A voice from deep inside countered, Not the last. There is another. The youngest. A girl…
“Your mother is inside.” Lieutenant Irraskin gestured toward the closed door. “She is eager to see you.”
Your lies won’t affect me. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” She approached the door, clenched her fist, and knocked three times. A beat later, she said in a loud voice, “It’s me. Priella.”
A familiar voice came from the room. “Come in.”
She opened the door. The chamber was dark, only the flickering fire in the hearth illuminating the sitting area. From the sofa, her mother stared into the flames. Priella looked back at her protector, her eyes begging for his assistance.
Bosinger shook his head and spoke in a soft voice, “This meeting is private, Priella. I will remain in the corridor. Shout if you need me.”
Although she knew he was correct, she was reluctant to close the door, to lock herself in with her mother, her family…her past.
The door clicked shut and she turned toward the fire. It burned low, the amber light dim. Crossing the room, she gathered herself and spoke to her mother for the first time since she was fifteen years old.
“Hello, Mother. I am sorry about Father. I know how much you loved each other, how much the people of Pallanar loved him.”
“Welcome home, Priella.” Ariella stood and gave her a hug, her body stiff, as if it were a ritual rather than out of affection.
Releasing the embrace, Ariella turned to the table behind the sofa and activated the two enchanted lanterns.
“Why all the light?” Priella asked.
Ariella, who stood nearly as tall as Priella, eyed her critically. “I would look upon my daughter, see the woman she has become.”
Priella bristled. “I was never pretty as a child, Mother. Maturity has done little to improve my situation.”
She looked down at herself. Her high-collared dress covered a minimal bust, her skirts flaring over broad hips, covering her tree-like legs. Embarrassed by her thick arms, she had always worn long sleeves, even in the tropical heat of Tiadd. The mirror did not lie, and she had examined her own reflection enough to know she was no beauty. When her gaze lifted to meet her mother’s, she saw what she feared. Disapproval.
“Your cheeks are blotchy.”
Priella bristled. “I was just on a ship.
“Your condition makes your skin sensitive. Did you not protect yourself from the wind?”
“I chose to remain on deck as we approached Illustan. It has been years since I gazed upon the walls.”
“You could have returned home at least once.”
“I…” Did not want to come back. “I was focused on my studies.”
“Your studies…”
“Yes. I am now a master wizardess.”
“That is more important than your family? More important than your father?”
“I am sorry about Father…”
“He is dead, Priella, and I am alone.” Tears welled up, Ariella’s hand covering her eyes as she turned away.
“That’s why I came back.” Priella’s tone shifted toward compassion. “It was at your request.”
“My request,” she snorted, wiping her cheeks. “Would you have not returned otherwise? Would you avoid me for the rest of your life?”
“Of course I would have returned. I had not yet finished my training.”
Her mother spun toward her. “Yet you conveniently complete the Trial now, just in time to answer my call?”
The guilt at the accusation stung worse than Priella anticipated. “It’s not you, not Father. It is the people.”
“What of the people?”
“You know as well as I. The citizens harbor no love toward me, the cursed child, the one who brought disaster to the royal family.”
Ariella grimaced. “You don’t believe in the curse.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She pointed toward the window. “They believe. What is worse, neither you nor Father ever did anything to discourage their belief.”
The woman’s stern gaze relaxed. “Priella, you don’t understand. Dealing with the public is complicated. Even a wizard lord is challenged to control what people believe.”
“You are correct. I don’t understand. I will never understand, not when an entire wizardom hates me for something I did not do. I was not even present when Rictor, Galdor, Arlan, and Yeldin died.” Images of Luthor’s death flashed before her eyes. Him slipping from the balcony rail, the cord coiling about his neck, his body hanging limp and lifeless.
“Yes.” Her mother was visibly disturbed, her eyes turned away, blinking as she adjusted her dress. “We did the best we could. You must know that we always loved you…”
“Must I?” she asked, incredulous. “You may have said so in words, but when was it ever expressed in deed?”
Ariella shrank further. “Well, we–”
“No! I won’t have you lying to me, to yourself! Not any longer.” Priella’s anger simmered. “The past is behind us, but do not pretend the scars do not exist. They remain, hardened and impenetrable.”
Her mother’s shoulders slumped, eyes glistening. “What would you have of me?”
Priella drew herself up, her jaw set, her gaze firm. “I would have your support.”
Ariella nodded. “Of course.”
“When I ask it, you will support me. If you do not, we are finished.”
The woman shook her head. “You are my daughter, my only surviving child. You cannot mean that.”
“I do.” Priella was steel, her mother folding as she had never before witnessed. “You will support me, and the gods shall decide if you do so with your heart or merely with words.”
Spinning on her heel, Priella stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her, leaving her broken mother alone.
Bosinger was waiting, the man’s stare judgmental. “I heard the shouting.”
“You heard me standing up for myself.”
“Is your mother well?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe so.”
He stared at the door, frowning in indecision. “What should we do?”
“We do nothing, the same as she did when the city claimed I killed Luthor and was the cause of my other brothers’ deaths.”
