry of pain, I pulled away and he followed, grabbing my wrist to whirl me around and back me up against the wall.

“Let me in, Camille. Let me in.” His hands planted on either side of me, he leaned against me. My pulse fluttered as he lowered his lips to mine, and then we were bathed in a silver light as his tongue played over mine and he enfolded me in his arms.

We began to spin, around and around he twirled me as his chest pressed against my breasts. I gasped, trying to clear my head, then pulled him to the bed. He loomed over me, his lips seeking my breasts as his fingers danced their way onto my *. As he stroked my fire, I cried out and grasped his shoulders.


“You’re the golden man,” I whispered. “You taste like honey, sweet and warm and rich and thoroughly fine.”

“And you’re my queen, and you taste like moonlight and starflowers and the echo of birds at sunset.”

He lowered himself to the outer lips of my p-ssy, setting off a string of explosions. Firecrackers sizzled one after another along my body, and all I could think about was that Trillian was about to slide his gorgeous, smooth cock into me and how much I wanted every inch of him, in every possible way.

“F*ck me,” I begged him. “Don’t make me wait any longer, please f*ck me. Hard. Take me hard and rough—I don’t want gentle.”

Trillian let out a guttural laugh and plunged, driving himself into my core.

Under a shower of sparks that ricocheted through my body, I moaned and shifted my hips as he picked up the pace, pumping gently at first, then grinding into me, each thrust sending me into a shockwave of pleasure.

As we rode the wave, I began to notice through the sex haze that my skin was hurting. I glanced at Trillian’s shoulder and gasped. The silver markings had begun to writhe, they were boiling like a swarm of creatures across his body and I knew that my own runes were doing the same. But the friction of our heat pulled my attention back to him.

I clung to him as he thrust, deep and hard with that silken cock of his. His skin was warm against mine, a perfect fit and in some little corner of my mind, I realized that I’d never had it so good in bed, never felt the same sense of connection before.

Everybody else saw me as the rock, the anchor, or—in the case of men—just a good f*ck to hook up with and leave behind. But Trillian’s eyes gazed at my soul; he was staring down at me and he was seeing me. All of me—both sides of my heritage, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.

As thought began to slip away, and I came to the edge, the markings on my body began to burn. I let out a sharp cry as Trillian grunted, wincing.

“What’s happening?” I flailed, unable to stop either the pain or the rush toward orgasm. Every rune had become a flaming brand and with every move, their flames grew brighter.

“The ritual—it’s part of the ritual,” Trillian gasped out. “Can’t stop . . . would . . . kill us . . .”

Everything took on the color of violet fire as the magical silver on our bodies burrowed deep beneath the skin, hissing and tattooing themselves through muscle and skin. Goading me with as much pleasure as pain, they pushed me toward the edge, toward the final release.

And then I looked up at Trillian. But instead of seeing his face, I realized I was looking through his eyes at myself. The braid that had spontaneously bound us had melted into a thick cord of silver and flame and passion and lust. The beating of his heart synchronized with mine, and in that moment, I felt his spirit pass through me and back into himself. Then, in a cascade of silver fire, came release.





THE pain subsided as we lay there, exhausted. I shivered and Trillian drew the blankets up to cover us. He slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. The markings had disappeared from the surface of our skin, but they were there, beneath muscle and bone, tattooed into our spirits, binding us forever.

“What next?” I asked. “Where will this lead? What’s going to happen now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I only know that you belong to me. You are mine, Camille. Even if you share yourself with others, you’ll always belong to me. I’m your alpha. I’m your mate.”

As he spoke, an image flashed through my head. A dragon circled overhead as a fox watched from below. Quickly the images came, and just as quickly, they were gone. I blinked, wiping my eyes. I was tired and spent. But in my heart, I knew that they related to the future—to our future. Just like I knew that a shadow loomed, waiting for me to discover it. And Trillian would be there to help me weather the approaching storm.

But I left all of that unsaid. Instead, I kissed him back, savoring the taste of his lips on mine. “Yes, I belong to you. And you belong to me. You saved my life, you saved me from humiliation at my boss’s hand. And I think . . . you saved me from myself.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was low.

I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. But in time I think I’ll understand. And for some reason, the idea of that knowledge makes me very much afraid.”

“Hush,” he said, tapping me on the nose. “Don’t worry about what might happen. Live for today. There may be no tomorrow, so for now, enjoy what we have and revel in it. I know I’m going to.”

