Ren grasped my wrist.
The moment he touched me, the sand changed and solidified. The force was no longer pulling me down, but I was still buried. My lungs screamed for air. I couldn’t move.
Ren pulled on my wrist—it was barely enough to get my face out of the sand.
I coughed and sputtered, moving my head, neck, anything I could. The rest of me was stuck.
“Wait,” Ren said with a deep frown. “Let me dig you out.”
I spat out the grit as he knelt next to me, but as soon as he released me, I started sinking again. “Don’t let go!” I said. He grabbed my wrist again. “What is this place?”
He dug with his other hand until my elbow was free and I could hold on to his ankle. “If I had to guess,” he said, scooping sand away, “I’d say we were in the right place. Kais was a land mage. The enchantment doesn’t work on me—maybe it recognizes my magic.”
Land mage. The sand. I wriggled my legs slowly, trying to create space, even if it was just the illusion of it. “Get me out,” I muttered over and over, helping him dig once my other arm was free.
My toe hit something as I yanked my leg up and scrambled out of the Chiara-sized hole. I fell forward, next to Ren, clinging to him. “There’s something down there,” I said, panting and moving all my limbs, shaking away as much sand as I could.
“What—”
“A rock, or something. Maybe—”
He transferred my hands back to his ankle and knelt, scooping sand away. He reached into the hole and came up grinning, holding a box made of stone. Grains of sand fell away, catching in the intricate etchings that covered the surface.
“You…you found it,” I said, brushing my fingers over the etchings.
“Technically, you found it,” he said, holding it out for me to take. He helped me up, and we crouched by the entrance, where the ground didn’t try to eat me.
“But you knew to keep going. The Medallion?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I think, because Kais created them both, they’re connected. Something drew me on.” He shrugged again. I sighed—what a wonder to feel that, to have magic. To not die in a pit of sand.
“Open it,” he said.
A tiny clasp held the top closed. I unlatched it, then dug my fingertip in and lifted. The stone lid grated as it opened. Inside, a rolled parchment lay on black velvet, perfectly preserved.
I unrolled it carefully, and the supple material bent like it was made yesterday, not hundreds of years ago. Lines of ink twisted and connected together, small words marking locations, a path.
“ ‘The final key, not a key at all.’ ”
“A map,” Ren said, his voice full of wonder.
An intricate, old map of the Plateau, traced in bold and thin lines. In the corner…I leaned closer and gasped. “The poem! It’s here, but there’s more:
Three keys to find the library black:
one in snow, the heart of attack.
Another within the heart,
and surrounding it, too,
a ring of flax, of brown and blue.
Two make up one, the key to the door.
Two kingdoms to hide, to be found nevermore.
The final key, not a key at all,
marks the journey’s end,
its start at the wall.
Hidden both deep and high
Where neither snow nor heart can find
Where waves ne’er reach
and vineyards touch the sky.
You will find what you seek
behind the falling door,
that gives life, but takes it more.
Ren and I stared at each other in the rollicking light. “We found it,” I said, a laugh bubbling up. He laughed with me.
We’d found it. The map the mages needed. That the mages would do anything to get.
Ren traced a line that went from Turiana to Riiga, then along the western coast and up through an inlet into the Wastelands. From there, what looked like random dots filled the space between the inlet and a tiny dot marked with the words Black Library.
Ren rolled the parchment back up and set it in the box. “Let’s get out of Riiga.”
I swallowed. “Agreed.”
Marko
Vague snatches of memory came to Marko in the night and morning since he’d been freed. Usually when he wasn’t paying attention, when he wasn’t trying to remember. Faces. Voices.
The girl—Chiara, his daughter—had said he was a king. He didn’t feel like a king. He was just…Marko. He didn’t understand how he could have so much knowledge of life and the mechanics of living, without any of the details associated with his life. Where had it gone? Would it come back?
Everyone treated him like he might break if they spoke too loud. With how his head ached, they might be right.
When he’d woken that morning, a new boy and girl—both on the cusp of adulthood—watched him. They knew him. Cynthia had taken pity on him first and introduced them as Enzo, his son, and Jenna, his son’s betrothed.
No one would tell Marko why they were here.
Soon, Aleksa had said, people would flood the streets to attend a wedding. She’d given Marko and the others directions, made them repeat the directions until memorized in case they got separated. North until they met the cliffs, east until the meadow, vines covered the entrance.
A memory flashed before him, swinging a little girl with a mess of black curls into the air and laughing. Then it was gone. But the feeling behind it, the love, was not.
“Mari,” Marko whispered. Everyone stopped what they were doing and saying. He found a chair and sat. His legs hurt. Everything hurt. “Little Mari.”
“You remember?” Luc asked.
“I—”
But he didn’t get to finish. The door burst open, slamming against the wall hard enough to shatter bits off the edge of the door. A woman wearing red stormed in and the air in the room solidified. This was the woman who had come to Marko in his cell.
The man with black eyes came in behind her, the man who had taken everything.
Marko couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. No one else could, either, except the fair-haired girl. She whirled into action, her sword an arc of destruction.
