Max said, “You’ve never taken me there. None of us knew where it was, Kostas. Think. This betrayal did not come from us.”

“It was Svarog’s men. Assassins from Hungary. We didn’t even know they were in our territory.” Kostas’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “We didn’t even know.”

“The other women, are they safe?” Ava asked.

“For now,” Sirius said.

“How many are left?”

“Eighteen. We need to find them a new place. Right now they’re scattered among our brothers in populated areas. They can’t stay there for long. It’s not good for the little ones.”

“I may know a place,” Ava said. “But you’ll need papers for them. It’s not in Bulgaria.”

The safe house Karen, Bruno, and Astrid had set up outside Prague was intended for Irina, but it could work for the kareshta as well. Ava was certain they wouldn’t turn innocents away. She knew it was remote, but she had no idea how hard it would be to get papers for foreign women and children.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Max said. “I’ve already helped with IDs for them in the past.” He turned to Kostas. “How could you think I’d tell?”

Kostas only shook his head.

Sirius said, “Kostas told me you were coming here to petition the elders. Some of them must know about the kareshta. We think some in Vienna are in league with the Fallen.”

“Conspiracy theories,” Malachi said.

“We have said nothing publicly,” Rhys said. “Not even to our allies. These women are innocents. Most of the Irin—”

“Most of the Irin would kill them on sight, simply because they carry the blood of their enemy,” Kostas bit out. “I have no faith in your mercy.” He hung his head. “Nor should I expect it.”

Ava pushed past Malachi and knelt by him. “I have Grigori blood. The scribes in Istanbul didn’t turn me away.”

Kostas lifted his eyes. “Did they know?”

“No. But when they found out, my mate didn’t turn his back on me. None of them did. It will matter to some Irin, but not all.”

Kostas shook his head.

“We’re more than our blood,” Ava whispered. “More than our pasts. We just have to make them see that. They need to see you and Kyra. See the good that you’re doing.”

“I’m not dragging my sister into this”—he looked around—“vipers’ nest. Vienna would never be safe for her.”

“You don’t know that. And I think that decision should be left up to Kyra.” Ava rose to her feet and held out her hand. “Stand up. Sitting on the ground angry isn’t helping anyone. Brooding isn’t productive.”

Her irritation made the corner of his mouth turn up. “You remind me of her, you know.”

“Then you should be able to predict how stubborn I can be. Come on,” Ava said. “Come inside and let’s figure out a way to fix this.”

V.

BARAK SAT IN HIS MOST FAMILIAR human form, watching the groundskeepers trim the bushes in the snow-blanketed cemetery in the middle of the Irin city. A conspiracy of ravens watched him from the bare branches of a lime tree arching over a family crypt where a frost-dusted woman sat with a scroll on her lap, staring into the heavens. Some melancholic mourner had placed a red rose there, and the despairing woman clutched it in her hand.

Vasu appeared behind him, also in his most familiar form.

“What has gotten into you?” Barak asked.

“I have decided this is amusing. Is he here yet?”

“No, but I’ve put the cemetery into a dream for when he comes.”

“Why? I merely—”

His voice was cut off when Jaron appeared beside him in a rage.

Without a word, Jaron launched Vasu across the graveyard, his body hurled through the pillars of a memorial, which crashed with a massive thud, marble shards and ice flying through the frosty air.

Barak sighed. “You should have known.”

Vasu countered, his human form disappearing in a blink, then reappearing behind his brother, clutching Jaron’s shoulders as the two disappeared, only to reappear at the top of the church dome in the distance. Vasu threw Jaron off the tower, but the more powerful angel blinked out of sight and reappeared next to Vasu, shoving the angel off the blue-green dome and into the air where Vasu transformed into a large raven, one of his favorite forms.

The raven came to light on the tree across from Barak. The conspiracy took flight, leaving him alone and staring at Barak.

“I told you not to play games with her,” the other angel said. “He is possessive of his daughters.”

The voice that came from the raven’s mouth was human, even if its form was not. “She’s not his daughter.”

Jaron appeared beneath the tree. “She is of my line, and she is mine. That is all you need to know. Play your games with your own blood, brother.”

With a spread of wings, Vasu transformed again into the black-haired man with deep gold eyes. His black coat flapping behind him, he walked to Barak and sat down next to the weary angel.

“It was very informative to shadow her.”

“You spoke knowledge to her mind,” Barak said. “It has entered the world now. Are you aware of the consequences?”

“So our Master has not given us leave to tell our secrets to our children.” Vasu rolled his eyes. “This would be important if I cared about staying in His graces. I do not.”

Jaron hissed. Even Barak drew away.

“You tempt heaven, brother.”

“I tempt nothing but the whims of the Creator. And since I do not aim to leave this realm, it is of no concern to me.”

“Someday you will remember,” Jaron said. “And you will curse this day.”

“I will curse nothing. I am not capable of regret.”

Jaron’s mouth curled up at the corner. “We are capable of entirely more than what we like to admit, Vasu. For now, stay away from my daughter.”

“She has given her magic to the scribe,” Barak said. “This has never happened before. Their union is unique.”

“It will not be for long. I have seen it.”

“Was this your aim?” Vasu asked, his head cocked to the side. “A blending of Irin and Grigori magic? My brother, you have more heretical tendencies than I gave you credit for. My apologies for doubting you.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Vasu. But I believe this serves the will of our Master.”

Barak asked, “Why?”

“Azril returned the scribe.”

Barak and Vasu said at once, “His Will be done.”

“He desires unity?” Barak asked.

“If He did not, I would not have seen our triumph over Volund. Would not have seen our return.”

“Redemption,” Barak whispered, “was never my goal.”

“But if it allows us to return,” Jaron said, “I am willing to play on the side of the light.”

Vasu crouched on the ground and drew his fingers through the snow, writing words that would disappear in moments as the snow began to fall.

“Svarog’s children have routed your son,” Vasu said, staring at the crystalline flakes. “They will be here in days.”

Barak said, “Grimold’s get have been here for months, playing quietly while Volund chased the Irina from his territory. Svarog has called his sons. They will drag themselves here—screaming in rebellion, perhaps—but they will come.”

Vasu said, “Two armies are aligned against us, Jaron. Are you content to let your sons stay in hiding?”

“My sons have other tasks now. I do not need my army. I will take the Irin as my own.”

“The Irina are here,” Barak said. “Volund is foolish to underestimate them. They have no authority that constrains them as the scribes do.”

“And we will use that to defeat him,” Jaron said, brushing drifts of snow from his bare arms. The glyphs that marked his skin glowed with a faint silver light. As his daughter’s magic had transformed with her bonding to the scribe, he felt his own powers changing. Melding into something he could not predict. A rush of emotion had reached him the night of their union. Feelings he had not experienced for thousands of years.