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  Ursula shivered, but not with cold. Dark clouds had gathered in the sky. The start of another storm? A snowflake drifted past her face, and dread bloomed in her chest. I can’t stay here.

  She sucked in a painful breath, before slowly incanting Starkey’s Conjuration. She grimaced in pain as her ribs knit together. Slowly, she pulled herself up. Channeling some of Emerazel’s fire into her free hand, she carved another hold into the cliff.

  She glanced down again, but she already knew there was no way out of this by going down. She didn’t have the strength to climb that far. Panic gripped her, but she tried to think clearly. Bael was down there somewhere, and the snow was beginning to fall. If she didn’t get off the cliff, she’d freeze to it.

  Carving holds into the ice, she began to climb again, her heart hammering. This time at least, the cliff didn’t lean outward, and she was able to support her weight with both her hands and feet. Her muscles burned, but she pressed on. She was breathing hard when she climbed over the top of the cliff.

  Snowflakes fell around her, drifting through the late afternoon air. The wind had picked up, and she shivered as it sliced through the new tear in her jacket. A tear slid down her cheek when she thought of how Bael had so carefully patched it up that morning. Don’t lose it, Ursula. There’s a chance he’s still alive, but you can’t help him by standing around.

  Pulling her jacket tightly around her, she started onto the windswept snowfield. Her feet crunched over the ice as she wandered between the giant snowdrifts. They loomed over her in strange curving forms, and she wondered what sort of frozen beasts they might be hiding. When she brushed the snow off one, she discovered a giant boulder.

  After ten minutes of walking through the snow, she realized she didn’t really have a plan in place. I should have been following the edge of the cornice—to look for a way down.

  But when she turned to go back, she realized the drifting snow had covered any tracks she’d left behind her. She shivered, the wind knifing into her, as she tried to decide what to do. The snow fell more heavily now, but she could still see the distant outline of the mammoth cliff of rock. If I’m going to find shelter here, that’s where I’ll find it.

  As she walked toward the distant cliff, the snowstorm picked up. Snow whipped over the frozen hillocks and swirled about her in twisting gusts that tore at her clothes. Ursula pulled her jacket tighter, but snowflakes blew into her eyes. Her hands grew numb, and her toes felt like they were frozen. Still she trudged forward. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

  “Stay moving, stay warm,” Ursula whispered to herself. The mantra helped keep her going.

  Slowly, the stony cliff crept closer, like the dark side of a ship in a stormy sea. She was half frozen by the time she reached the wall of basalt. It towered above her, disappearing into the winter sky. Exhausted, she slumped against it as she looked for a crack or a crevasse she could crawl into, but the stone was completely sheer.

  “Stay moving, stay warm,” she whispered, willing herself back to standing. Slowly, she began to walk along the base of the cliff, putting one foot in front of the other. Her eyes searched for some hollow she might shelter in, but the stone remained unblemished.

  She was shivering uncontrollably now, her mind focusing on the mantra. “Stay moving, stay warm…”

  She stumbled, falling to her knees. So cold. Need to rest. She leaned against the side of the cliff. The wind whistled in her ears, and snow whitened her legs. She channeled some of Emerazel’s fire into her palms, marveling at the flames as they warmed her face. Their heat brought with it a throbbing pain as it thawed her fingers.

  She thought of Bael, how he’d warmed her only a night ago, his naked body pressed against hers. Now, as darkness fell, that memory seemed so distant. Flames danced over her hands, twisting in the wind before snuffing out.

  Her teeth chattered. “Stay moving, stay warm…” But she couldn’t stand. I’m too tired. She pulled her legs up to her chest, shivering.

  I’ll just rest here a while, wait the storm out.

  Around her, the blizzard howled, and snow drifted against her. Ursula closed her eyes, the cold piercing her mind. She couldn’t remember a reason to keep them open.

  I’m on fire. Someone has lit me on fire.

  Ursula’s eyes flew open. Frantically she swatted at herself to put out the flames, but her hands, bound with rags, were like soft clubs.

