. . . I felt a waiting spell unfold—Tempest’s spell of unleashing.
Inside the pristine, gleefully gruesome tent at the top of the rise, Ivenrail roared.
71
TEMPEST
“No.” My voice shot around the room and slammed back into me, making me stumble, jarring my hip against the stone box. “Where’s the blade?” I pawed inside the big onyx box, scrambling my nails across the smooth bottom and sides. “There’s no blade here!” Jerking my head back, I peered around as if a figure might appear beside me. They’d give me a benign smile and tell me another twist to the riddle before they handed me the glorious, wonderful, mythical Blade of Alessa.
No one appeared.
The riddle remained unspoken.
Diving inside the box, I landed hard on the bottom and ran my hands along the cold stone surface, seeking a hidden catch or compartment that would open, revealing where the blade had been hidden.
“Where is it?” I bellowed, my words snapping back to hit me.
I tumbled out of the box, landing hard enough on the mosaic tiles to knock the wind from my lungs. With my gasps ringing out, I stumbled to my feet and reeled this way and that, looking for a clue that would tell me what I needed to do. Tears fell from my eyes, and I let them fly.
It couldn’t be over already. I’d come so far, suffered so much. I’d sacrificedeverythingto reach this moment.
I leaped back up onto the platform and rushed around to the cover, swiping away the sand that had already collected to read the second bit of words inscribed again, because they reminded me of the riddle.
Beneath the dark, dreamless expanse, something hidden sleeps—far from helpless hands and distant leaps.
Something hidden sleeps . . .
“Something hidden sleeps.”
Many believed the blade had been forged by trolls, but what if there was no blade but something . . . hidden instead?
InEmber’s Shadow, I read that the sword was lost but if found, it could fulfill the will of the cursed heart.A weapon isn’t always the right choice in a time of great need,the book said.All it takes is the will of a true hero.
Oh . . .
Calm swept away my dismay, worry, and fear, and hope surged within me, filled with that of all those who’d been lost in the ether, those whose lights still twinkled here at night.
The dreamless spoke to me, and I listened.
“Thank you,” I finally whispered. “I understand.”
Go . . .they cried out.
“Only if you come with me,” I told them.
Closing my eyes, I pictured my well, finding it full once more. I gathered every bit of power and massed it together in a mighty ball that churned and flamed.
I sent it out, blasting it across the ether.
And they answered.
Echoes of the battle stomped through my mind, and those I’d just freed joined in with harsh cries, slashing their blades, giving everything they had to defeat the monster who’d stolen their lives from them.
Dragons soared overhead and bone coins rained down on the dregs who . . .
Drawing a wisp of power, I traveled again, leaving the ether. I slipped through the slice in the tapestry and then, to the middle of the plain. Around me a fearless army of those freed from the ether battled alongside our allies from Evergorne, Lord Dultrette’s friends, the people my mother protected at Lydel, and the creatures and beings I’d freed from Ivenrail’s portraits.
All friends allied to this cause.