His gaze hardened. “A vindictive attitude will not help you heal.”
“No. But it is so satisfying.” She walked away, not bothering to see if he followed.
21
A Brazen Act
When Rhoa had first learned they were to journey to Kelmar, she had been filled with anticipation, eager to discover what might come of her future, longing to shake free from the lingering impression she was being pushed toward something outside of her control. Her entire life, she had wondered if prophecy was real, despite the fact most wizardoms claimed foretelling the future an evil act. Of the wizardoms she had visited, only Pallanar embraced prophecy and welcomed the seers. Yet, since her arrival in Kelmar, her interest had waned with each passing day, her impression of prophecy shifting from something of awe and wonder to something far more tedious.
For five days, she and her companions occupied the library below the Oracle – five long, boring days of listening to the seers recite passages of prophecy. Dozens of times, the entire group had gathered to share paragraphs that appeared close to their current reality. Each occurrence described events that had actually transpired. Every one of those passages eventually led to an inconsistency that could not be ignored. Those books were set aside as false, new ones opened for examination.
Eventually, Tabitha and Margarete delivered a final stack of books to each table, declaring that they had exhausted every possible match. Those books turned out false, as well. Only then did the sisters request Xionne’s presence. Rhoa wondered what might come next.
When Xionne arrived in the library, she was not alone. Zhialta stood at her side, the woman scowling even more than normal.
Tabitha stood before Xionne and bowed, bo
dy quivering as she stood upright. Rhoa feared the ancient, brittle woman might drop dead then and there, until she recovered and addressed the young seer.
“Mother, we regret to inform you…” The old woman glanced toward Margarete, whose eyes appeared haunted. “We have exhausted all possibilities within the library. No prophecy holds true to our current timeline.”
Xionne’s face tilted toward the floor in a quiet contemplation before responding. “I feared this. It…does not bode well.” Lifting her blindfolded gaze, she thrust her chin out, resolute.
From beneath the neckline of her dress, she withdrew a diamond-shaped pendant attached to a cord. She pulled it over her head and held her hand toward the two librarians, the pendant dangling, the white gem mounted in it sparkling. “Open the chamber.”
Mirroring her action, Tabitha, Zhialta, and Margarete produced a similar pendant, each with a stone of a different color – purple, gold, and black. Margarete collected all four and turned toward the circular chamber at the center of the library. There, the forbidding red door waited. She slowed as she drew near, pausing to glance back over her shoulder. Xionne gave a firm nod. Margarete held the first pendant up to the lock, snapping it into a diamond-shaped opening. One by one, she placed the other three into similar slots. When the final one clicked into place, all four began to glow with pulsing light and the diamond-shaped panel began to rotate. At the same time, the circle of runes surrounding the pendants turned in the opposite direction. The circle outside of that also spun, but in the same direction as the center panel. The three panels stopped with a lurch, a solid thud echoing in the library. The door creaked open, then the library fell silent with everyone locked in place, all eyes staring into the dark recess.
After a deep breath, Xionne said, “Go on. Gather the works inside. We shall endeavor until we discover each and every one that is true. From there, we will proceed as best we can.”
“Yes, Mother,” the seers replied in one voice.
Xionne turned and headed toward the door, Zhialta at her side.
Tabitha and Margarete each grabbed a glowing orb and held it up as they passed through the inner chamber door. Their lights illuminated the interior, allowing Rhoa a brief glimpse of what hid inside.
From what she could see, the inner chamber walls were covered by shelves of books, the covers black, no different than the others found in the main library. What makes these books different? Why all the drama? Why lock them away in such an exotic manner? She feared she would soon learn the answers.
At the door, Xionne turned toward Rhoa and her companions. “It will take time for the librarians to locate the proper records. Years have passed since the inner chamber was opened. The books inside remain uncatalogued, the contents undocumented. We shall give them a day or two, then we will return.”
Rhoa’s gaze flicked around at her companions. Since nobody else seemed to want to speak, she asked, “What will we do until then? There must be something more constructive than sitting in our rooms, waiting.”
Xionne looked at Zhialta in a silent exchange. “We must be sure.”
“Is it safe?” Zhialta asked.
Uncharacteristically, Xionne shrugged. “I do not know. It has not been attempted in a millennia. Most visions are harmless, but his power is unequaled. If we turn an eye upon him…” Her words trailed off, leaving Rhoa wondering at what was left unsaid.
“Still,” the older seer said, “if it exposes the truth, perhaps it is worth the risk.”
Nodding, Xionne turned toward Rhoa. “We will test the Oracle again. Tomorrow. Until then, you are dismissed.”
“This is incredible.” Narine felt giddy. The possibilities seemed endless, although she had counted no more than a dozen new constructs in the book. “If this works, there must be other applications beyond what can be found here.”
Rhoa ran a hand through her hair. “I am exhausted. Can we stop now?”
Narine glanced at Jace, who had taken to lying on the floor, his legs resting against the wall, ankles crossed high above his head. She had no idea why he had chosen the position, but she gave it little thought. Much more important concerns held her attention, primarily the decision before her. With boldness in mind, inspired by Jace and their past conversations, she tossed caution aside.
