Page 78 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

“And even if she never told a single creature, living or dead or Olden,” Ryder continued, “she could still burn us to a crisp the moment she’s able to fully burn again.”

“Your sister lives.”

Ryder and I froze. I recovered first, turning back to stare at Ankaret. “What did you say?”

Her color paled further. She was shrinking in size, like a dying fire. “Your sister, Alastrina.” She was looking not at me but at Ryder. “You love her so. She knows this. She sees it in you. And she must tell you that your sister lives. She lives, but she isn’t safe.”

There was real pity in her voice, and when Ryder hurried toward her, she did not flinch, merely stared up at him with her round unblinking eyes.

He knelt before her, heedless of the thorns and fire. “How do you know this?”

“She does not know,” she said mournfully. “And yet she knows much. She sees it in her dreams, and her dreams are only fire and light. Your sister lives, but she is not safe. She hardly sleeps. When she does, she dreams of games in dark hallways. Hide-and-go-seek. Quiet cupboards, everything black and safe. A cave in a house in awood.” She went quiet for a moment, then shook her head and let out a sharp, strained cry. “She tries to see more but cannot! This is all she knows, Ryder Bask of the north. Please, let her go.Please.”

Ryder turned away abruptly, dragged shaking hands across his face. His expression was horrified, his color suddenly ashen. Looking at him, I felt cold. What Ankaret had said was nonsense to my ears, but clearly something in her words had struck home.

“Please?” Ankaret begged, her voice small, her crackling body now the size of an ordinary human girl. “Please, let her go.”

“Do it,” Ryder said hoarsely, his back to us both.

I was glad to. With both hands, I yanked the arrow from the tree, and once Ankaret was free, she did not fly away. She unfurled her glorious wings to a span of perhaps thirty feet and once more bloomed into a bird woman, at least twelve feet tall, and yet she did not burn us. In fact, she seemed jubilant. She stretched her beautiful body of fire up into the trees, taller and taller, then dropped down to our height again. Her feathers rippled and fluttered, a sea of red and gold.

“Thank you for your mercy,” she said, her voice stronger, less frightened. “She will not forget it. Now, ask her your question, and she will answer if she can.”

Ryder glanced over at me, his eyes bright. I could feel a despair radiating from him like the working of acrid magic. He couldn’t speak. He looked lost, and young—a boy without his sister.

So, I was the one to speak. “What is the city called Moonhollow?” I asked.

Immediately I deplored my choice. Out of all the questions teeming in my mind, this one seemed suddenly the least important. I could have phrased it more precisely; I could have insisted Ryder give me his opinion before we decided what to say.What are you, truly? Why are you following us? Where is Kilraith? Where is Alastrina?

But the words had been spoken, and Ankaret drew her wings close to her body, becoming a single column of fire.

“Moonhollow,” she repeated. My stomach sank when I heard the regret in her voice. “This is a word she does not know. This is a word she has never heard, not in any wood, not on any mountain. But…”

And then she surged toward me, too close, too bright. I flinched back from her overwhelming warmth, and she shrank away. She bowed her head—an apology, I thought. A tendril of feather-fire lingered in the air near me, as if suspended in water. The sight of it seemed somehow wistful.

“Do not worry, Farrin of the forest light,” she said, “and Ryder, raven-wild. This city called Moonhollow—she will find it. A promise is a promise. She will find it, and she will tell you. Watch for her, and be always sharp, always ready. Do not fear your blood’s old power, Farrin of the gods. You will need it. It is a friend.”

Then, a quick flicker of heat past me, a circle of light whipping around Ryder, and she was gone. No trace of her remained in the woods—no embers, no singed trees.

We stood in silence, and at last my courage faded and my wobbly knees gave out. I sank slowly to the ground and sat there in the moss, staring at the feather in my hands.

Ryder knelt beside me. I couldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should have asked about Alastrina. I should have—”

“No, it was a good question,” Ryder said at once. “The mystery of Moonhollow, whatever it is, connects all the other ones. At least it seems to. You did well.”

I nodded, then said quietly, “Farrin of the gods. That’s what she called me.” I looked up at Ryder, imploring. “She knew. Somehow she knew.”

“Or,” he said, his expression grim, “this is all some test of your mother’s, some twisted game.”

“Maybe, but…” I shook my head. “I don’t think so, and I don’t think you do either. The things she said about Alastrina—games in dark hallways, quiet cupboards.” I hesitated, hating the images the words evoked. “Those things meant something to you.”

Ryder nodded, staring at the ground, his gaze like daggers. He said nothing else, though his jaw worked as if he was fighting mightily for words he could not find.

I touched his arm, and almost at once he grabbed my hand and held it with something like desperation.

“We can’t tell Philippa about her,” I said, after a moment. “About Ankaret, I mean.”

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