“Assuming we have the correct solution,” Isla began, her brows pinching as she turned toward Ezrich. “Probably one per day, once we get the solution right.”
Ezrich’s brown brows narrowed, but he nodded, glancing at Raek, who seemed to agree.
“You’ve mentioned the Vael Lacrima,” Pavel continued. “We’ve reason to believe there is more than one gate. The high steward found a number of scrolls in Saros’s private library that indicate multiple entry points into this realm.”
My chest tightened, and the room stilled. Mouths parted as the information sank in. Pavel ignored the shock and pressed forward.
“Ronan is growing his army. We’ll have a Sultiran cavalry ready in a few weeks. The Nivisian elves are training the bears in the Albyrn Mountains. Lotrennian forces are gathering, the War Slayers expanding. And the Marisarma fleet is prepared to sail?” Pavel turned to Lord Astraeus, his thick, salt and pepper brow rising.
“TheVotruvianfleet,” Astraeus corrected, meeting the weathered soldier’s stare, “is ready. Though we’ve yet to track down Lord Haro of Marisarma.”
Pavel’s nose crinkled in disgust at the name. “Hopefully, the sirens sink their claws into his ships.”
Astraeus’s brows furrowed, and his lips pursed as if he made a grunting sound but seemed unconvinced.
“What of the Rhashtai?” Pavel asked at last, turning to Selvina.
Lyvia’s head cocked, and she exchanged a look with Astraeus.
“My contact is dead,” Selvina replied, her hands moving swiftly for me. “And I’m uncertain where the allegiance of Xenelpha’s nephew lies.”
Lyvia’s lips fell open as she stared at Selvina.
“It was you,” she began, her eyes wide. “You warned Xenelpha of Nivis’s attack on the Death Dunes last summer. You are the reason Xenelpha allowed us to stay… She knew she’d need the warriors, need the powers to save her people…”
Selvina swallowed before giving a firm, matter-of-fact nod.
“I’m not sure we’re welcome back in the Death Dunes any time soon,” Lyvia said, her eyes cutting to mine.
“Why is that?” Pavel asked, his brows furrowing as if her answer was unacceptable.
“Lyvia stole their Bellator Bone,” I replied, making my hand movements larger to capture the attention of the room. “And I took its power.”
Daysand two shipments of leaves later, I strode toward the small shipyard tavern in Borva. A brisk, end-of-summer breeze floated in from the Crimson Sea as I passed the docks, and the unruly waves sprayed a mist of seawater against my face.
My stomach rumbled as I swung the pub door open. Saliva filled my mouth as a waft of salted pork, cheese, and potatoes shoved up my nose. Aeriden waved an arm from the corner, where he sat with Lyvia and the grisly Jon Pavel.
“Here you all are,” Pavel said with a wry grin. He shook his head, mouth quirking to the side. “Three of you mongrels, running amok on the streets of Aedrialis, sneaking into the Sun Dance tent and nearly getting lashed in the process…” He huffed a laugh as he paused and took a quick swig of ale. “The fate of the world now resting on your shoulders.”
Aeriden laughed, but Lyvia looked like she might vomit. Her eyes cut to mine, and I offered her an understanding smile. She didn’t want the fate of the world on her shoulders.
“Missing one, though, aren’t we?” Pavel murmured. “I saw Vander briefly in Aedrialis. He’s doing well, I think.”
Aeriden perked up and leaned forward, asking more questions as Lyvia turned toward me.
“How is it coming?” she asked, turning her body to the side and moving her hands quickly.
“Nearly there,” I replied. “Isla and I tried a different spell today, and the colors looked brighter. The problem is we don’t have a way to test the effectiveness without inviting Sintarrak.”
Lyvia frowned, but she reached a hand to mine. “You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”
I blew a sigh through my nose and ran my hand through my hair as I shook my head.
“I’m not getting much right lately,” I replied.
Lyvia’s caramel eyes dipped, and she shook her head. “I’m the one not getting it right,” she signed as she looked up at me. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t transform Tempest. I clearly fucked something up?—”
“Stop,” I cut her off. “I was wrong.”
