I pat her shoulder and feel very much the elder scholar comforting a student. “She is still very unskilled. Gesine is guiding her, but it could take months, even years, before she is a true threat. Regardless, whatever happens, it is in the name of prophecy. We cannot meddle.”
“It was Caster Wendeline’s meddling that got us here,” she reminds me.
“Or it is as it was always meant to be.”
She sighs, my words seeming to calm her. “You will prepare a response?”
“Right away. I will have it in your hands to send by tonight.” My history with Gesine reaches far back, to the days when I’d find her covered in dust and hiding in the scrolls, avoiding caster lessons. She knows my handwriting. Any author other than me and Gesine would withhold valuable information. But it is Allegra’s skill that will ensure my response reaches its destination.
Approaching voices have Allegra shoving the linen roll into my pocket. “And when will Alara be ready to join the rest of the elementals for her training?” she asks loudly.
“She has found her spark to Aminadav, but the one to Aoife escapes her.”
“You may as well send her to me, anyway. It seems I will have space soon.”
“As you wish, Second.” With a bow, I rush back to my underground haven.
“Will you finally find your answers, my dear girl?” I trace the swirls of scripture carved into the stone wall. Many thousands of years ago, the guild towers of Nyos were built atop a mountain of rock, honeycombed with caves that have since formed the scribes’ territory. The nymphs were already nothing more than a fable by that point, a bedtime story to tell children, and this wall existed among us and our daily lives, without explanation that many longed for. A bright and curious Gesine was one of them.
Footfalls scraping against stone warn me of an approach a moment before I hear the childish voice. “Master Scribe, you called for me?”
I break away from the mysterious scrawl. My pupil stands within the archway, her lengthy blond hair braided into pigtails. “I did, Alara. Pack your things. You will be moving to the elemental wing.”
Alara’s blue eyes widen. “But I thought I had to find my affinities before I could go there?”
“Normally, yes, but perhaps the Second can chase Aoife out of you where I have not succeeded.” I would have, given more time. The girl is only eleven.
“But … but … I want to stay here, with you.”
“What you and I want accounts for little.”
Her bottom lip wobbles, and I turn my back before she sees the tears that threaten. Alara came to Mordain as an infant and stayed in the village outside the guild towers as all children do until they begin showing signs that their affinities are rising. She has been in my charge for the past two years and should remain with me for at least another. I know better than to grow attachments to these children, whose time with me is so fleeting, but she reminds me so much of Gesine with her voracious appetite for knowledge. “Perhaps, if you focus on your studies and have some free time, you can come back to visit.” I feign to be busy with my focus on the nymph scripture. “Go on now. Get your things. Caster Joseph will escort you.”
“Yes, Master Scribe.” Her feet drag with reluctance, and a sob sounds before she is too far.
I allow myself a soft exhale. It is for the best.
“Master Scribe?”
I jump. “What did I say about sneaking up on me, Cahill!”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to.” His deep adolescent voice is full of regret.
I calm my breathing. “What is it?”
He peers down the tunnel. “What’s wrong with Alara?”
“Nothing is wrong with Alara. She is moving to train with the elementals.”
“Already?” Dismay shines in his pale green eyes, such a contrast to his tawny skin. The two of them have been inseparable since she arrived, he like a big brother to her. “Can’t I go with her?”
“No, Cahill. We’ve discussed this before. Alara has powerful affinities to two fates. She will train as an elemental caster and then move to Ybaris to serve the royal family. Your place is here, with the scribes, protecting our past and our future.”
“Because I am weak.” He studies his shoes.
“No, Cahill, because your affinity is weak, just as all scribe affinities are weak. But we are strong of mind, and that is where you will be of most service.” I smile at the boy of seventeen as I lie to him.
For, if anyone knew the truth, they would have him executed by dawn.
CHAPTER FOUR
ATTICUS
“Where are you, dear brother?” The contours of Islor’s terrain on the map blur as my thoughts drift.
I know where Zander is—or at least I can guess. The messages arriving have painted a clear path of his flight from Cirilea to Bellcross and beyond, heading north. He and whatever Legion warriors have survived are seeking refuge in the Venhorn Mountains. How many of them remain, though? There were plenty of their bodies left behind.
The bigger question is, what next? How long will the mighty king of Islor hide in those caves, living among the Nulling’s beasts and saplings while that Ybarisan traitor’s blood infests the kingdom he once claimed?
Not long, if I know my brother at all.
In my hand, the tiny cylindrical vial burns against my palm despite its chill. Boaz delivered it earlier this morning—found hidden in the pocket of a tanner’s servant, in Cirilea for trade. The mortal didn’t even see the execution square. He swings from a rope on the street. No ceremony. A swift and brutal message to those waiting and wondering, or still undecided about whether to contaminate themselves.
How did no one guess that it was Romeria’s blood? Especially after what happened to the daaknar? In hindsight, it is obvious. Wendeline knew, but she spoon-fed us lies that we readily swallowed. That was our mistake, one of many. I will not make that same mistake again.
I hold the vial up to study the dark brown liquid. To be fair, it doesn’t look like blood, at least not the fresh crimson I’ve taken from mortals’ veins, and not the blood pouring from Romeria’s nose when Tyree smashed her face against the dungeon cell bars. But fates know what happens when it’s siphoned and stored in glass.
And the fates surely know, for a weapon such as the princess could only have come from them. An intoxicating, addicting, beautiful creature capable of ensnaring kings and their brothers alike.
Princess Romeria is at the root of all Islor’s pain, whether she remembers herself or not.
My skin prickles with this persistent sense of betrayal. I can’t shake the genuine horror splayed across Romeria’s face as those Islorian lords screamed and the Ybarisans burned the day of the royal repast. As if she truly had no idea what was to come. As if she had been speaking truth all along about her memory loss.
I will admit, there were times I wanted to believe her. The Romeria who rose from a merth arrow seemed different from the one who helped mastermind the attack.
But, even with her memory loss, she is still at the heart of it all, and I was right to lay all the blame at her feet and call for her capture.
“I had no other choice,” I say to the empty room, as if Zander’s lingering presence might pass my words along. “We would have lost Islor together. I hope you can see that.”