The cover of the book swings shut with a swift flick of Eve’s wrist. Rising from her seat, she gestures with a swing of her head in the direction of the Ferry Gate.
“We’re getting close to finishing this,” Eve says, offering me a small smile. “Let’s see it through.”
?????????????
As we approach the Ferry Gate, my brows crease.
Through the portal, a slew of old magic constructs stand unnaturally still in the center of the round room. Neat rows, neat ranks, as silent as death. Like the archivists and the servant in the hall, they’re nearly transparent—their armor, swords, and shields having the same shimmering runes.
My skin prickles as I step through the portal into the gatehouse, the wash of magic like a pouring of cold water over my head. With Eve at my side, I make my way toward the Ferry Gate across the room—toward Ryc.
Cyran strolls along the front line, silently inspecting the garrison standing at the ready as if they were the Royal Guard of Erus. Hood and cowl lowered, his curiosity and caution sit plain upon his face.
Ryc lingers near the Cerwiden gate, apparently in low conversation with Cenviri. The distinct lack of Druka is easy—and pleasing—to note. Her towering figure and glittering red skin lie nowhere to be seen.
But this—the exchange between Ryc and Cenviri—it’s unprecedented. Eldoterra and Cerwiden have been removed from one another for centuries and now two powerful figures stand in talks. A historic moment that will never appear in any historical text.
Eve nudges me gently with an elbow, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Any idea why these sentinels are appearing now?” she asks in a low whisper.
I shake my head. “Like the servant and the archivist, perhaps it’s because there are people on the grounds once again.”
“You think they recognize you’re to ascend?” she asks, swinging her wary stare to the rows of constructs.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I answer. “But Ryc did say they weren’t here when he came to pledge his oath. If that were the case, wouldn’t they have recognized him then?”
“What happens if they attack?” The question tumbles out of Eve in a rushed whisper. “How would we fight against them? Can they even die?”
I offer a small smile. “They can die, but not in the traditionalsense you’re thinking. They can be unwoven.”
“And can you do that? Can youunweavethem?”
“No,” I answer honestly. There’s no point in lying. “Never had to learn that.”
“Then we’re dead,” Eve scoffs a sharp laugh. “Got it.”
I gesture to Cyran. “We’ve a small hope, he’s studying their runes.”
Knowing Cyran, he studies them with the intent to understand what it takes to unweave them.
“I never picked up old magic,” Eve says as she watches the Captain of the Royal Guard. “I’m thinking I need to reconsider.”
Not an unwise decision.
Especially if we’re to live here.
With a quick departing glance, Eve swings her step to the side, joining Cyran. He greets her with a genuine smile—not the stoic glare I expected. As much as they grate against one another, there’s at least mutual respect between them.
Ryc turns from the Ferry Gate, his golden gaze meeting mine through the ghostly bodies of the sentinels. Cenviri peers around Ryc, noting my approach.
A small grin tilts the necromancer’s lips as his sharp eyes stay fixed in my direction and he says something low, too low for me to hear. Ryc chuckles, nodding.
Immediate suspicion snakes through my chest.
Ryc greets me with a soft kiss to my brow as I reach him.
“Find what you seek,il-akiv?” Cenviri asks, noticing the book in my arm.
“I did,” I reply, giving him a less than warm stare. “And now I’m here to listen.”
