The Singer (21 page)

Leo shook his head. “We don’t know what Jaron is doing. We’re fairly sure the attack that killed Malachi was from Volund’s people, not Jaron’s.”

Phillip mused, “If Volund is making a concentrated push to expand his territory, he’d go for the outlying territories first. Turkey doesn’t fit with that.”

Malachi said, “But if he’s reaching down from Russia and into the Ukraine, then Turkey isn’t that far off.”

Rhys said, “He’d run into Svarog.”

Phillip shook his head. “Volund doesn’t fear Svarog.”

“He should.”

“What does he want?” Malachi muttered, picturing a map of
 
eastern Europe in his mind. He pulled back, looked at all the continent. Not as the humans did, with their constantly changing borders. He pictured the slowly shifting spheres of power, ebbing and flowing with the centuries. One Fallen rose, another slowly toppled. Where was Volund in that cycle? And why had Jaron ceded power of Istanbul when he had held if for centuries?
 

Irin presence shone through Europe, a bright glowing thread that wove through most of the major cities; its brightest star being Vienna.
 

“What does Volund want?” Malachi asked again.

Phillip shrugged. “Power. To control as much territory as possible. And wipe out the Irin, of course. It’s always been the theory that Volund was the primary force behind the Rending.”

Malachi’s eyes narrowed. “So…”

Rhys said, “But you said there’s more activity in the West, too. It’s not just coming from one direction. Volund has little influence in western Europe.”

“We all have allies,” Malachi said, more and more of the picture snapping into place. “Volund’s strongest area has always been Russia, correct?”

“Since he destroyed Barak.” Leo smiled. “How did you know that?”

“I just did. Concentrate.” He spread his hands over the table, using cups and silverware to mark his mental map. “Volund wants to expand his influence from his base in Russia, but he doesn’t want to be noticed. What does he do?” He grabbed a saltshaker near his right elbow. “He gets Jaron out of Istanbul.”

“Or Jaron leaves,” Rhys said. “Either way, he’s gone.”

“And with him, the strongest competition for dominance in the east. Svarog is cunning, but he does not hunger for power.”

“And how did you know
that
?” Rhys asked.

“I don’t know! It doesn’t matter.” Malachi’s left arm came up and rested on the table, across from his right and on the opposite side
 
of the map. “Now Volund comes from the north and the east. He needs help from the west, but according to you, Phillip, he’s getting it.”

Phillip nodded. “There are more Grigori popping up in France and Germany. Spain is still relatively stable. Grigori leadership there is fractured. It used to be controlled by Barak, but Volund killed him. Now we don’t really know who controls it.”

“But we know something is happening there.” Malachi’s left and right arms began to move closer together, showing the direction of movement across the
 
map. “Volund controls the Grigori in the north. He’s moving in the east”—he lifted his right arm—“and someone else is moving in the west.” He lifted his left. “Volund wants to wipe the Irin from the earth. And where is the center of the Irin world?”

“Vienna,” Leo said. “But—”

“Exactly. And why would Volund send an arrow to Vienna when he could give them…” His arms closed in on a mental point in the center of the table. “A nice, slow hug?”

Chapter Twelve

The words Orsala had taught her slipped from her lips, an ancient incantation that set Ava’s blood humming.

“Shanda vash…”

This
was Power.

She could feel it welling up, stirring under her skin as the words took shape on her tongue. A spell to distract and disarm an enemy. Ancient words. Holy words. Dangerous words…

Bruno winced and closed his eyes. “Yes. She’s definitely hit it.”

“What do you feel?” Orsala asked.

“Like if she doesn’t stop I’m going to lose my lunch on your lovely Turkish carpet, Orsala.”

“Details, Bruno. I need to know the effects.”

“There’s a—a piercing pain in my temple. A—and my limbs feel weak, as well.”

“Excellent. She’s only been practicing this one for a few days.”

His voice was strained. “I’m serious. I’m about to throw up.”
 

Ava barely heard him. The magic was too heady. Like wine, it seeped into her blood and went straight to her head. It wasn’t the painful jolt of power she’d felt in the cistern. Orsala had taught her control, so the words she spoke flowed from her belly, up her throat, and left her mouth softly. Weaker magic, perhaps, but magic she could hold far longer.

Speak
.
 

The dark voice called her.

Yes…

“Ava.” She felt the hand on her shoulder as if in a dream. “Enough.”

Bruno’s hand was at his temple. “Orsala,” he forced out the words. “I can’t—”

“Ava, you need to stop.” Orsala’s grip was firmer. Her words more clear. “Now. Release the magic.”

Not yet…

Bruno was barely standing. His face was pale. “Orsala…”

“Shanda huul!”

The old woman’s words hit her in the stomach like a punch. Ava gasped, rocking back on her heels as the force of her own spell was turned against her. She could feel the pain in her head, like the high whine of a piercing whistle. It turned her stomach inside out, and she almost fell down when her knees buckled. Bruno caught her before she hit the ground.

“There you are,” he said. His eyes still carried hints of pain, but he was smiling. “Got a taste of your own medicine, did you?”

“How were you even standing through that?” she choked out.

Orsala said, “He’s a bear. And a very good-natured one at that. Thank you, Bruno.”

The great man enclosed her in an embrace, pressing his hand to her cheek. The warm affection flowed into her like a hug against her soul. “That was a lot of magic you were wielding. Not even my Karen at her angriest has hit me like that.”

“I’m so sorry.” With the heady rush of power dissipating in the room, Ava felt the guilt rush in. She’d caused him pain, and she’d held it for long minutes. She’d only felt a second of her spell turned on her and it made her want to curl in a ball and sleep for a week.

