The woman’s expression shifted, not quite respect, but close. “The Seeker has judged you worthy. You and your companions may pass.”
“They don’t have to touch it?”
“They accompany a revered witch. The Seeker’s judgment extends to those under your protection.” She turned toward the parted flame before looking back at Wickett. “If you spill a single drop of blood within Dyssara’s borders, you will be met with death. No exceptions. No mercy. It is the Master’s law. Follow me.”
She raised her hands, whispering, “Haurios.”
Water gathered around us in a sphere of protection that shimmered with magic far more complex than anything I’d seen. She was indeed a water witch, but also perhaps something more.Or maybe Dyssaran witches had access to ancient spells long forgotten by the rest of the world.
“Step inside.”
Silas shrank and leapt into my arms. Seemingly innocent, though he wasn’t. They’d never get to me before him if this was an ambush. Then we were moving through the band of Erelith, fire raging on all sides while we floated through untouched.
It lasted maybe thirty seconds. Felt like hours.
The woman dispersed the water sphere with a gesture once we reached the other side. “The city knows you’re here. Knows why you’ve come. Expect a meeting with the Master soon.”
Panic struck hard and fast. If she knew what I was now, would everyone here?
“The who?” Pip asked over the top of me.
But she was already turning away, water gathering to carry her back into the flame.
“Wait!” Calder started forward. “How do we go back?”
The woman paused, looking at him with something like pity. “You can’t. The Erelith only parts for those the Seeker approves. Once through, you must stay until the city releases you. You’re trapped here. The same as everyone else who sought Dyssara. Don’t fret. There’s a place for you to stay. The hotel owner will find you before you find her. She always does. And try not to look too lost. The city doesn’t take kindly to those who wander without purpose.”
Then, she was gone.
We stood in silence.
Trapped. In a city that didn’t officially exist, behind a wall of fire the others couldn’t pass through, with a blood oath counting down.
Good thing thisSeekerand I were friendly now.
Chapter 43
Syneca
If your nose itches, you’ll soon kiss a fool. If your chin itches, you’ll kiss a stranger. If your whole face itches, a Fury has marked you for attention—cancel your plans.
We turned as one, and the city stole every word from our mouths, gleaming like a blade forged from midnight.
Everything was impossibly black. Obsidian. Every surface carved from the same volcanic glass, polished to a mirror’s shine that subtly reflected the glistening purple from the Erelith. As if the shining stone absorbed most of its light. The streets stretched ahead in perfect lines. Black, glimmering cobblestones fitting so seamlessly they might’ve been one piece, rather than thousands. Buildings rose on either side of the long street before us, their walls smooth and dark, every window perfectly clear. Perfectly clean.
The eerie chimes from a clocktower looming on our left stole all my attention. Its face glowed with numbers that seemed crafted from captured starlight. And at the far end of the road, a castle stood silhouetted against the wall of flame that encircled everything.
Fountains dotted the intersections, obsidian water frozen mid-splash, the stone shaped to look like liquid caught in suspension. And floating throughout Dyssara, at varying heights, were chalices of the same black glass, each one holding a flicker of the Erelith flame. They drifted lazily through the air, casting everything in shades of plum and lavender.
Statues lined the streets, but they weren’t normal monuments. These were people, frozen mid-scream or mid-dance, expressions too vivid to be stone, too still to be alive. And the people. The people were... strange. They moved through the streets in dark, elegant coats that swept the polished ground, high collars brushing their jaws, brass fastenings catching the firelight. Every hem was sharp, every stitch deliberate. They smiled. All of them smiled with teeth too white and eyes too bright.
Lucy would have loved this. Would have been tracking every detail, noting the fashion, the architecture, the way people moved. She’d have had some sarcastic comment about the formal wear, probably something about how well the clothing here fit, compared to Calder’s stolen pants.
But Lucy was gone.
A sprite whizzed past my head, giggling, its wings leaving trails of silver that smelled like burnt sugar. More followed, darting between buildings in games I couldn’t follow.
“Stay close,” Wickett said, and his hand found the small of my back.
