Page 71 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

My bile rose. I marched toward the trees, away from the thing wearing the perfect mask of my mother’s face. “Gareth? Talan?Ryder!”

“If you’re calling for the men in the forest,” she said from behind me, “they can’t hear you. Nothing can enter Wardwell, or hear or sense anything of Wardwell, unless I wish it.”

“Wardwell?” Gemma asked, wiping her face. “Is that what this place is called?”

“It is. My own private sanctuary.”

“Stop crying,” I snapped at Gemma. “Both of you, stop crying. Don’t you see that this is some kind of trick?”

Mara blew out a long, shaky breath. “I don’t think it’s a trick, Farrin.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, but—” She gestured helplessly. “Look at her.”

“I’m looking, and all I see is the same face Alastrina Bask wore when she came to the midsummer ball and humiliated us.”

The creature’s eyebrows rose. “Alastrina Bask? That’s a story I’d like to hear. But I promise you, I wear no glamour. This is no trick.”

And suddenly, the bubble of anger rising inside me burst. I still wore the fighting staff; it rested against my back, held in place by a padded leather strap slung across my torso, over my coat. I reached around and tore it loose, then rushed at this false creature, this evil lie. I ignored the cries of my sisters; not even Mara was fast enough to stop me, turned slow by her own dazed joy.

I raised my staff high and swung it hard at the creature’s head. If she was a figment, some being sent to trick us, a mechanism created by Kilraith or Moonhollow or whatever terrible place this Wardwellreallywas—then she would defend herself. She would fight back. Her mother-skin would peel away to reveal the monster beneath.

But she did nothing. She didn’t even dodge the staff as it came flying at her. She stood there and let it come. It thwacked her hard on her temple; she let out a sharp cry and crumpled to the ground, then lay there among the flowers in a stunned heap.

Mara was on me before I could strike again; she grabbed the staff, easily overpowering me, and tossed it away. Then she seized my arms and pulled them behind me, securing me against her front while I struggled uselessly to break free.

“What’swrongwith you?” Gemma cried. She knelt at the felledcreature’s side, helped her turn over, and gasped when she saw the damage I’d done.

I saw it too: her temple was split open, blood spilling onto the ground. And her jaw, I realized with a sick twist in my stomach, was no longer where it should be, as if the force of my blow had knocked it half out of her skull.

“Oh gods,” Gemma whispered, hovering over her. She tore off her own coat and pressed it to the bright red gash. “Here, lie still. Let me just hold this here, stanch the blood—”

But the creature gently shook her off. “It’s all right,” she croaked, her voice thick with pain. “Just give me a moment.”

Then she slowly sat up—not with extraordinary effort, more like stretching out one’s limbs after a long night of sleep. She touched her temple and lightly drew her hand down her body, her fingers trailing thin streaks of blood across skin and gown. A cold, clear sort of feeling washed over me, as if I’d plunged into a glacial lake faster than any human could move and then been thrown back out. She was working some kind of magic, but it was swifter than any I’d ever felt, a quicksilver ripple through the air, and it hurt my teeth, left every hair on my body standing on end. And then, as we watched, her mangled jaw cracked back into place. The wound on her temple closed. She shook her head and shoulders, as if to make sure everything was back where it belonged, then rose, looking much wearier than she had before I’d bludgeoned her.

Gemma scrambled to her feet and hurried over to join us, staring at the creature in horror. Mara’s grip on my arms loosened. Her body tensed behind me, ready to fight. “What are you?” she said, her voice newly flat and hard.

“I wasn’t lying to you,” the woman said quietly. The serene expression she’d worn upon our arrival was gone, something grave and old and tired in its place. “I am Philippa Ashbourne. I am your mother,and I…” Her voice broke a little. She shook her head, let out a single soft laugh.

I stepped forward, trembling, my hands in fists. I glanced at the fighting staff, lying abandoned in a patch of clover. It wasn’t too far; if I was quick enough, I might be able to grab it before she attacked us.

“But?” I prompted.

“But,” she agreed, “I am also more than that.” Then she lifted her gaze to meet mine, and then Mara’s, and then Gemma’s, one at a time, before coming back to look straight at me. She gave me a sad smile. A bird passed overhead, singing cheerfully, and as its tiny shadow passed over the woman’s face, her blue eyes—Gemma’s eyes—flashed a subtle but unmistakable amber.

A chill dropped over me.

“I am Kerezen,” she said, and as she spoke the words, her voice became deeper, more sonorous, as if it were echoing through a long tunnel of stone. “Goddess of the senses. Mother of all bodies, singer of all songs, maker of bone and blood.” She paused, then glanced beyond us at the trees. When she blinked, another cold ripple of the magic I’d felt before shot past us—a crackling jolt of power, so quick I wondered if I’d imagined it.

Truly, I wondered if I was imagining all of this—this place, this impossible woman standing before us. My body felt hot and cold in waves my heartbeat roared in my ears, a drum of disbelief.

“There, I’ve let them in,” she said. “The others, your men. They will arrive soon.” She looked at us with resigned exhaustion on her face, as if muted, frozen shock was not the reaction she’d been hoping for. She gestured back at the cottage. Her voice was smaller now, her eyes an ordinary blue. “Come. Let’s go sit and wait for them. As you might imagine, there is much to discuss.”

***

When Ryder, Gareth, and Talan arrived, they were stiff with snow and ice, and frantic to find us. Freyda, chirping angrily, flew like a shot arrow to Mara’s shoulder and started tugging irritably at her braid. Talan rushed straight for Gemma and drew her tenderly into his arms, his eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. He murmured something into her hair; she held his cold face in her hands and told him something in response, something sweet and low I couldn’t hear. The next moment, Gareth was upon me, his hug so fierce it knocked the wind out of me.

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