Axis glanced upward once or twice, wondering if he would see the eagle, but the surrounding fog was so thick and so closeting that the effort was useless. Axis gave up wondering about the eagle and instead tried to think through the hex that Eleanon had created.

Or recreated. Once more he was to meet Borneheld in battle. Axis and Borneheld had been rivals in many areas: parental affection, power at the Acharite court, success on the battlefield, but all of these rivalries had coalesced into the war over Faraday. Faraday and Axis had loved each other, but Borneheld had won Faraday as his wife — and that was always Borneheld’s greatest triumph over Axis.

Faraday may have loved Axis, but she had left him to marry Borneheld.

How Borneheld had laughed in Axis’face and taunted him with his sexual conquest of the woman Axis loved.

Now Eleanon wanted Axis to relive this all over again, save with Inardle now playing the role of Faraday. What did Eleanon expect Axis to do . . . battle and kill Borneheld once again, and then free Inardle — and himself — from this hex?

No, no, there must be something else .

There was a trap here somewhere.

This wasn’t a hex to trap Inardle. It was a hex to trap Axis.

They struggled on through the snow and ice. Inardle kept her head down, not looking at Axis, trapped in her own misery. She kept her hands wrapped about her shoulders, and her wings, still dragging behind her, were now so heavy with ice that Axis was amazed she could still move. Axis wished he could do something for her, but she rejected any overture.

They struggled through the snow.

After what felt like many hours something rose out of the snow before them. Axis was so astounded, almost frightened, that he stopped, staring ahead.

Inardle kept on walking, her head bowed, and Axis did not even know if she realised what lay in front of her.

It was a perfect representation of Carlon — the beautiful lakeside city that had once been Achar’s capital — save it was now constructed entirely from ice. Walls, streets, gates, turrets, the great palace at its highest point, even all the pennants and flags . . . all ice.

Inardle trudged forward.

Axis stared at the city, stared at Inardle — incredulous that she should just ignore this — then forced himself after her.

They walked on.

The gates of Carlon lay open before them. Axis felt as if he walked through a dream — or was it a nightmare? Everything was as he remembered and everything brought back so many memories. They walked through the gates — Inardle still not showing any indication she realised they’d stopped walking through snowdrifts and now trod ice cobbles — and climbed the road that wound upward through the city toward the palace. Axis kept glancing to the side and behind him, wondering what ghosts lurked down side alleys and behind buildings.

But there were none. Just Axis and Inardle, climbing ever upward to the palace.

The gates to the palace lay open.

Inardle kept walking, a little faster now that some of the ice on her wings had grated off on the cobbles.

Axis hung back for a moment, remembering everything that had happened in this palace.

Now Borneheld waited.

Axis glanced upward again. The fog had lifted and he saw a black speck high in the sky.

Thank the stars. Axis hurried after Inardle. He turned the cloak back over his shoulders, giving his hand free access to the heavy sword at his hip.

And the dagger in his boot.

They worked their way through the palace, moving ever upward. They walked through wide corridors, hung with vast tapestries depicting scenes from Achar’s glorious past and lit with ice lamps that emitted a cold, hard light.

There was no one in the palace, save he who waited in the Chamber of the Moons.

“Inardle,” Axis said, “wait.”

Unexpectedly, Inardle stopped, raising her face to look at Axis.

Axis reached out a hand, wanting to touch her, but not daring. He let his hand drop. “Inardle, whatever happens in that chamber, I am going to free us from this hex.”

Her mouth curved very slightly in a sad smile. “You do not know Eleanon. He wants neither of us to leave. You should not have come after me.”

“I could not let you go to Borneheld, Inardle.”

“Would he be any worse than you?” Inardle said, and she turned and walked forward.

This was a nightmare, Axis decided.

They walked on.

Eventually they turned a corner in the main corridor and, there before them, lay open the doors to the Chamber of the Moons.

Axis could hear a faint murmur coming from it, as if hundreds of people waited inside. “Inardle —” he began.

“Too late, now,” she said, and walked inside.

Axis hesitated a moment, then he, too, stepped inside.

And back into nightmare.

It was almost precisely as he remembered from that long ago night.

The Chamber of the Moons was the main audience chamber of the royal palace of Carlon. It was a huge circular room with an outer rim of alabaster columns supporting a soaring domed roof enamelled in a gorgeous deep blue. Gold and silver representations of the moon in the various phases of its monthly cycle floated amid myriad bejewelled stars across the enamelled dome. The floor was an equally spectacular affair of a deep emerald-green marble shot through with veins of gold. Even here, even in this construction of ice, the colours shone pure and unadulterated.

It was a spectacular chamber.

Axis lowered his eyes from the dome to the hundreds of shadowy people lurking behind the columns. They were not real, just shapes drifting and whispering among themselves.

Then he looked to the dais. When Axis had been a young man, BattleAxe of the Seneschal, this had been the domain of King Priam, Axis’ uncle. Then, after Priam’s murder, Borneheld had taken it as his own.

Now Borneheld sat the throne in the centre of the dais again, staring at Axis.

