It’s a large map, multiple feet across, and it’s incredibly detailed. Lucien’s fingertip traces the line between our kingdoms briefly. He sighs. Then his hand glides over the map and settles on an area in the Bloodthorn Sea.
I lean one hand on the table and squint as Lucien taps the spot twice.
There are islands there, I realize. Three of them clustered together tightly off the coast of Blumenfall. I’ve studied a lot of maps of Nocturna and Astreona since becoming queen. I wanted to understand the land I was ruling.
But I don’t think I’ve ever seen these islands recorded before.
“One of these islands is where we believe the tower stands,” Lucien explains. He straightens and rests his hand on his hip.
“What’s this note mean?” I ask, pointing to the symbol beside the islands.
“It means it’s unexplored. Or…” Saela considers her words for a moment. “Uncharted, basically. The person who drew this is telling us that the shape they drew here might be incorrect.”
“That’s right, actually,” Elias says, sounding impressed—and surprised. Condescending jerk. But Saela doesn’t notice his tone, just perks up under the praise.
“And itremainsuncharted because the island is shrouded in impenetrable mist,” Lucien tells us.
“Mist,” Venna repeats, skeptical.
Lucien’s eyes settle on her. “Mist. Fog. Particularly low-hanging clouds. Whatever you’d like to call it,” he says, and flashes her a smile. Then he turns back to the table at large. “People have attempted to land there numerous times over the centuries. Because?” Lucien gestures to Elias.
“Because it would be a great position for approaching Nocturna by sea,” Elias answers.
“Exactly.” Lucien nods to Elias. “Yet every expedition has ended in total disaster.Tragicdisaster,” he says like he’s not very put out by said tragedies.
“What… sort of disaster?” Venna asks hesitantly.
The vision of that dead woman in the tower presses into my eyelids. Which of us was it? I blink it away.
“The sort of disaster that inspires legends of specters of sailors reaching out of the unmoving mist to drag people to their watery deaths,” Elias says, bored voice in contrast with his lurid statement.
“Legends, of course.” Lucien chuckles. “Though, the mistisstrange. There could be enough wind to fully fill sails, but the fog won’t so much as stir. It simply… hangs there.”
“So. Magic?” Stark says.
“Who knows?” Lucien sighs. “Probably.”
“But someone has sailed close enough to see the islands,” Stark points out.
“Indeed. And those who’ve managed to sail close enough have reported glimpses of a massive tower through brief breaks in the mist,” Lucien replies. “Elias.”
Elias turns away from the table and pulls out another massive leather folio. He returns to the table and begins to carefully extract several yellowed sketches, each looking more delicate than the last.
The sketches are all rough drawings, looking to be done by different hands, of a tall stone tower rising from jagged rocks.
When I lean down to study the drawings closer, I can make out the detail in the tower’s peak. It looks almost like another natural rock formation, as if it’s sat there atop its island and been carved by the sea and the wind together.
Except at its very tip, there are symbols.
They’re messily scrawled and not perfectly accurate—whoever recorded them must have seen them for only a second. But even so, they’re clearly recognizable to me. To any Bonded.
I fight down a gasp and hover my hand above the most detailed sketch, tracing the four symbols with my eyes.
“What? What is it?” Elias asks.
“Oh shit,” Noemi says.
“These are the symbols of the four direwolf packs,” I tell them, then point to each in time. “Strategos, Daemos, Kryptos, and Phylax.”