  “Shhh…” said a gentle voice. A young woman knelt next to her, her hair the color of snow.

  “My hands…” said Ursula. “Fire?”

  “Be still,” said the woman, grabbing Ursula’s wrist. “You’re safe now.”

  “Bael?” said Ursula, looking into the woman’s eyes—eyes so blue they might have been carved from glacier ice.

  The woman held a finger to her lips, white hair flowing over an ice-blue dress. “Shhh…” she whispered, before beginning to incant in Angelic.

  Chapter 30

  A low whistling woke Ursula. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She no longer sat against the cold stone of the cliff face. Instead, she lay in a soft bed, under layers of thick blankets. Only the air on her face still had the bite of winter. As she surveyed the room, she could see that it appeared to be carved from ice. The ice walls ranged from a blue-lavender near the ceiling to darker teals and ultramarines near the floor. For a moment, she thought she might have fallen into a glacial cave, but as she studied the walls, she could see deep gouges and scratches in the ice. This cave had been carved.

  “You’re awake?” A low, female voice.

  Ursula turned her head to find a woman seated on a small chair near the stove. Her gleaming white hair hung to her shoulders in neat braids. She faced away from Ursula, watching steam rise from a tea kettle. This apparently was the source of the whistling that had woken her.

  Ursula struggled to sit up, discovering that her hands were wrapped in rags so thick they looked like boxing gloves. So I wasn’t dreaming. “What have you done to my hands?”

  “Your fingers were nearly frozen when I found you. The bandages are to protect them. Would you like some tea?” Slowly, she turned to face Ursula.

  Ursula’s stomach clenched. The woman’s skin was so pale as to be nearly translucent, and was marred by a blood-red scar that sliced from forehead to cheek. She looked at Ursula through a single, glacier-blue eye. She hadn’t noticed that before, when she’d briefly woken from her sleep.

  “Wh-where am I? Where is Bael?” stammered Ursula.

  “The demon?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s fine.” The woman frowned for a moment. “You must be Ursula, then?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “The demon is wandering around in the snow, calling your name.”

  Ursula’s chest tightened. “He’s still out there? Is he okay? He was hit by the avalanche.” Her breath caught as she waited for the woman to respond.

  “He was swept down the mountain, but he’s otherwise unharmed. He’s a strong one.” The woman crossed to Ursula, holding a steaming cup of tea between delicate fingers.

  Ursula took it from her, breathing in the scent of chamomile and lavender. Without hesitating, she took a small sip. It tasted as delicious as it smelled. “How did I end up here?”

  “In my cave? I saw the flames as you tried to warm yourself. It’s not often that a follower of the fire goddess wanders into my domain.”

  “Your domain? Who are you?” But Ursula realized she already knew the answer. The gouged-out walls, the woman’s pale complexion. She’d found the White Dragon. Or rather, the White Dragon had found her.

  “I can see from your face you’ve figured it out on your own,” said the woman. “You may call me Grisial.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you were real. I’d heard stories…”

  “Oh, I’m very much real.” Grisial leaned over the bed to stare at Ursula with her single eye. “Why are you here?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Why?
”

  “Lucius has Excalibur.”

  “So?” said Grisial, leaning back on her haunches. “The sword has always been his.”

  “I need it to defeat the Darkling, or he’s going to take over the world.”

  “And you think I’m going to help you get it from him?” Grisial started to stand and turn away.

  Ursula pushed herself up, and spoke as forcefully as she dared. “You are the only one who can defeat Lucius.”

  “No. I will not help you—I cannot help you.” Grisial backed away from her.

  “Why?”

  “Because I value my life. Just as you should value yours.” Genuine fear trembled in Grisial’s voice. “Lucius cannot be defeated if he holds the blade.”

  “But you defeated him...”

  “And look what it cost me,” said Grisial, pointing to her blind eye.

  “Lucius did that?”

  Grisial nodded, pain etched in her features.

  “So I came all the way here. Nearly dying—”

  “You’d be dead if I hadn’t saved you,” Grisial pointed out.