Inardle stood slightly to one side of the dais, facing Borneheld, but for the moment Axis barely noticed her.

His entire attention was centred on Borneheld.

Who could have imagined that Eleanon’s power could have constructed such a remarkable likeness?

Borneheld grunted, lifting a leg over one arm of the throne and slouching comfortably. “Likeness? Not at all, brother. It is I in truth and actuality and flesh. Borneheld. You thought you’d killed me, but here I am again. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Axis just stared.

“You could come back from the Otherworld, brother,” Borneheld said. “Why not I?”

He stood, then, a hulking muscular man, dark to Axis’ fairness, bulky to Axis’ leanness. They had shared a mother, but it had been their different fathers who had contributed most to each man’s being.

There was a flutter at the door and both men looked.

The eagle sat atop one of the doors and as they watched it flew high into the dome, settling on a rafter close to one wall.

There it began to preen at its feathers, disinterested in the reunion below.

“Ah,” said Borneheld, “the eagle. How I remember that.” He took a step forward, all menace and triumph. “But what use shall it be for you tonight, Axis? I have no heart left!”

Borneheld took hold of his gem-laden jerkin, ripping it apart, and Axis took a half step back in horror.

Borneheld had no chest — only an empty cavity that showed his spine and ribs.

And no heart.

Borneheld began to laugh. “I have no heart left, Axis. How do you think to murder me this time?”

Axis went cold. This was Eleanon’s trap.

Borneheld, unintentionally giving Axis time to think, had turned to Inardle. “Oh,” he said, “she’s so beautiful. Far more so than Faraday, don’t you think, Axis? Special. Magical. I am going to enjoy her . . . although I’ll need to beat the magical out of her.”

He looked back at Axis, sly and vicious. “I used to try and beat the magical out of Faraday. Did you know that Axis? It didn’t work, of course, but it kept her quiet, and that was all I needed from her. Silence. And compliance.”

Axis knew Borneheld was trying to goad him, so he ignored his brother and instead walked a little closer to Inardle, holding out his hand. “Inardle, come away with me. Don’t stay here with —”

“Don’t touch her,” Borneheld said, stepping between Inardle and Axis. “If you want her, you’ll have to fight for her.” Again that sly, vicious smile. “Just as we did half a century ago. Old times, eh?”

He laughed, and Axis gazed at Inardle.

She avoided his eyes, looking miserable and trapped.

Just as Faraday had so often looked.

“Prophecy binds her, Axis,” Borneheld said, “just as it did Faraday. Prophecy is a terrible thing to try and break.”

Now Axis stared at Borneheld, aghast. For some unknown reason what Borneheld had said struck a chord deep inside Axis, and in a blinding moment of revelation he knew how he could break the hex, what Eleanon’s trickery demanded he do, but . . . oh stars . . . oh stars . . . no wonder Eleanon thought he had Axis trapped.

And thank each and every last one of the gods he’d brought the eagle.

“Then let Prophecy work itself out once more,” Axis said, and he drew his sword with a harsh rasp of steel.

Time passed, and its passage was marked only by the ringing of steel through the Chamber of the Moons. Axis and Borneheld fought as they had fifty years earlier, evenly matched with skill and strength. Occasionally one would misstep and slip, and the other would lunge for the kill, only to have the one who had misstepped rebalance at the last moment and counter the assault. They moved about the central floor space of the Chamber of the Moons in a slow, measured dance of steel and hatred, boots sliding across the green marble, swords arcing and flashing in the light of the ice lamps, the shadowy watchers swaying to and fro as the combatants swayed to and fro, the murmur of their voices rising and falling as a distant surf in the background.

Every so often Borneheld’s jerkin would gape open, and his empty chest cavity yawned mockingly before Axis.

Hours passed, and the lamps burned low. Both men fought with weariness now. They dripped with sweat, their movements, once so lithe, now leaden and fatigued. Both had been nicked numerous times, and blood glistened jewel-like among their clothes and the droplets of sweat glistening on their faces and arms.

At no point did either man drop his eyes from the other. They had waited through death for this chance to yet again work out their resentments and hatreds. The woman and the hex were mere excuses. In reality, each hated the other so much they would willingly have fought this duel over the rights to a blade of grass.

After hours of fighting Axis could barely stand, and knew he’d have to finish this soon. He’d managed to drive Borneheld back toward the dais, where Inardle sat on its lower step, dispirited and uninterested in the battle waged before her.

Then, just before they reached the dais, the eagle, far above and still intent in its preening, discovered a particularly disarranged bundle of feathers on its chest and it attacked them in a bout of irritated housekeeping. It tore out a small, downy feather, spitting it from its beak, then bent back to the task at hand.

The feather fell softly through the air. It floated this way and that, now rising, now falling, now wafting this way, now that. But always it drifted lower and lower until it began to jerk and sway as it was caught by the laboured breathing of the combatants just below it.

It almost lodged in Axis’ hair and Axis flicked his head, irritated by the feathery touch along his forehead, distracted enough that he only just managed to parry a blow close to his chest.