The woman in red drew a gold dagger and deflected her blow, fighting effortlessly.
“Get everyone out!” the girl shouted over her shoulder. She attacked and attacked until the woman’s concentration was fully on her and they were released from whatever spell had held them bound.
Luc and Enzo grabbed Marko.
“This way,” Luc grunted. Instead of passing the dueling women for the stairs, he turned them toward a window in the back. He stepped out onto a narrow ledge, pulling Marko with him, and slid down a wooden awning into the alley behind the shop.
“Jenna, come on!” Enzo yelled, but she yelled back, “Go! I’ll catch up.”
Aleksa and Cynthia slid next, followed by Enzo. They raced along as fast as they could, but Marko couldn’t run like they needed him to. Couldn’t lighten his heavy, painful steps.
They burst onto the road as a stream of Riigans took to the streets and bells sounded from somewhere beyond. The call to the wedding had come.
A shout rose up—guards circling the front of the shop spotted them and gave chase. Enzo drew his sword, and Luc started to as well, but Enzo shook his head. “Take my father far from here. I’ll hold them off, give Jenna time—”
The first soldiers had reached him.
Chaos erupted in the street—shouting, metal on metal, the scrape of boots on stone. Marko’s stomach turned and the pounding in his head thrashed harder and harder.
Luc drew his sword like he would help Enzo anyway, but Marko stumbled again as Aleksa and Cynthia dragged him away, and Luc turned to Marko with
a curse.
“This way,” Aleksa murmured. “Hurry.”
Right before Marko turned the corner, the soldiers overran Enzo, swallowing him in their midst. Enzo. His son. His chest constricted and he stumbled again, but Cynthia held him up, tugging her torn dress out of the way.
“Come on, Your Majesty,” she said, eyes and mouth pinched. “He’ll be okay. They both will be.”
And although Marko couldn’t remember much of anything, he knew without a doubt that Cynthia was lying.
Ren
Chiara carried the stone box. Neither of us had a bag or any convenient way to convey it. And not only was it smarter to keep the Medallion and map as separate as we could at this point, but I trusted her.
I trusted her.
And even soaked, dressed as a boy, she was radiant.
Focus. We’d gathered all the pieces we needed—Marko, the map. Getting out of Riiga would be a whole new challenge.
This tiny trail that connected cities clinging to the cliffs in the kingdom amazed me—that a kingdom could stay united despite such a tenuous connection.
Getting back up the path kept me plenty warm despite the storm brewing. But when we reached the first waterfall, the clouds that had been building all morning opened, sending a cool mist down.
The path turned to mud, so we walked to the side of it, climbing over rocks and vines. I took Chiara’s hand as often as I could, wishing I could take the time to use my magic to warm her, but it would be pointless. I couldn’t keep my magic from working on my own body, though I was more accustomed to the cold.
We were close—so close to the cave where the others should be hiding by now. At the next turn, two figures blocked the trail, a huge brown horse grazing beside them. One tall and wearing a long cloak, the other a child. Danger, the Medallion seemed to whisper. Traitor.
I eased Chiara behind me. I really needed to find a sword. The knife in my boot pressed against my ankle, but I wanted to see if we could get around these travelers without a confrontation before drawing it.
They stood, not running at us, not calling out. Was I just being paranoid? No. The Medallion warmed the closer we came. My father had trusted the Medallion; I would, too.
A swift punch of grief knocked into me, stealing the air from my lungs as I tried to focus on the approaching threat, on keeping Chiara safe.
I missed my father. Missed all the lost opportunities, all the wisdom I hadn’t asked for, the time we no longer had. I wished I had taken the time to properly care for his tomb before I left.
“Chiara,” I whispered. “I don’t think—”
“Mari?” she choked out.
And then the child’s stance became familiar. Her brown-and-gold cloak. My heart stopped for at least three beats when I caught sight of wild curls tucked into the hood of her cloak.
Chiara tried to move past me, to go to her sister, but I held her back. The Medallion screamed to run, but what could I do? I couldn’t leave Mari here.
Chiara pushed against me with her icy hands. “Ren, what are you—”
“Good afternoon, Princess Chiara,” said a voice that was both ancient and youthful. My magic shivered in response to the sound. Mage.
The bottomless brown eyes, sharp jaw, features shaded by his cloak. The man from the woods, who had fought off mercenaries. Erron. And he had his hand on Mari’s shoulder.
Mari.
Her gaze was shuttered, seeing yet unseeing, and she stood frozen. Not recognizing us, breathing calmly, hands tucked into her cloak. She seemed unharmed, other than this unnatural stillness that had come over her.
“What do you want, Brownlok?” I asked, my stance wide and ready. Chiara’s breathing hitched behind me. I pulled all my focus forward. On Brownlok. On the exact moves I would use to break the hand touching Mari.
“Now, now, young king,” Brownlok said, keeping his hand on Mari’s shoulder. “No need for violence. We each have something the other wants, I believe.” The Medallion’s chain itched at my neck. The map in Chiara’s hand. I swallowed. I’d never faced a mage before. Didn’t have a sword. If I failed…I cut the thought off, but it circled in the back of my mind, taunting me at all I stood to lose. All everyone stood to lose if I failed.