  “And you’re telling me that you can’t help.” Frustration simmered in her chest, building to something like anger. “You don’t understand. If the Darkling comes to earth and enacts his plan, we’ll all be dead. You need to fight Lucius. You’re the only one who can help.”

  Grisial stared at Ursula with a deep sadness in her eye. “I didn’t defeat Lucius. Lucius was in love with me. He let me win.”

  “I don’t understand. He ripped your eye out, then let you win?” Ursula sat back on the bed, stunned. “Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

  Grisial sighed. “Female dragons are very rare. I was the first born in a thousand years. As his right, as Drake, Lucius claimed me as his. He raised me in his harem, hidden and separate from the other dragons. I didn’t know what I was, and he didn’t tell me. He wanted to keep me as his own.”

  Ursula’s lip curled. “So he kept you as a slave.”

  Grisial shook her head vigorously. “Not exactly. He didn’t lay a finger on me. I think he hoped I’d fall in love with him. It didn’t happen that way. I fell in love with one of his guards, Ben. Ben told me what I was. He showed me how to transform into my dragon form. When Lucius found out…” Grisial heaved a sob. “He killed Ben. I tried to fight him. You can see what he did to me. It wasn’t so much that I defeated him as I managed not to die.”

  Grisial looked so forlorn, so vulnerable, that Ursula nearly gave her a hug. This was not what Ursula had expected of the White Dragon. “Well, he stole Excalibur from me, so apparently I made his power worse.”

  Grisial’s eye widened. “Lady Viviane gave you the sword?”

  “Yes.”

  “You weren’t lying about the Darkling. Sit still.” Grisial moved closer to Ursula, standing just in front of her. Gently, she placed her fingers on Ursula’s temples. She closed her eye, concentrating. After a few moments, she pulled away.

  “Who are you?” Grisial’s voice sounded worried—sharp.

  “I’m Ursula Anne Thurlow,” said Ursula, remembering the name her grandfather had told her.

  “No, I mean who are you?”

  “That’s all I know. I lost all my memories of my childhood. They called me the mystery girl in London.”

  Grisial crossed her arms over her chest. “Why should I trust you if you don’t know who you are?”

  “My grandfather is the head of the king’s guards.”

  Grisial sucked in a sharp breath. “Your mother is the queen killer?”

  “That’s me. I don’t remember her at all. I think someone magically wiped my memories.”

  Grisial shook her head. “That’s impossible. I know of no magic that can erase memories.”

  Ursula held out her hands, palms up. “But I can’t remember anything.”

  “Then try harder,” Grisial snapped.

  “It won’t work,” said Ursula with a frustrated sigh. “I saw a million psychologists back in London. I was hypnotized, fed special diets, but none of it could help me recall anything.”

  “That’s because you didn’t want to remember.”

  Ursula frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “When Lucius killed Ben, I completely lost it. I attacked Lucius. Spilled his blood. At first, I remembered none of it. It was like one moment Ben was dying, and the next I was here on Mount Acidale.”

  “So how do you know what happened?”

  Grisial laced her fingers together. “I kept going back to the last thing I saw.” She shook her head at the memory. “It was awful—Ben bleeding on the floor—but I forced myself to push past it. To recall what I did next.”

  “That won’t work for me. I don’t remember anything before I arrived in London. There’s no ‘last thing’—it’s just blackness, then waking up in a burnt-out church in London. To be honest, I hardly remember the church, just the hospital after.”

  Grisial thought for a long while before speaking. “I think you start with your last memory, even if it is the hospital, then work backward.”

  “If I can tell you more about my past, will you help us get Excalibur?”

  “Maybe.”

  Well, it doesn’t look like I have any other options. Ursula closed her eyes. She concentrated on the moment her eyes opened in the Royal London Hospital.

  “Focus on the minutiae,” said Grisial. “The details will help place you in your memory.”

  Ursula summoned up the memory of the hospital room, the rough cotton sheets, the beeping of the heart monitor, the dueling scents of antiseptic and floral arrangements…and the moment she opened her eyes. Then she focused on earlier, when the firefighter pulled her from the rubble.

