Amadea came awake with a hiss, her heart racing in her dreki chest.

For a second she thought she saw a ghost, but it was only a fragment of the dream lingering; a promise of doom unfolding with sweet, whispered malice. As she lifted her enormous head, surveying the Chaos bubble that held her innermost realm, she could see nothing, and yet the echoes of pure Chaos magic lingered like a sulfurous stink.

She'd heard Árdís's voice, ringing in her dream like a bell.

And she'd felt the girl's raw, unrestrained magic slam through her, burning a warning into her skin.

Chaos magic.

Her daughter had somehow learned to master the art of Chaos.

Forcing magic through her veins, Amadea transformed into her mortal shape, and stared at the white burn mark on her arm. A small print shaped like dreki claws.

A violent quiver went through her.

"Be careful what you wrought, my child," her grandmother, the mighty seer of the Zilittu clan that had birthed her, had once said. "You dabble with Fate and she is capricious. For your downfall will be a gift you spawn yourself. Your own blood will be the blade that ends your immortal life."

She'd thought all along it would be Rurik, the golden prince who looked far too much like his father.

Conjuring clothes out of Chaos, Amadea gowned herself in bloodred leather and strode toward the portal that led from her Chaos bubble to the court. Fear churned within her, but she did not dare show it.

The corridors were dark with fire flickering in the torches that lined them, though there was no sign of any of her dreki. They didn't stroll the court as they used to when her husband was alive.

Amadea finally arrived at the golden doors that led into the Hall of Mirrors. She could feel her brother within, his soul bonded to hers in the womb in a way few understood. He was the only one she could trust, and she needed him now to quell her fears. Amadea slammed her hands against the double doors, forcing them wide, and startling two of the three dreki within.

Stellan was already looking toward the doors when she entered, as if he'd felt her coming.

"What is it?" he asked sharply.

Mirrors lined the walls, images of the world outside flickering in them. Stellan pushed away from one of the mirrors, his eyes narrowing when he saw her warrior garb.

Amadea hissed at the pair of dreki warriors who guarded her brother. "Out."

The pair of them bolted, but she waited until the doors closed.

"What is it?" Stellan asked again.

"You've found nothing?"

The mirrors weren't foolproof, but her brother's elemental weavings of Fire were powerful enough to manipulate the images they showed. "No sign of her," he replied. "I swear I've scoured every blasted volcano on this rotten island. Every wave surrounding it. Every inch of every town or hovel. Something's shielding her from my view."

"She was on a ship. Norway. She has to be heading to Norway."

"Let's not make that assumption. She's played games before."

Amadea bared her teeth, her heart rabbiting in her chest as she paced. "She's got to be out there somewhere."

"Of course. We'll find her, Dea. She cannot simply vanish, and my sons are searching for her as we speak." His tone softened. "I told you it's not something to worry about. It wouldn't be the first time Árdís has disappeared, but she will be brought back again, and this time we can remind her of her place in the world. Word has been contained. None of the court knows what has happened, outside of those loyal to us. They still believe she's pouting within her Chaos bubble. We just need to manage the situation a few more days, and when she's back, she will mate with one of my sons and we can stabilize the power structure here at court. There's nothing to worry about."

Amadea rolled up her sleeve, revealing the stark burn scar on her arm. "Isn't there?"

His dark eyes sharpened, and he captured her hand, turning her wrist to view the burn.

Their eyes met.

"It seems my daughter has been keeping secrets," she snapped, tugging her sleeve back down. Nobody else could know. "If she learns to master Chaos magic then she's no longer a pawn, Stellan. She's a threat."

"She's never revealed a hint of it before."

Amadea turned away, wrapping her arms around her as she sought a soothing view in one of the mirrors. Each mirror had been spelled to reflect the skies outside, for there were no windows in Hekla, and this one showed the smoking caldera that surrounded Krafla, the volcano that housed her exiled son, Rurik.

"I shouldn't be surprised," she admitted. "Our grandmother had the gift, and so do I. It runs in the matriarchal line."

Stellan's hands came to rest upon her shoulders, and he squeezed. "Chaos magic or not, the girl's untrained."

"So was I." A whisper, torn from her throat. She rested her fingers upon his, clinging to that small touch. "And I can still see the look on Grandmother's face when I killed her."

"You were protecting me. You had more to fight for than she did. And now you have both skill and cause."

"Your own blood will be the blade that ends your immortal life." Amadea pushed away from him. "Grandmother laughed at me before I took her life, because she could see my future. This future. Why should I not be worried?"

Stellan's eyes hooded, and he moved to pour them both wine. "We of the Zillittu make our own fate."

"Do we?" She pitched her voice lower again. "Three children you will bear. The blood of their father will stain your hands. We thought we would make our own fate and take our own court, but everything Grandmother ever predicted came true."

"Not exactly. There were four children."

She pressed her hands to her womb, the image of that Chaos-blighted abomination forever etched into her memory. "That thing was a monster. An abomination. And you took care of it, didn't you?" His expression shifted minutely. "Didn't you?"

Stellan came to her, capturing her arms and rubbing his palms down them. "I took care of it. I will always take care of you. We are one, Dea. First and foremost."

Twin souls, who could never be torn apart by their loyalties to mere mates... or children.

A psychic thought caught their attention; one of the dreki guards requesting entrance. Amadea snarled, but Stellan shook his head.

"He wouldn't dare interrupt," he pointed out. "Not unless it was important."

True. Amadea snatched her wineglass up and curled into her golden throne, glaring at the door. "Enter."

The second she saw who knocked, she almost found her feet again.

Balder staggered in with Roar draped over his shoulder. They wore the signs of failure all over them, and her nostrils flared as the stink of charred flesh hit her.

"What happened?" Amadea demanded, but she felt that twist of unease unfurl within her again.

