“That is not something to be concerned about, for you are Valor Reborn.”
I roll my eyes at his back.
A new stairway leading down appears through the haze, and I swallow the lump in my throat. There is only one thing deeper than this: the Font itself. Not the general area we’re in now. Not the mist of Ether. But the wellspring of magic and life.
I pause at the top of the stair, hesitant to follow. I don’t want to go down there alone with him. But there’s nowhere I can run. And I can’t fight him.
Can I?The thought has sweat beading along my brow.Could I fight the vicar?
The notion is pure treason, and everything that he has trained into me rebels against it. But something was awakened at this man’s hand in the sundering pits. Something that’s intrigued by the notion of such a fight.
He glances over his shoulder. “Isola?” Impatience makes my name short and taut.
If I’m so powerful, why do I obey you?I want to ask. Instead, I plaster on a forced smile. “Forgive me, I was brieflyoverwhelmed by the Etherlight.” And then I take my first step down.
Carved into the cave wall are depictions of dragon skulls, hundreds of all shapes and sizes. Human skulls are wedged between them, wrought from stone. I have no choice but to rest my palm on one for balance, and a jolt runs through me. The rock glitters under my touch, then darkens.
I stare at my palm but don’t dare fall behind again.
The pathway plunges into the stone and becomes a tunnel that has so many carvings of human and dragon bones it’s almost as though its constructed entirely from them. They stare at me with vacant, hollow eye sockets. Each one more lifelike than the last.
Upon someone’s death, their body is returned to the Font, so that their Etherlight can be restored to the earth. What if these bones aren’t mere carving from rock? Grim fascination stops me from looking away, even as a horrified shiver runs down my spine.
At long last, we end at an iron gate. On the other side is a narrow strip of rock that is the beach to a vast lake of molten gold.
I know what it is, and yet I can’t believe it. My throat has gone dry. “Is that…”
“The Font.” The vicar unlocks the gate and opens it, gesturing for me to step inside.
“I…” I’m rooted to the spot. This goes against everything I’ve ever been taught. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“This, Isola, is your destiny.” He speaks almost gently, but his eyes shine with something that makes my skin prickle. His golden eye is the same color as the liquid of the pool and, suddenly, the gilding makes sense. I would bet anything he drops a tiny bit of the Font’s liquid Etherlight into one eye of every citizen of Vinguard. That is how he connects them to the Font, and why they have a better sense of the flow of Etherlightafter—enough that those who couldn’t use magic even with an artificer sigil before can manage simple feats following.
“Do not stall.” The vicar grabs my arm, yanking me toward the gate, shoving me in front of him and onto the threshold. He steps back into the tunnel, positioning himself behind me, blocking any hope of escape, and the harsher edges of his voice smooth as he adds, “Go and commune with the Font. Find your true power to slay dragons with Etherlight, Isola.”
I look uncertainly between him and the final path to the Font.
The vicar leans forward and whispers, “Lest I try to wrench it from your body again using my own methods.” He keeps his stare locked on me as he steps back. There’s the making of a snarl curling his lip.
I try to think of a retort. Some way to get around this… But there’s so much Etherlight flooding the area, I can’t concentrate. My head spins. Something about it calls to me, louder by the second.
Unable to resist its pull—or the vicar’s orders—I take timid steps along the narrow strip of rocky beach at the edge of this vast, underground spring of raw magic, awestruck and terrified. This is the last thing keeping the world alive. The power rolling from the golden mist is irresistible but overwhelming. I’m frozen in place, as though I’ve run into an invisible wall.
“Go, Isola,” he urges from behind me, not crossing the gate, as though he wouldn’t dare get as close as I am. His toes haven’t even passed the threshold. “Show me your true power.”
I press on when it feels like a thousand invisible hands are trying to force me back, pushing through to reach the edge of the molten gold. What will happen if I continue? If I touch it? I already feel as if I’m about to be torn apart—like the magic is grating against my ribs and tugging flesh from bone to pull me closer. It hurts, yet I yearn for it. Like the sweet pressure right before a joint pops.
“Go,”he commands.
Shuffling forward, I barely submerge my feet into the Ether. It’s warm but not wet. The second it touches my skin, the whole world tilts, shakes, and trembles. I can see the patterns of Etherlight in the air. They carve shapes…no, lines. Like artificer sigils—like a secret language.
From the back of my mind come unrelenting screams. A thousand voices crying out in pain so loud, it’s a roar. I nearly collapse.
“Continue, Isola.” The vicar sounds far away.
Come, Isola, a voice whispers from the Font itself, cutting through the screams.
Then the vicar’s rises above the roar of power and the screams in my head. “Bring Vinguard power and victory at last!”