He laughed. “It’s fine! I’m happy to help you practice. How do you feel, sister?”

“Tired. You?”

“Hungry.”
 

“Hungry? How can you be hungry after that?”

“I am a scribe of tremendous appetite.” He set Ava on her feet and stepped back. Then he patted his belly and looked toward the door. “Are we done here? I need to find my woman.”

“You are a beast,” Orsala said. “Go. And thank you, Bruno.”

He left Orsala’s cottage whistling.

Ava watched him through the window. “That is the most cheerful man I’ve ever met.”

Orsala smiled. “He is a treasure to us. Gentle as a dove and strong as an ox.”

She turned and looked at some of the pictures scattered over the walls. Family pictures. Friends. A few paintings.

“He and Karen don’t have any children?”

Orsala shook her head. “They lost a daughter during the Rending. They have not had another.”

Ava said nothing. There was nothing to say. It was easy to be caught in her own grief until she remembered that all of the Irin had lost someone. Mates. Children. Siblings. Parents. Her own grief, as heavy as it felt to her, was only a drop in an ocean of sorrow.

“Well done.” She broke out of her reverie when Orsala patted her on the shoulder and led her toward the chairs by the fire. “That was very well done. That spell is your most basic disarming spell. I imagine it’s a more controlled version of what happened in the cistern when you were being attacked. So obviously it’s very instinctual for us. If a Grigori is trying to attack you, use it. It won’t kill them, but it should give you enough time to escape.”

“Okay.” Ava paused before she asked her question. “Are there spells that
can
kill them?”

Orsala stared at her with measuring eyes. “Be careful, Ava.”

“What?”

The old woman leaned forward. “There is a dark thread to your power. One I’ve not encountered before.”

Ava said nothing, because she knew Orsala was right. She could feel it. She didn’t know what it meant, but she remembered the dark whisper in her mind as she held the magic over Bruno.
 

Not yet…

It had
wanted
to hurt him. Or maybe it had just not wanted to let go of the power.

“A part of you liked it, no?”
 

Ava said nothing.

“Your magic is very strong,” Orsala said. “Untrained, yes. But also untapped. It will be greedy. I don’t know what you’ll be capable of. It’s clear to me that you are not like other Irina—”

“You knew that already.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.” Orsala met Ava’s growing anger with calm. “I am only saying you must be careful.”

“Fine,” Ava said. “I’ll be careful. Are we done?”

“I want you to try to sing again.”

She let her head fall back. “Again? I told you, it only happened the one time. There’s no way—”

“Just try.” The tension drifted away like smoke up the chimney. If Orsala had wanted to remind Ava she still had a lot to learn, trying to tap into her supposedly supernatural vision was the surest way to accomplish it. Ever since the sing, she had tried to recreate the experience, but nothing had come of it.

“I’ll try. But no guarantees.”

Orsala nodded. “Nothing in life is guaranteed, daughter.”

Ava closed her eyes and focused on the blurry memory of the ceremony. She tried to remember the words that had slipped out of her mouth, the song that had risen from her chest until it burst over the gathering. A song that, apparently, everyone could understand with perfect clarity. Everyone except herself. She’d sung in the Old Language, but she couldn’t remember a single detail.

She held the memory of that night in her mind, turning it from every angle until she could almost see herself standing in the old barn, her arms raised, her mating marks gleaming. Minutes passed. Hours, maybe. Ava could feel a soft cradle of power around her, as if Orsala was feeding her magic, but no words would come.

She let out a frustrated breath. “I can’t. There’s nothing.”

Orsala sat back in her chair, looking frustrated beyond what Ava had ever seen her. “This makes no sense. I heard you with my own ears. You sang perfectly, as if you’d spoken the Old Language as a child.”

“All I get are images. I can remember the images I saw perfectly, I just have no idea what the words were.”

“You sang a vision. It was…” She struggled to formulate her thoughts. “Unlike anything I’ve experienced. It was as if, with your words, you made real the vision in your mind. I’ve never met a seer with that power before. I’ve never even heard of it. But when you sang, we all saw it. And we all saw the same thing. Irin and Irina alike. I’ve asked everyone. The only ones who didn’t see it were the humans. And even they said they could feel something going on.”

Ava frowned. “But isn’t that what you do, too?”

Orsala cocked her head. “Explain.”

“You have empathy.
Profound
empathy. And with that, you’ve developed your magic to the point where you can create emotional reactions in other people. Like the spell to guard this place. It’s not like your spell makes people physically unable to speak, they just have such a strong emotional reaction to even speaking the name of Sarihöfn that they would never consider revealing its location, even under torture.”

Orsala’s mouth turned down as she leaned forward. “So, what you’re saying is you think that—not only do you have these visions—but you can make others see them as well? Project them, not just with words, but actual images?”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Orsala’s mouth dropped open. “I have no idea. Because I’ve never heard of it before. According to legends, this is something Leoc could do, but I’ve never heard of even the strongest Irina seers having the ability to manifest their visions to others the way you did that night.”

Jaron had done it to her, but then, he was an angel like Leoc.
 

“Is it really that far a stretch?”

“No.” She finally smiled. “It isn’t. It does make me curious about your mother, though.”

“I told Evren, my mom—”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Orsala waved her hand. “It’s habit. We all automatically assume our magic comes from our mothers. I really meant that I was curious about your family. Sari tells me that she and Damien are trying to investigate your father now.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Foster kid,” she said. “He doesn’t know much about his birth family. I mean, it’s not something we’ve really talked about. We talk about… nice stuff. Stuff that won’t stress him out.”