“Well,” Talan said somberly, “we have much to tell you.” He looked around at all of us and at the council members seated at several round tables scattered throughout the room. “I suppose now that we’re all here, we should begin.”
“The sooner we begin, the sooner we can adjourn and all of youcan have some time alone,” said the man seated nearest Farrin’s table. I watched him as we took our seats. He had deep brown skin and cropped white hair, and he looked tired. I recognized the great sadness in his dark eyes. He kept it tightly under control, but I was too well versed in loss to miss it. He wore the black-and-gold robes and tasseled cap that marked him as a member of the Royal Conclave—the late queen’s most intimate council of advisors. Thirsk, it must have been. Farrin wrote of him often. He’d been one of her closest allies in the capital since Yvaine’s death. The queen had been dear to him.
“I’ll keep this brief,” he began. “Those of you who are interested in looking at the details of these reports may do so after we’ve finished here. But the long and short of it is that we are running out of time, both to find and apprehend the being known as Kilraith and to protect our people against an invasion from the Old Country. Lady Goff?”
One of the other black-robed advisers looked down at her notes. “As of yesterday, we have accepted ten thousand refugees into the capital and its immediate surroundings, and hundreds more arrive every day. Our food stores are adequate for now, but we’ll need to recruit new elementals—or those with earth-leaning affinities of any kind—if we are to increase the underground hothouse yield and survive the winter months.”
A man seated to my left, decked out in the crisp blue dress uniform of the Upper Army—comprising both Anointed and low magicians—grunted softly. “I cannot spare any more soldiers, Thirsk, no matter what sort of magic they possess. You’ll have to find help somewhere else.”
“With all due respect, General Haldrin,” said Ryder, “if the people you and your soldiers are fighting to protect end up starving, then what is the point of protecting them?”
“Your tone doesn’t sound very respectful to me, Lord Ryder.”
The woman nearest him, wearing a dress uniform of her own,put her hand on the general’s arm. Her jacket was the rich chocolate brown that marked her as an officer of the Lower Army, which had only humans in its ranks.
“His point is valid, Haldrin,” she said. “But Lord Ryder, as I’m sure you’ve heard, the state of the Mist is deteriorating rapidly. Every week another village falls. Every day new storms, earthquakes, and floods ravage the land. The Mist has flooded the Mistlands and will come for the heartlands next. The coastlines are shattered, and most of the main roads are ruined or clogged with refugees fleeing south.”
General Haldrin grunted in agreement. “And General Pallien hasn’t even mentioned the invaders. The cascading effects of the falling Mist means that the very fabric between the worlds is thinning. More and more Oldens are worming their way through. Every day the old magic keeping them where they belong grows weaker. We are fighting a war onmanyfronts, the likes of which we’ve never fought before.”
I stiffened. Of course I knew all of this already, but to hear it said so bluntly put me instantly on the defensive. The general’s words landed like an accusation:The Order isn’t working hard enough. If it was, things wouldn’t be as dreadful as they are. The world would be safer, the monsters fewer.
The woman—General Pallien—glanced at me, as if she sensed what I was thinking, and then looked at Farrin. “When we tell you we cannot spare anyone, we do not exaggerate. Perhaps if we send word to Vauzanne—”
Farrin shook her head. “They can’t spare resources any more than we can, nor can Aidurra. The Knotwood and the Crescent of Storms are also in disarray, though not as drastically as the Middlemist.”
“All the more reason for them to send us additional supplies,” said General Haldrin.
“They couldn’t even if they wanted to,” Ryder pointed out. “Boththe Gloaming Sea and the Sea of the Dawn are death traps now, riddled with storms and Olden hostiles, both of which surface unpredictably.”
Talan nodded in agreement. “The falling Mist, the growing Knotwood, the spreading storms in the Crescent—all of it combined is wreaking havoc on the entire world, not just Gallinor.”
General Pallien sighed. “Nobody can take advantage of supplies if they’re rotting at the bottom of the sea.”
Immediately an image of Kilraith stewing in that very place came to mind. Farrin had told us the story. Right before my sisters and I had killed his tormented host’s body, the god Jaetris had given her all the information he’d gleaned about Kilraith during his imprisonment. The story was terrible: a newborn creature of the gods, abandoned by his creators and separated from the only other being in the world who was like him. All of this happened in what would have felt like an instant to us, but to Kilraith—and Ankaret too—it had unfolded over the course of years and years.
The impact of his fall from the skies during the gods’ Unmaking left him buried deep under the water in the cold, ancient stone that made up the foundation of the world. Unthinkable and confused, this creature of shadows and light remained trapped at the bottom of the ocean for centuries as loneliness and rage consumed him. Now he was free to take his revenge upon the gods who had made him and the humans they had loved.
And so far, he was succeeding.
Gemma’s clear, crisp voice pulled me out of my dark musings. “I can take a look at the hothouses, Lady Goff. My mother’s botanical magic has blossomed in me over the past few months. I am now quite adept at using my elemental affinity. Perhaps I can work with your teams to enhance the crop yield.”
“Lady Gemma,” said one of the other black-robed advisers, an impatient-looking man with a reedy voice, “while that is a kind offer,we cannot afford for you and Talan to linger. Our priority must be to find the awakening gods before Kilraith does. And your godly blood is key to tracking them down.”
A third advisor spoke thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should redirect all of our efforts toward helping Lady Farrin and Lord Ryder find Yvaine. Or Ankaret, I mean.” She glanced at Farrin with a small, hopeful smile. “If we can find her, she can help us with everything else.”
An uncomfortable silence fell until Thirsk broke it gently. “Lady Bethan, I believe we decided prior to this meeting not to discuss that topic any further.”
“Excellent decision,” said General Haldrin. “I would prefer not to devote any of our time tonight to fanciful stories and wishful thinking.”
I looked to my sister, dreading what I would see, but Farrin’s expression was calm, her posture as poised as a dancer’s. “It is no fanciful story, General,” she said quietly. “Ankaret told me to come find her. Those were her last words to me.”
“The last words of a dying creature, heard by only one distressed woman desperate for comfort.”
The room rustled uncomfortably.
“You doubt Lady Farrin’s account?” said Ryder, his voice dangerously quiet and his blue eyes blazing.
Haldrin was unperturbed. “What I doubt is that these efforts to find our late queen are anything but futile. You are chasing an outlandish children’s tale, Lady Farrin.”