“Before we are done for the night, I would test it.”
Rhoa blinked. “What?”
Narine took a resolute breath and nodded to herself. She tapped a construct on the open page. “I would like to test this.”
The other woman’s concerned eyes fell on the page. “Is it safe?”
It is not. “I realize it is brazen, but I…must try.”
Jace turned, dropping his legs to the floor and rising to his feet. “If you must test it, you will do so on me.”
Narine shook her head. “No, this is my burden–”
“No!” he said forcefully. “If something goes astray, you are the only one who can heal any of us. You can’t test it on Rhoa because she is immune.” Reaching inside his tunic, he removed the Eye of Obscurance and pulled the necklace over his head. “Test a little of it on me. If things go badly, try to heal me.”
Narine stood and put her hand on his cheek. “Are you sure?”
He gripped her hand, pulling it to his lips and kissing it. “For you, yes.”
A smile spread across her face. She wanted to kiss him, yet she resisted the urge. “Very well. Please, take Rhoa’s seat. I have not memorized the construct yet and must concentrate on it with you nearby for the application.”
Rhoa rose and crossed the room to sit on the bed while Jace took her place. He set the amulet on the table and waited while Narine focused on the drawing in the book.
Unlike other constructs, this one was not circular in shape. Instead, it was a series of pointed ovals the book called mandorlas. Each of the eight mandorlas was connected to those adjacent at the fattest point of the oval. Her eyes repeatedly scanned over the odd patterns before she drew in her magic.
It flooded into her, the rush like a damn bursting, a tide that might sweep her away, the same as every other time since acquiring the bracelet. Commanding the magic with her will, a replica of the construct began to form around her fist, glowing white with power. Meticulously, she compared her construct to the drawing, making adjustments where needed until it was a perfect match. Only then did she take the next step.
Twisting her hands, as if sculpting from clay, she bent the construct, the eight sections becoming a ring as the outer edges touched one another. Bringing her hands together, she brought the pointed ends toward each other, the tips meeting, edges aligning, until the construct became a perfect sphere.
She looked at Jace, their gazes meeting. “Are you ready?”
“I may have never said this to anyone, but…” He gave her a nod, “I trust you.”
Her heart leapt at his words, perhaps as sweet as anything he had ever said to her, but she cast those emotions aside. Focus.
Narine channeled a tiny bit of magic into the construct, causing the glow to brighten slightly. She then extended her hand toward him, pushing the construct into his body. Before she pulled away, she altered the construct, leaving a small opening at one axis of the sphere.
Jace jerked and gasped, the sight causing Narine to panic.
“Are you all right?” She held onto her magic, prepared to cast a construct of repair.
Blinking and shaking his head, he finally nodded. “Yeah. I feel a bit strange is all.” His eyes lowered, settling on the book, then widened. “I can read it.”
“What?” Rhoa asked, rising to her feet.
He recited something in Hassakani, smooth and fluent. Looking up at them, he smiled. “It says, The construct of language is among the most useful, its extent beyond what one might assume.”
With a look of consternation, Rhoa said something in Hassakani.
Jace snorted. “While that may be true, I am not lying at the moment, and I haven’t stolen anything in days.�
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Rhoa sucked in a breath, shock evident on her face.
Narine looked back down at the open book in awe. “You can rest now, Rhoa. We can translate the remainder of the book.”
She excitedly paged through it, wondering what other constructs hid within and what she might accomplish with this new use of magic.
22
One Final Task
Rindle crept along the citadel wall in a crouch, navigating around pools of water. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds. Because the rain had stopped only minutes prior, the streets were quiet, the citizens of Fastella warm and dry inside their homes.
He drew near a lit courtyard and spotted a pair of guards below. Indigo Hounds, complete with purple capes and shining armor. The men were talking to each other, neither looking up. He crouched lower, lengthening his stride to avoid a puddle on top of the wall.
Once beyond the light, he hurried along, nearing the location where the palace and the wall drew nearest to one another. He swung the crossbow from his shoulder, a heavy-duty model, twice the size of a standard unit. From his other shoulder, he slipped off the coil of rope and set it on the wall. The rope had already been secured to a metal bolt with an eyelet at one end. The launch mechanism already cranked back, he inserted the bolt and hefted the crossbow. The top floor of the palace stood two stories above the wall, the tower looming high above that. He took aim at the wooden scaffold beside it.
When Rindle squeezed the trigger, the recoil of the bolt launching snapped his shoulder backward. The bolt arced through the air, the coil of rope unwinding in a flash. As he watched, he suddenly grew concerned the rope wasn’t long enough. He knelt, scrambling for the end of the rope. Gripping it, he rose just as the last of the coil sailed off the wall, the momentum yanking him off balance. The bolt struck the scaffold as Rindle fell from the wall.
Holding tight and doing everything possible to restrain a shriek, Rindle swung over the garden, toward the palace. He struck the wall between two second-story windows, the force of the impact driving the wind from his lungs, and he almost lost his grip on the rope.
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