CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Lord Haro of Marisarma attacked our ships at the dawn of summer. The rest have not been heard from.
—Correspondence from Sea Spear to White Hawk. 50thof Autumn, 071.3E.
As my rage simmered in the coming days, I funneled it down, deep down, into the chasm where my powers slept, fueling them as we prepared to march toward Aedrialis.
The round stone containing Faron’s Bellator Bone sat infuriatingly quiet on my cot in the corner of the small cell I shared with Evony. Nerissa had personally taken to her training and had her in the courtyard sparring with Vulcan daily.
Vienah sat across from me, her dark leggings peeking from beneath her travel dress. Carina adjusted her spectacles as she leaned forward on the chair next to us and moved the round stone to peer at its top.
The membranous wings etched across the top arched around the edges. In its center, a small, hand-sized indentation spiraled.The bone flitted quietly, the power inside waiting and watching as the three of us failed once again to unlock it.
“The riddle on the entrance to the tomb could mean a lot of things. What else did Xenelpha say to you?” Carina finally asked.
I pressed my palms into my eyes, closing them against the growing ache that had begun.
“She said a lot of things,” I muttered. “But when she talked about opening the stone, she stressed‘who was I?’”
“Did she ask you any other questions?” Vienah asked, tucking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. Her head tilted curiously as she stared at the stone container.
“About a hundred,” I said, about ready to hurl the damn stone out the tiny window. Soft light filtered in the small cell in Demon’s Door. “I’m sorry,” I added quickly, throwing an apologetic look her way. “I’m just really stuck.”
“Think,” Carina added cautiously, adjusting her spectacles.
“She asked where would I go? Would I bring destruction or hope?”
A knock rapped at the door, and Drystan’s copper face peered in.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he signed, shuffling inside. He stretched his arms and cracked his neck as he pulled over another chair.
“It’s okay. We’re getting nowhere,” I muttered, signing the words.
“What does it feel like?” he asked, his crystal, almond eyes thoughtful.
Carina cocked her head at my friend.
“She could feel the others,” he explained, turning toward me. “You told us it sounds like wings. But what does itfeellike?”
My brows pinched as I turned back to the stone and waited for that soft little pull. A small breeze seemed to flit from the wings of whatever power rested inside its stone chamber. I letit drift to me, and I pushed a little Transcindiel power into the feeling as it floated through the room.
“The wind,” I finally replied.
My eyes landed on Drystan as they blinked open. The wind fluttered through his long ebony hair, and my heart stopped.
Drystan’s almond-shaped eyes, his copper skin, somewhat darker than what was seen in Aedrialis, but warmer than the brown skin in other parts of Sultira. I replayed the old elven words etched on the lid of Faron’s tomb.
Life is nothing without it.
As small as a thought; as strong as the tides.
As quiet as whispers; as loud as thunder.
It exists in the light and the dark…
“Destruction or hope,” I breathed, my heart picking up its beat. “Xenelpha said, ‘Will you bringdeminorm’ando?’”
My eyes snapped to the hand-sized, indented section of the round stone. Could it be possible?