Roar collapsed to one knee, his face a smoking ruin. Drekling were barely scraps, but Stellan had insisted upon keeping the boy, when his human mother left him on the doorstep of Hekla. Over time, she'd come to see Stellan's argument. Roar was hungry for attention, for power. An ambitious drekling was a dangerous tool, but if wielded correctly....

And Roar had managed to shift, through pure will power alone, if nothing else.

"We found the princess," he said, wincing as his lips pulled against the burn scars marking his cheek. "She was with a mortal man, and she refused to come with us."

Árdís. Again.

Amadea's fingers curled over the ends of her throne. "I don't believe I suggested you should request her return."

Roar looked up, revealing the full horror of his face. "We didn't. We were forced to the ground. The man had some sort of weapon that nearly tore me from the sky." He swiftly filled in the details. "And then your daughter unleashed some kind of green fire upon me." His breath caught. "It won't heal, even with the shift. I've tried everything. I can still feel it eating away at my flesh—"

"Do you mean to tell me Árdís killed Ylve in single combat, and then forced you and Balder to flee?" Amadea found her feet, her voice trembling with rage. "Three of my finest dreki warriors couldn't handle a spoiled princess just past her first cycle and a human?"

"She had some sort of magic!" Roar snarled. "We couldn't fight it. And it burned right through my shields. We had no choice but to flee."

Amadea gave a twist of her hand and a ball of Chaos fire sprang to life in the air above her hand. "Did it look a little something like this?"

Roar fell back on his hands, his face paling. "Yes! Sweet goddess, what is it?"

Amadea advanced upon him, the ball of fire burning a sickly green that lit his face. She rarely wielded it in front of the court. Just the threat of it was enough. "Chaos magic. Tell me, how did my daughter wield it? Was it a pale green? Or hot and burning like this? Did she have full control over it?"

He flinched, shielding the ruined side of his face with one hand. "It was bright green, like yours. But it wasn't fire, it was a flaming dreki that soared above her. It attacked me, and I could feel its fangs and claws rip through me as if they were solid, but there was nothing to fight. Nothing but air, when I lashed out. It wasn't real."

Amadea froze.

"A spirit form," she whispered, half to herself.

Stellan caught her eye and she knew they shared the exact same thought.

The spirit form had eluded her for years, no matter how many times she'd tried to master the art of it.

But her grandmother had known how to create one.

"How long did she hold it for?"

Roar shook his head. "I don't know. It felt like forever. She was tearing me apart."

"Seconds at most, my queen," Balder said from the side.

How long had her daughter been meddling with Chaos magic right beneath her nose? How much did Árdís know? What could she do with it?

Did she have the instinct for it, or had she been keeping secrets all along? Was there a reason Árdís had chosen Norway for her exile? Did she know that was where the roots of her Zillittu ancestry came from? Or had she been looking for something else? A mentor? Someone to train her?

None of the Zilittu clan would have helped her.

Their loyalty belonged to Amadea and her brother, but there were other dreki out there. Outcasts. Loners. Some mystics who could no longer survive at the Zilittu court.

How had Árdís learned to cast a spirit form?

"How much of a threat is she?" Stellan murmured in her mind, linking with her as if he sensed her unease.

"I don't know."

And the unknown scared her.

"Where was the girl going?" Stellan asked. "Do you think she means to join with her brother Rurik?"

"She was heading for the north coast," Balder said. "They were on foot for some reason, and she never took wing."

Interesting. Amadea mapped Árdís's path in her mind. "She was trying to hide on land," she murmured, straightening to her full height. "Now she's on a ship. I didn't expect this level of subterfuge from her. She could have been at Rurik's side within a day if she'd taken wing, and we'd never have been able to stop her."

"It's the human," Roar spat. "It wasn't until I threatened his life that she formed her wretched attack."

Stellan's lips pressed firmly together. "How dare she slight her bloodlines like this?"

She'd not truly considered him a threat until now. Merely a bedmate her daughter despoiled herself with, and a means to toy with Árdís.

It's the human.

Haakon Dragonsbane.

She should have killed him when she'd had the chance. Now Árdís would be on her guard, and she didn't dare.

Amadea turned, her leather skirts sweeping behind her with a faint serpentine swish. "Tell me," she whispered, "about the human. Tell me about the fight. Every little detail."

Roar complied, and a thought began to form.

"What are you thinking?" Stellan asked, his eyes heavy-lidded as he surveyed his bastard.

"She only resorted to her magic when the human's life was threatened." Amadea's eyes narrowed. "I don't think she's trained at all. I think she was desperate, the same way I was when I tore grandmother's soul to shreds. You were my catalyst to push me over the edge into Chaos. Just as the human is hers."

"It's been mere days," he scoffed. "She couldn't have formed an attachment to him in such a short time."

"Has it been mere days?" Amadea turned to confront him, and the room fell silent, as if they all sensed their words were no longer being heeded. "She was unaccounted for during three entire years. Seeing the world, she said. Spreading her wings. I didn't pay enough attention to her. I've never paid enough attention to her."

She'd never expected Árdís to be the threat.

"My queen?" Roar dared to ask.

"Find them," Amadea said, turning back to the mirrors. "I want the human dead."

It would shatter Árdís's newfound confidence. Make her weaker.

"But what of her magic?" Roar asked. "We can't fight that."

"You won't have to," Amadea said coldly. "When you find her, you will contact me."

"And we will handle it," Stellan murmured, his gaze meeting hers once more. "Don't do something foolish, Dea. She might be your match."

Never.

"I'll bring her back," Roar promised. "She will be my mate. And then I shall repay her for this." He gingerly touched his raw cheek.

The queen merely smiled.

Poor boy. He thought she was going to allow Árdís to live.