Linn heaved herself onto the balustrade and began to climb.
Her thoughts wandered to what Ramson had taught them of the magic that people possessed in Bregon. Linn knew that in Cyrilia, Affinites were born to nothing but the rawest forms of their Affinities. Most were left uncultivated, like a seed without sunlight.
In Kemeira, wielders learned harmony: to extend their minds and their souls so that they were one with their element. Every aspect of life, Kemeirans believed, was a circle of some sort: a giant cycle in which they all took part, in which there was give-and-take from every person and every life. Wielders depended on givers—those without magic—to harvest food, to build shelter, and in return, they gave back safety and protection. Action, and counteraction. Yin, and yang.
There was something to the artifact that could create new wielders, new Affinites, that seemed off to Linn. She had always been taught that the amount of power and energy in this universe was finite, and that there was no give without take. How was it possible, then, that power could be created?
Her musings were interrupted when a curl of wind brushed against her shoulder. It carried to her a sound.
Someone was weeping.
It was a soft, high, keening sound, so mournful that it wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She cocked an ear toward it. It was more than she’d seen or heard that night, and unknowingly, she found herself pulling at her winds to guide her toward it. It was coming from a set of balcony doors three floors down.
Carefully, Linn dropped down to the next balcony and peered over. It was a far leap from here to the balcony doors. She watched them for several moments, taking in the way the gossamer curtains ballooned out in the breeze, and how the inside of the room appeared dark.
Then, taking a deep breath, she jumped.
The searock was slippery, and her foot plunged forward. Linn gasped as she lost her balance, tipped over, and crashed against the far wall. She scrambled, squeezing herself against the wall and out of sight from the open-air windows.
In the room beyond, the crying had stopped.
Linn froze. Had they heard her? She couldn’t risk discovery—she shouldn’t even be here.
Drawing another breath, she grasped the balustrade and was about to fling herself over when a thin, high-pitched voice spoke.
“Hello.”
Linn spun around. Between the billowing curtains and half-ensconced in the darkness of the room stood King Darias. His hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes bright as he looked at her.
Panic closed Linn’s throat, choking her words. Options—not very good ones—flitted through her mind.
“Please don’t be afraid,” the boy king continued in slow, singsong Cyrilian. “I just want to tell you about the monsters beneath my floors.”
Linn swallowed. He made no sense. Could she even convince him to keep quiet?
She opened her mouth to speak—and then something very peculiar happened. The boy pressed a finger to his lips and gave a small shake of his head.
“Yes,” he continued loudly, and suddenly, Linn wondered whether there was more to the King’s nonsensical babblings. “Yes, the stars are beautiful tonight. I will come out to look.”
He stepped out, his feet bare and his nightshirt thin in the wind. He moved closer to her and paused, and that was when she caught it: the barest tip of his head, a flick of his eyes back to the room. He took two more steps toward her and then fell still, remaining just in sight of his windows.
They were so close now that she could see the flush to his cheeks, the unnatural dilation to his pupils. He held a cup in his hands; the liquid inside sloshed as he moved to the balcony. In a single motion, so swift that she might have missed it if she blinked, he dumped the liquid over the balustrade into the bushes below.
King Darias caught her gaze. “Poison,” he said, and this time, he spoke matter-of-factly, his voice low. “There is a guard stationed in my room, and many more outside the parlor. If I do not finish my daily dosage, they will force it down my throat.”
There was no strange, slow lilt to his words now, no odd vacancy in his eyes. His gaze was suddenly sharp, focused solely on her.
A chill ran through Linn. Ana had told her the story of her father and brother being poisoned by those who sought power. “How can they do this to you?” she whispered. “Why would the Queen allow it?”
“My mother is long dead,” the King replied, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. “The Sea Court has suppressed all information of her passing, and Admiral Farrald began to administer this poison to me in order to take control of my government.”
Her head was spinning, but the King continued to speak.
“I am glad you came,” he said. “The answers the Cyrilian princess seeks lie beneath our floors, in our research dungeons.”
Linn’s heart began to beat a fast, erratic rhythm. “The artifact?” she whispered. “It exists?”
King Darias’s eyes were wide. He gave a single nod. “The research wing is at the back of the Naval Headquarters, behind a walled courtyard. Look for a set of ironore doors with a scroll carved on top. It will be heavily guarded.”