Brownlok reached into his cloak and drew out a disk about the size of his hand, a hole through the middle forming a ring.
The Turian key.
Then he tossed it at my feet.
No one moved. He wouldn’t just give it to us. And if he thought I cared about some stupid ring when his filthy hand was on little Mari, he was about to learn otherwise.
“You know what that is, young king?” he asked.
“Yes, but I’m more concerned with your hostage.”
Brownlok smiled, and it wasn’t as fearsome as I expected from the man who’d had the guts to take over a palace in the middle of a fortified city and managed to escape again.
“I wouldn’t call Mari a hostage,” he said. “But I can see you won’t be distracted. So here’s the arrangement. I need to find the Black Library. Not for whatever dire purpose you’re thinking of.” He smirked like he could read my mind, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “The simple fact is, my life force was tied to Graymere’s. So when your sister ended his existence, the threads keeping me here began to snap.”
“You seem healthy enough,” Chiara spoke from behind me. Her hand grasped my shirt and she moved closer.
Brownlok still didn’t take his hand from Mari’s shoulder. “Appearances can be deceiving, Princess. Your sister reminded me of something I’d forgotten: a pure heart is the strongest magic of all. Mine is far from pure, and without the artifacts in the Black Library, I will die. I find I’m not quite ready for that.”
“So you want us to take you there?” I asked, pushing false bravado into my voice. I couldn’t reveal that his words had any effect on me. “What, because you asked nicely?” Chiara dug her fingers into my back. I knew I was provoking him, but so far, he hadn’t made anything clear—what would happen if we refused? Would he really hurt a child? He’d helped me on the road. “You haven’t hurt Mari yet. Why would you now?”
Brownlok’s head tilted and he studied me. “Mari has not yet outlived her usefulness.”
Mari remained at his side, unseeing. Frozen. No matter how much I’d trained, even if I had a weapon, I wouldn’t be fast enough to keep her from harm if I attacked now.
Brownlok glanced at Chiara. “You have the map?” How did he even know about it? Then I remembered—he’d infiltrated Turia’s palace, possibly read the same books Chiara had.
“We need time,” Chiara said, stepping next to me. “We can get to the library if we work together, but we need a ship. I know people who can get us one.”
My lips pursed as Chiara continued. I would not be working with a mage. Other than the bow on his horse’s saddle, he carried no weapon I could see. Except magic—and I didn’t know what kind of mage he was, what his magic could do. I could heal, but Mari and Chiara couldn’t. If something did happen to me, I couldn’t risk leaving them defenseless.
Brownlok gestured for us to go ahead of him. I picked up the ring at my feet and tucked it into my pocket.
“I will trade Mari’s life for one artifact from the library. You can do whatever you want with the rest.” He stepped back, and Mari mirrored him. The deal was good—if he kept his word. “But we go to the docks now.”
“N-now?” Chiara stuttered. “Our friends are hiding on the way to the docks. They can help us get a boat. Save time before this storm hits.”
Brownlok studied her. I fought the urge to step between them. There was no way he’d allow us to meet with friends. The chances of overpowering him would be too great. “I will allow you one stop.”
Which meant his magic was more powerful than a group of people united against him. I put my hand on C
hiara’s arm and nodded to Brownlok.
I didn’t like the way he kept ahold of Mari. But Chiara had won us a chance. Luc had a sword. Between the two of us, we could find a way to get Mari away from Brownlok, magic or no.
“One stop is all I need.” Chiara pointed a finger at him. “But if you hurt her, I will personally make sure you regret it.”
I blinked at the venom in her voice. She glared at Brownlok, then focused on Mari, like she could break whatever magic held her sister captive through the sheer force of her will.
Brownlok settled Mari onto the horse and rode behind her, pressing his knees into the horse’s sides and keeping it at a walk behind us as we left the cliffside trail and sank into the deep sand of the narrow strip of beach near the hideaway.
A meadow to our right signaled the secret stairs—the ones Brownlok already knew about. Did he know about the secret cave? Did the other mages?
Vines grew down the cliff face. Chiara brushed her fingers against them, searching for the opening. I focused on the sounds of Brownlok and Mari. Each hoofbeat. The Medallion stayed hot.
Chiara darted inside the cave when we reached its entrance. I slowed to give her more time to explain to the others. But she came out again straight off.
“There’s no one there.”
I yanked back the vines. Sure enough—empty.
“This was your one stop,” Brownlok said. His horse flicked its tail and tossed its head, impatient to be on its way. “I’ve kept my bargain. Now we go to the docks.”
But…they were supposed to be here. To wait.
Chiara leaned against me, looping her hand around my arm. She squeezed tight, but I couldn’t look at her. She’d see my worry—that maybe Marko and the others hadn’t ever made it to the cave.
* * *
Brownlok didn’t go near the palace as we traveled the empty streets of Vera—in fact, if my sense of direction was correct, he avoided it. Did Redalia and Koranth know of his plans, or was he playing us all for fools?
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