The feather, dislodged from Axis’ hair, spiralled upward a hand’s-breadth or two, then, caught in a downward movement of air, sank toward the floor. Borneheld had not noticed it and Axis had forgotten it as the brothers began a particularly bitter exchange, fighting so close that they traded blows virtually on the hilts of their swords, taking the strain on their wrists, both their faces reddened and damp from effort and weariness and determination and hate.

The feather settled on the marble floor.

Axis suddenly lunged forward. Momentarily surprised, and caught slightly off-guard, Borneheld took a single step backward and . . . lost his balance as his boot heel slipped on the feather.

It was all Axis needed. As Borneheld swayed, a look of almost comical surprise on his face, Axis hooked his own foot about the inside of Borneheld’s knee and pulled his leg out from under him.

Borneheld crashed to the floor, the sword slipping from his grasp and Axis kicked it across the Chamber. Fear twisting his face, Borneheld scrabbled backward, seeking space in which to rise. He risked a glance behind him —

There Faraday had once struggled, held firm in the grip of Jorge.

Now Inardle sat, not two paces away, staring at Axis as if with a horrid fascination.

They always looked at Axis before they looked at him.

Borneheld tried to shuffle away as Axis placed his booted foot squarely in the centre of Borneheld’s empty chest, raising his sword. But, instead of bringing the blade down to sever the arteries of Borneheld’s neck, Axis twisted the sword in his hand and struck Borneheld a stunning blow to his skull with its haft, leaving the man writhing weakly, semi-conscious. Then Axis threw the sword away.

Inardle looked at Axis, bewildered. Why did he not finish Borneheld off with a quick, clean blow?

Axis raised his face and stared at her, and it was the most devastating look Inardle could ever remember seeing in anyone’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Inardle,” Axis whispered, then he stepped forward, taking the knife from where it had rested all this time in his boot, and dealt her a sharp blow to the side of her head.

Inardle slumped to the floor, semi-conscious and writhing very slightly as Borneheld did a few paces away.

Axis felt sick, but he knew he had to do this, as quickly as possible, before his courage failed him. He sank to his knees, straddling Inardle, and hauling her roughly so she lay on her back under him.

She raised one hand weakly in protest but, still struggling for consciousness, let it drop back to the marble floor.

I’m sorry, Axis said to her, over and over. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry ,,,

He ripped open her robe, exposing her breasts, then, crying out in horror, he plunged the knife into the skin and flesh atop Inardle’s sternum and hauled it downward, opening up her chest.

Blood spurted everywhere.

Oh stars, oh stars ,..

Then Axis took the haft of the knife in both hands and, before he could even think about what he was doing, slammed the blade into Inardle’s sternum, twisting it so the bone cracked in two.

Axis tossed away the knife and then, before going any further, made the mistake of looking into Inardle’s face.

It would haunt him the rest of his life. She stared at him in pain and horror, which was what he had expected, but also with the dismay of someone who has been betrayed so deeply that their minds simply cannot encompass the depth of that betrayal. She looked at him in question and pain and love and supplication, as if hoping that somehow he could explain away with a smile and a joke what he was doing.

Axis? Her lips formed the word, but could not speak it, and Axis sobbed, dragging his eyes away from hers. He looked back to the nightmarish mess of her chest, at the blood pumping forth so that his lower body, and almost her entire torso and much of her wings, were soaked in it, then he dug his fingers between the cracked sternum and with one huge effort tore her ribcage apart.

The sound of the splintering bones in the chamber was shocking, and Axis gagged, so sickened and horrified at what he was doing that he thought he could not bear to continue.

But he had to . . . he had to . . . he could not stop now.

His arms bloodied to the elbow, his shirt soaked in Inardle’s blood, Axis dug both hands into her chest and wrapped them about her frantically beating heart .

Then he tore it out, spraying blood over an area five paces in diameter.

“ Take it!“ he screamed to the eagle. ” Take the damned thing now!“

And with all his strength, Axis tossed Inardle’s beating heart high into the air.

The eagle launched itself from its perch, its scream merging with Axis’ now wordless shrieking, and plummeted downward, seizing the heart in its talons.

Axis screamed again. Go! Go!

There was a blinding flash of light and suddenly both eagle and heart had vanished.

Axis forced himself to look downward.

Inardle, unbelievably, still had a single breath of life left in her. She stared at Axis, managed to half raise a hand.

I wish . . . she mouthed, and then she was gone.

Axis stared, his breath heaving in and out of his chest, his mind barely working.

Oh gods ,.. what had he done? What had he done?

There was a slight scuffle of noise behind him, and Borneheld grabbed at one of Axis’ ankles.

“Gotcha!” he crowed.

Axis reacted instinctively and with all the hatred for his brother and his grief for Inardle combined. He whipped about and struck Borneheld a massive blow across his face. Borneheld’s grip on his ankle loosened and Axis rose to his feet and kicked his brother in the face, maddened with grief and despair, and loosing all of that grief and despair on Borneheld.

He paused, his breath heaving in and out of his chest, then Axis kicked Borneheld again, and then again, and then yet again, until all sound in that death chamber was only the sound of a boot thudding into splintered bone and flesh, over and over, and the sound of a man’s heartbroken sobbing.