  “I remember the firefighter,” she said excitedly.

  “Good,” said the White Dragon. “Now go further back.”

  Ursula closed her eyes again. Slowly, the firefighter came back into focus. Her head on his shoulder. The acrid smell of smoke in the air. He moved backward, and she realized her memory was like a movie in reverse, watching the firefighter carry her in slow motion back into the flames. Pieces of a shattered beam rose from the floor until no longer broken, and they fitted themselves into the ceiling. Smoke and fire surrounded her. She couldn’t breathe.

  She opened her eyes, sucking deep breaths. Panic roiled within her.

  “Is it working?” asked Grisial.

  “I think so. I could see the firefighter carrying me.”

  “Good. Now try again. Further back.”

  Ursula closed her eyes, and the smell of smoke curled into her nostrils. She could taste ash on her tongue. The firefighter carried her deeper into the flames, moving backward. Heat seared her skin. Her heart raced. Slowly, he lowered her to the ground. As she descended, she could see the outline of a sigil on the floor. The firefighter straightened. Then he began backing away, disappearing into the flames. She was alone. An inferno raged around her.

  Ursula curled her legs inward, so that her knees touched her chest. Her eyes closed, and the memory skipped.

  She was standing outside now. On top of a castle wall, maybe. A row of stone crenellations rose in front of her, and flames licked about her feet. Emerazel’s sigil. She could hear herself incanting the traveling spell in reverse, pain throbbing in her shoulder. When she looked down, she could see blood seeping through her shirt, blossoming like a flower. Did someone stab me?

  Her heart slammed against her ribs, and ice-cold grief threatened to overwhelm her.

  As she finished the spell, she crouched, then drew the sigil in reverse, using a bottle of perfume. Everything was backwards, the liquid pouring upward from the stone and into the bottle. She shoved the full perfume bottle into her pocket as she walked backward to the crenellations.

  The smell of fire curled through the air. As she peered over the side, she could see an inferno raging beneath her. Her chest heaved in panic, sorrow slamming into her. She reached into the air, and a dagger zoomed out of
the flames and into her hand, flying in reverse. It took her a moment to understand what had happened—that she was now holding a dagger she’d just thrown off the ramparts.

  A gold blade, encrusted with jewels.

  With one hand, she pulled down the collar of her shirt. With the other, she pressed the blade into her skin. Burning pain lanced through her, and she slowly un-carved Emerazel’s sigil, moving backward through time. When it disappeared, she shoved the dagger back into her sheath. Tears streamed down her face—crying for her mother. Sobbing for the life she’d lost.

  She uncrumpled a piece of paper, pressing it against the flat stone on one of the crenellations. For an instant, she could see the text, but she didn’t even need to read it—she already knew what it said.

  On your 18th birthday,

  March 15, 2016,

  ask for a trial.

  - Ursula (You)

  Then she began un-writing it, the ink flowing from the page into the pen.

  With a gasp, Ursula opened her eyes. Grisial stood next to the bed. All at once, memories began trickling back to her—her mother, teaching her to fight with a sword, striding purposefully across a field, teaching Ursula to read. And yet—despite the memories, the images, it all felt strangely distant, as if she was watching a stranger’s life. Not her own. She still didn’t understand. What had happened to her memories? Why had she blocked everything out?

  Her chest tightened. “It-it was my choice to forget the past, but I don’t know why. I was the one who carved the sigil into my shoulder. I wrote myself the note,” Ursula stammered. “I was the one who wrote the note. I wanted to forget.”

  The dragon looked at her sympathetically. “You needed to escape your memories.”

  “Yes, but I still can’t feel anything, so I’m not sure why.” She looked into Grisial’s single sapphire eye. “Do you trust me now? Will you help me defeat Lucius?”

  “I will help you, but you know I cannot defeat him. Not when he possesses Excalibur. The most I can do is protect you while you plead your case. Maybe you can convince him.”