“Teryn, it’s all right.” Emylia’s calming tone reached him through the white light. Then, starting with the edges of his vision, the colors dulled. Soon brown, red, and saffron washed over the light, forming Emylia’s temple bedroom. The seer stood before him, wringing her hands.
“What happened?” he asked.
“He’s blocking us now. Remember how I said he used to block me from projecting my ethera outside the crystal when he wanted to? That’s what he’s doing to us.”
“How long will it last?”
“It’s just a simple spell. A temporary seal he created with his blood. He still isn’t strong enough to do anything permanent. Not until he has his Roizan.”
That wasn’t entirely comforting. “What if the seal doesn’t break until it’s too late? I can’t step into my body unless I can project my soul outside the crystal. I can’t practice connecting to my cereba if?—”
“Teryn.”
He frowned, noting the way she continued to wring her hands. He thought it was from anxiety, but now he saw the light dancing in her eyes, the ghost of a smile tugging her lips. “What is it?”
“We have something else to do now.”
His pulse quickened. Before he could ask her to elaborate, she waved her hand, sending the temple room scattering in a wash of light. It was replaced with a still image of the tower library, exactly how it had been moments before. Morkai stood at the table, eyes narrowed on a page in his book. If they were unable to project themselves outside the crystal, then this must be from Emylia’s memory.
She approached Morkai’s side. It was uncanny watching her move through an image while Morkai remained frozen. “Look,” she said, beckoning Teryn to stand beside her. She pointed at the page.
Teryn leaned forward, taking in the complex diagram of intersecting lines and loops that marked both pages. The pattern was the same on each page, creating a mirror image. Teryn was about to inquire what significance they held when his eyes fell on the script marking the top of the pages. The left-hand side bore the wordCrystal, while the right saidUnicorn horn.
He met Emylia’s gaze and she gave him a nod. Her eyes were wide, barely concealing her excitement. “We have it, Teryn. This is the pattern.”
He glanced back at the complex markings, feeling both daunted and exhilarated at once. He could barely make heads or tails of the pattern. It would take forever to learn how to replicate it. But…this was it. The final piece of their plan.
“Are you ready to learn how to draw it yourself?”
Teryn swallowed his fear. In its place, he felt relief. A growing sense of determination. That gnawing inertia he’d felt after his father’s death had compounded ever since he’d gotten stuck in the crystal. Practicing with his cereba had barely taken the edge off. But now, with such a formidable task at hand, and a clear road ahead to do it, Teryn felt strong. Sure. Tenacious.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s unravel this damn spell.”
King Larylis ached for silence,his wife, and a decent book. Only one was at his disposal, in the form of the empty balcony he stood upon, attached to his borrowed bedroom for the night. Today marked his first day of travel to Ridine Castle, and since he was still in the Kingdom of Menah, his overnight accommodations were provided by an eager lord. Lord Furrowsby’s manor was vast, but his hospitality was even more so, which included a musical performance in his grand parlor and a five-course dinner. Larylis had wanted nothing but sleep and solitude when he and his entourage arrived at the manor, but instead he’d been forced to grin and socialize until half past midnight, all while donning the persona of king.
Now that he was finally alone on the spacious balcony, he could let his posture slip, his shoulders slump. He ran a hand through his hair—which was now expertly styled by his valet each morning—loosening it from the stiff gels and waxes that had held it in place all day. He found himself missing the days when no one paid his appearance much heed. Now everything mattered. His hair, his dress, his stride. At least he’d managed to avoid the powdered wigs his valet had suggested. They were popular in Selay, especially with King Verdian. His valet had insisted they’d make him appear more distinguished. Larylis had no desire to don a wig, no matter how fashionable they were, so he’d compromised by subjecting his hair to daily styling.
With a fatigued groan, he leaned over the balcony rail, resting his elbows on the balustrade.
Six more days, he said to himself. Three more days traveling through northeastern Menah, staying at a different lord’s house each time, then another three days traveling through Khero. In Khero, he could finally be free from the hospitality of his lords and stay at fine inns instead. When that was all over, he’d reach his destination. Only then would he finally see her again.
Mareleau.
His wife.
His beloved.
What he wouldn’t give to shake free from these painfully slow travels. Were he allowed to travel on his own, he’d take a messenger horse and arrive at Ridine in two or three days. Were he allowed to oversee his own schedule, he’d travel with haste and rest only after nightfall, and reach his destination in four days. Instead, his travels had been turned into a political move, a way to engage with his noble subjects.
He understood the reasoning behind it all. He was a king now, and he had responsibilities. Protocols. Impressions to make. Loyalties to secure.
But seven gods, was he tired.
It was safe to say he far preferred reading about kings over being one.
A familiar cadence reached his ears, a soft beat punctuating the quiet night. He stared into the distance, beyond the trees that surrounded Lord Furrowsby’s manor, until he saw her. Berol. Moonlight illuminated her wings as she circled over the manor, then made her descent. She landed beside him on the balustrade, one talon curled around something.
Larylis’ pulse kicked up. He hadn’t received a reply from his brother yet, but the messenger had likely only arrived at Ridine that morning. But Berol would have reached him faster.
