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“Yes, I see them,” Gorgon says.
But the nymphs make no move toward us. Instead, they dive under again, and I see the bow of their silvery backs as they swim away.
“That’s odd,” I say, watching them go.
“All is strange these days, Most High,” Gorgon answers, cryptic as ever.
I settle again at Gorgon’s neck. We’re nearing the Borderlands. The air is hazier here, and in the distance the sky is the color of lead.
“Gorgon, what do you know about the Winterlands?”
“Very little, and yet it is too much.”
“Do you know of something called the Tree of All Souls?”
Gorgon startles; the snakes hiss at the sudden movement.
“Where did you hear that name?” Gorgon asks.
“You do know of it! I want to know. Tell me!” I command, but Gorgon’s as still as stone. “Gorgon, you were once bound to tell only truth to the Order!”
Her lips pull back in a snarl. “Only moments ago, you reminded me of my freedom.”
“Please?”
She takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “It is only a myth passed down through the generations.”
“Which states…?” I prompt.
“It is said that hidden within the Winterlands is a place of enormous power, a tree which holds great magic much like that of the Temple.”
“But if that’s so,” I argue, “why haven’t the Winterlands creatures made use of it to take over the realms?”
“Perhaps they cannot retrieve its power. Perhaps they were stopped by the seal of the runes or the Temple.” Gorgon slides her yellow eyes toward me. “Or perhaps it does not exist at all. For none that I know have seen it.”
“But what if it does exist? Shouldn’t we venture into the Winterlands and find out for ourselves?”
“No,” Gorgon hisses, “it’s forbidden.”
“It was forbidden! But I hold all the magic now.”
“That is what worries me.”
We’ve reached the Borderlands. A light snow has begun to fall. Torches have been lit. They cast an eerie glow over the scene.
“You must forget about the Winterlands. No good can come of it.”
“How would you know? You’ve never seen it,” I say bitterly. “No one has.”
“None who can be trusted,” Gorgon answers, and at once, I think of Circe.
“Gemma!” Felicity yells from the shore. She’s in her chain mail, and Pippa wears her beautiful cape and they both shine like borrowed jewels.
Gorgon lowers the plank for me. “Most High, the sooner you can make the alliance and share the magic, the better.”
She stares intently at the sky toward the Winterlands.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
