“Our findings,” Ardonn cut in, “are that this core allows access to all magek in the world. And with the siphons, Morganya can steal the powers of whichever magen she wishes, whenever she wishes. And”—he paused for a self-satisfied smirk—“we believe we know what it is.”
At this, Ramson stilled. “Go on.”
“It is a gem of pure magek that, according to legend, was cutoff from a god’s heart—as a scholar, I believe it was formed by an ancient source of power hidden in the core of our world. Its power manifests in the Deities’ Lights, in our ghostwhales and water spirits and all other things of magek in this world.”
Hope burned through Ramson’s veins. “And this,” he said, looking between the two scholars, “is the relic that can destroy siphons?”
Tetsyev’s eyes flickered. “Create, harness, destroy…whoever holds this holds the world’s alchemical power—magek—in their hands. A mortal with a Deity’s power.”
It was no wonder Morganya was after it, Ramson thought. Throughout the past moon, journeying through Cyrilia and speaking to the civilians that still remained in its towns, he’d seen the impacts of her reign of terror. Their initial fear had turned to resentment, and resentment to anger, as more and more of their family and friends had been unjustly slaughtered at the hands of the Imperial Inquisition.
There was nothing more dangerous than people with nothing to lose and everything to gain. It was part of the reason why the Red Tigress campaign had gone so well.
“Well,” he said, folding his arms. “Let’s get it before Morganya does.”
Tetsyev and Ardonn shared a glance, and that was when Ramson had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “We havepresently been unable to find any records of its location,” Tetsyev said quietly. “We do believe, however, that it would be somewhere north, where the Deities’ Lights are strongest…perhaps in the region of the Krazyast Triangle….”
“So this is what you wished to inform me today?” An irrational anger was coiling its way up Ramson’s chest, heat spreadingthrough his throat and cheeks. “That you’ve confirmed that this relic can unleash the power of the gods upon this world, but you have no idea where to find it? And that my best option is an elixir that can prolong her life at the cost of pain and madness?”
Tetsyev lowered his gaze. Ardonn looked away. Even Olyusha’s expression was sympathetic.
Ramson exhaled sharply through his nose. His chest was tight. Time was running out; their campaign had reached the end of their trail, and any day now, the Southern Cyrilian recruits would be arriving.
“Well, that settles it, then, doesn’t it?” came a soft voice from behind them.
Ramson spun. Ana leaned against the doorframe, wrapped in furs, her hair draped loose over her shoulders. The candlelight flickered on her face and Ramson had never seen her look more tired—and yet there was a stubborn gleam in her eyes that he recognized all too well.
Ramson cooled his tone. “Settles what?”
She flicked a gaze at him. “We march on Morganya first,” Ana replied, “and defeat her before she finds this relic.” She threw a pointed look at the vial he still clutched in his fingers. “And I’d thank you not to go about making decisions involving my life, Ramson.”
He lifted the elixir, but his heart wasn’t in the motion. “Ana, this helped prolong the lives of magen whose magek were siphoned.”
“ ‘At the cost of pain and madness,’ ” she quoted, arching a brow. “How am I to lead a battle in such a state?” Seeing his silence, she moved across the room, put a hand over his, and plucked the vial from his fingers. Her touch was electric—heatand pain and shock all in one. He might have imagined the way it lingered, a moment more, before she pulled away. “Is that how you would wish to see me in my last moments, Ramson?”
His lips parted, his throat closed. She might as well have gently slid a knife through his heart.
Harried footsteps pounded down the hallway, summoning their attention. Daya burst into the room moments later, panting, a look of wide-eyed triumph on her face. Ana stepped quickly away from Ramson, turning to the door.
“They’re here, Ana,” Daya said. “The Southern Cyrilian recruits. They’ve arrived.”
Everyone in the room turned their gazes to the window. In the deep Cyrilian night, pinpricks of torchlight flared, outlining a line of silhouettes stretching all the way to the town walls and beyond.
“Over five thousand recruits,” Daya said quietly. “A small group are Affinites that have managed to escape Morganya’s draft and have been hiding out in remote southern cities.”
There was conflict on Ana’s face as she turned from the window: muted pride, mingled with exhaustion, and something that resembled grief. “It’s time,” she said. “Our army is ten thousand strong. We’ve planned battle strategy with the most experienced commanders for the past moon. If the Deities are ever to send us a signal or let the stars align, it is now. Morganya’s forces are strong and highly trained—but we have a chance if we launch a surprise attack at night.” Her hands fisted, and she lifted her chin. “If we march tonight, we will be at Salskoff by early morning, before dawn.”
Looking at the army lined up outside, every argument that had been at the tip of Ramson’s tongue faded to ash. The strategymade perfect sense—even he could not convince himself to speak against it.
As he walked from the room, he heard footsteps behind him; a familiar head of chestnut hair came into view.
“So this is it,” Ana said. She tracked a sidelong glance to him, and for a moment there, he thought he saw a spark of a challenge in her eyes. “Any objections?”
Once, it might have set him ablaze, like flint striking stone.
Now, there was only the frozen stretch of reality unfurling before him—one he was powerless to stop.
It was simple, really.