Trillian sought my lips again, and in the silver fire of his kiss, I forgot about visions and shadows and the future. For now, there was only his touch and my touch, and the merging of souls and bodies.



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Playlist for Etched in Silver

3 Doors Down:

“Kryptonite”



Aerosmith:

“Dream On”



Blue ?yster Cult:

“(Don’t Fear) the Reaper”



David Bowie:

“I’m Afraid of Americans”

“Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed”



The Bravery:

“Believe”



Brother Noland:

“Coconut Girl”



Death Cab for Cutie:

“I Will Possess Your Heart”



Dead Can Dance:

“The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove”

“Yulunga”

“Indus”



Depeche Mode:

“If You Want”



Finger Eleven:

“Paralyzer”



Fleetwood Mac:

“The Chain”

“Gold Dust Woman”



Heart:

“Magic Man”



Gary Numan:

“Bridge? What Bridge?”

“War Songs”

“Sleep by Windows”



Gorillaz:

“Every Planet We Reach Is Dead”



Lenny Kravitz:

“American Woman”



Nine Inch Nails:

“Closer”



Nirvana:

“Heart-Shaped Box”

“You Know You’re Right”



Orgy:

“Blue Monday”



Police:

“Every Breath You Take”

“King of Pain”

“Invisible Sun”



p-ssycat Dolls:

“Buttons”

“Don’t Cha”



Rob Zombie:

“Never Gonna Stop”



Rolling Stones:

“Play with Fire”

“Gimme Shelter”



Seether:

“Remedy”



Simple Minds:

“Don’t You (Forget About Me)”



Thomas Dolby:

“She Blinded Me with Science”



Thompson Twins:

“The Gap”

“Watching”

“Love on Your Side”

“Sister of Mercy”



Toadies:

“Possum Kingdom”



U2:

“Elevation”

“Vertigo”



Ween:

“The Golden Eel”



Zero 7:

“In the Waiting Line”





Midwinter Memories from the D’Artigo Sisters

I asked Camille, Delilah, and Menolly what their most striking memories from their childhood Yule celebrations were, and here’s what they had to say:





Camille: What I remember most from my childhood is how our mother loved the holidays. She’d taken our customs, added her own, and created a truly beautiful blend for the Midwinter celebration. She would fill the house with holly and evergreens, and white poinsettias and red carnations and starberry flowers the color of gold.

Each year Father brought in a tree and we’d decorate it with spikes of polished quartz and delicate porcelain ornaments that Mother had made, and we hung baked cookies in the shape of stars and suns and moons from the branches, along with garlands of strung berries.


Mother had a special ornament that she’d had since her childhood—one of the few things that had belonged to her mother and father. The piece was lovely, a delicate sphere of blown glass, with her family name—D’Artigo—inscribed on it in glittering ink.

The year I’m thinking about, Delilah was still toddling around, and Menolly was in diapers. Mother said I could help her trim the tree. I was so excited, and I wanted to hang up the special ornament but she told me no, it was too delicate. When I was a little older she’d let me put it on the tree. Well, I had other ideas. I waited until she wasn’t looking and then I took the ornament out of its box and started to carry it over to the tree. I wanted to put it up high, where everybody could see it, so I tried to use one of my spells. It was a simple levitation spell, one most witches my age could do, but of course, being me, something went haywire and crash, the ornament dropped to the ground.

I was in tears and so was Mother. Although she didn’t scold me, not much, I knew I’d screwed up big time. Father read me the riot act and I knew I deserved it.

Well, a few days later he came home with a present for Mother. When she opened it, I heard her give a little gasp. Mother’s hand fluttered to her throat, and she got this teary-eyed look that made me want to hug her.

In the box were three perfect handblown glass spheres, and each one had one of our names on it—Camille, Delilah, and Menolly. He told Mother he couldn’t replace her childhood keepsake, but he could create new ones for the family she had now. That was her favorite gift of all that he ever gave her, and each year, she would gently help the three of us girls as we each hung our ornament on the tree, and then we’d go out to celebrate the Yule ritual with the city. I miss those days.





Delilah: If I have to pick a midwinter memory that sticks out the most, it would be the year after our mother died. All three of us girls missed her terribly, but I think I was having the hardest time adjusting. And Father didn’t have the faintest clue of how to proceed with the holy days. He wanted to make life whole for us, but he was hurting so much from losing her that there’s no way he could get it together for us.

We were still fairly young, all three of us, though Camille was in her early teens, by Earthside standards, and she’d been trying to pick up the pieces and make life as normal as she could for Menolly and me. She asked our cousin Shamas to help her go cut down a tree, and she did her best to emulate Mother, guiding us to decorate it and asking the cook to prepare the holiday favorites during the season. Father was struggling to cope, and I guess he decided Camille was doing a good job helping us two younger girls, so he sort of sat back and let her do what she wanted.

But there was one problem—gifts. Our mother had always given us gifts, but Father totally spaced it out. Camille didn’t want to ask Aunt Rythwar—who’d already been of so much help—so she decided to get them on her own. None of the rest of the family would help, because Mother had been human and we were half-breeds.

But Camille heard there was a leprechaun in the woods, so she decided to find him and see if he’d give her a wish. Leprechauns are notorious for hiding during the day, so a few nights before Midwinter, she snuck out of the house and went off into the woods to find him. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but she got horribly lost. Eventually, she lucked out and ran across the leprechaun, who took pity on her. He said he’d give her a wish, but he also brought her home and pounded on the door in the middle of the night. Father hadn’t even realized she’d been gone, and I guess it was a wakeup call, reminding him that he had three daughters who needed him because after that, he became an active member of the family again.

I was listening behind the door when Camille asked the leprechaun—who still offered to grant her a wish—if he could bring our mother back to life. She burst into tears when he said he couldn’t, but he did give her three magic gifts, one for each of us girls, and a package for Father.

The next morning, on Yuletide Day, we opened the gifts. Menolly found a glass flute and she played it for years until the Elwing Blood Clan took away her breath. Father’s package contained an oval picture frame with a picture of Mother in it—she would forever be smiling at him. My own gift was a spidersilk walking skirt—I needed a new one and it would keep me warm when I went wandering through the woods.

But Camille’s gift was the best of all, and she deserved it for all the trouble she’d gone to. The leprechaun gave Camille a little vial of moon shimmer—captured beams from the Moon Mother. Whenever she needed comforting, she held it in her hand and the Moon Mother’s energy embraced her with sparkling light and held her safe and warm, just like she tried to do for Menolly and me. And I think it’s still in her jewelry box.





Menolly: My favorite memory of the holidays in Otherworld is of the celebrations Y’Elestrial held each year. On Midwinter’s Night most of the citizens of the city gather at the banks overlooking the Erulizi Falls, which pour into Lake Y’Leveshan. The lake and the falls are always iced over during the winter, sparkling like crystal under the snow-showered night. Everyone gathers around the shores to celebrate the Snow Queen and the Holly King, who rule over the winter months. Magic flows like honey and by morning, when the sun rises, the frozen fields are shimmering under the weight of the newly fallen snow. Right before dawn, the children awake to join the parade to the Altar of the Ancients.

Only children are allowed to take part in the parade, led by a priestess of the shrine. The older children carry the younger ones. I remember filing through the deep snow, into the forest until we reached the Tengmar Grove where the shrine to the Ancient Dreaming Ones rests. There we would gather in a circle around Mother Dream Walker—who is the matriarch of the forest unicorns, and each year, she sang to us the tales and legends from days long gone by. And each year, she would choose two girls to join the Order of the Ancient Sisterhood.

The priestesses of Mother Dream Walker are historians: They keep the songs and tales and legends that have passed down since long before the Great Divide. They tuck them safe within a secret barrow somewhere in the woodlands, and they also remember them by heart. To remember the past is their only task.

I wanted so bad to be one of the girls picked—each year I waited and waited for my name to be called, but it never was. I suppose I don’t have the temperament for the Sisterhood, but I kept hoping. The last year I was allowed to attend—Camille and Delilah had already been excluded a few years before me—I prayed all day, begging the Great Mother to let my name be one of the ones called that night. But the singing came and went, and then they chose two girls who were quiet, good at their studies, who never stood out much among the city children. I knew then that I’d never join the ranks of the Sisterhood—adults were never chosen. I left, crying, and it took me days to get over the heartbreak. I was never again allowed to go to the Grove, but I’ll always remember the parades, and the magical moments in the Grove. Those were the most beautiful nights of my life.