“What are you talking about?”

  “Volhoric, Ferrol’s high priest, has pointed out that Lothian has shattered his covenant with Ferrol. When he murdered Amidea, an innocent, he forever revoked his standing as a Fhrey who is protected by Ferrol’s Law. This one act—just like yours—has ejected him from our society, so he can be killed without any repercussions whatsoever.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Volhoric has assured me of this, and he will testify as such before the Aquila when we reveal our intentions and ask Mawyndulë to save us.”

  “But . . .” Makareta hesitated. “Having him kill his own father? That’s a lot to ask.”

  “It is, but we have no choice. Mawyndulë knows better than anyone about the perils of having Lothian’s rule continue. He’ll do what’s needed.”

  “But what if you’re wrong about his soul being safe,” Makareta said. “Mine is already gone, so I should be the one.”

  “You can’t kill Synne and Lothian and Sile—not without taking down the whole Airenthenon and everyone else with it, can you?” Afraid that her own lack of understanding about the Art might grant Makareta a means to dispute the statement, Imaly quickly added, “Even if you could, it’s too risky. Synne is formidable, and this is too important for half measures. We’ll need two Artists.”

  “Then why don’t you have Suri do it?” Makareta asked.

  Imaly was genuinely shocked at the suggestion. “You might not have noticed, Mak, but Suri is a Rhune. A race we are presently at war with. What do you think will be the reaction when the people discover the Aquila invited our enemy to kill our leader? Mawyndulë has the best chance of success. Synne, Sile, and you will be behind Lothian, and the fane will have to turn to see what is happening. This will provide Mawyndulë, who will be seated with the other Aquila members in the gallery in front of Lothian, with the perfect opportunity to attack without his father having any chance to defend himself. Moreover, Lothian won’t expect his son to be an assassin. It must be him.”

  Makareta considered this. She didn’t look like she agreed, but the fight was draining from her. “And then he will be fane, correct?”

  “Yes, Mak,” Imaly said. “With Synne dead and Vidar on the frontier, I can’t imagine anyone else—any non-Miralyith—would take the risk to challenge him. Even you can’t do it. The horn won’t sound for you because you’re no longer a Fhrey. Besides, after the fane is dead, I’ll be presenting the horn to Suri.”

  “Why?” Makareta asked, glancing between them.

  “For two reasons. One, it was part of the deal I made with Suri, an even trade. She gave Lothian the ability to create dragons, which threatened her people, and I promised her the horn to restrain ours. We both have the means to rule over each other, but this whole affair has been a gamble that we both are sincere about seeking peace. Giving her the horn will provide the appropriate leverage to ensure Mawyndulë negotiates with the Rhunes.”

  “How does her having the horn do that?”

  “Normally the Aquila holds it. When a fane dies, his eldest child is instantly recognized as a candidate for the throne. By virtue of keeping the horn, the Aquila decides who can blow it—who can challenge the heir to be fane. But that isn’t actually a requirement. We could refuse to let anyone use it and the child will become fane . . . sort of.”

  “What do you mean by sort of?”

  Imaly took a big breath and blew it out so her cheek quivered.

  What I wouldn’t do for a chalkboard right now.

  The Horn of Gylindora wasn’t a simple artifact. Its rules were detailed, arcane, complex, and often confusing to outsiders—meaning those who were not the Curator or Conservator of the horn. Explanations were never easy, but in this case, providing one would be necessary.

  “If the horn isn’t blown, no challenge has been declared, and there is no time limit to make one. So while Mawyndulë will have the powers of fane, any Fhrey can still blow the horn at any time to challenge him. Which means, if Mawyndulë doesn’t work toward peace, then Suri can seek a challenger of her choosing. Then Mawyndulë would need to fight her choice or concede his position. Of course, Suri won’t need to do that because Fane Mawyndulë’s first act will be to declare peace between the Fhrey and the Rhunes, or at least that will be my counsel. And Mawyndulë has grown to trust my opinion over the years.”

  Makareta asked, “So there’s normally a time limit?”

  “Yes. For instance, when the fane dies and he has no heir. In that case, there would generally be two challengers. The first person to blow it starts a cycle that ends after the passing of a full day and night. If no one else blows the horn during that time, the first person becomes fane.”

  “So if the horn is used to challenge for the throne, why wouldn’t an heir just blow it himself? Wouldn’t that prevent him from being challenged?”

  Imaly shook her head. “No. It wouldn’t work. The horn already accepts the heir as a blood candidate, and it only sounds to announce a challenger. But if there isn’t an heir, the first horn blast starts a day-night cycle. Since all Fhrey hear its call, it gives everyone time to put forth their names so that the Aquila can choose both candidates.”

  The Rhune girl sat with arms folded across her chest in an obstinate manner. “I didn’t know Mawyndulë would be the new fane. He killed Arion.”

  “Suri, do you want revenge or peace? Take your pick. You can’t have both.”

  Imaly waited. When neither had anything more to say, she nodded decisively. “Good. Now we all know where things stand, and may Ferrol help us. Mak, at the Aquila meeting, we’ll need your help convincing Mawyndulë he has to be the one to kill his father. I think once we give him assurances that he’ll be in no danger of losing his soul he’ll go along. But you should also stay with him afterward and gauge his resolve. If you think there’s a chance he won’t go through with it, you’ll need to let me know right away. Can you manage that?”

  Makareta grinned, and Imaly felt a stab of pain. Makareta was the obvious choice to help persuade the prince. She’d already seduced him once, so she could again. By all accounts, the girl seemed to genuinely like Mawyndulë and had always wanted the prince to be fane. She might even be in love with him. It was possible she expected Mawyndulë to forgive her crimes, accept her back into Fhrey society, and marry her. Then the two would live thousands of years together. Such were the dreams of youth—that bliss could be achieved so easily and sustained indefinitely. It weighed on Imaly’s conscience that she didn’t set Makareta straight about the realities of life.

  Guilt. That’s what’s making me feel so terrible.

  Imaly had always wondered if she had missed something by not having a child, a daughter, someone who would bang on the wall of her bedroom when she was trying to think. Now she had two. And instead of bestowing her love, she was using them. Every day together made matters worse.

  I like them too much. This betrayal is going to kill me. But they’re not my daughters, Imaly reminded herself.

  Even if they were, she would still have to go through with it. The stakes were higher than any single life, or two, or three. Imaly wondered where the pros and cons finally evened out. At what point did the deaths and betrayals become too great?

  They aren’t my daughters.

  Imaly let the thought repeat in her head as it fought to be heard over the cries of her own heart.

  Chapter Six

  The Cave

  Hope is a fragile thing, despair a hammer. — The Book of Brin

  Brin couldn’t understand what had happened to them and why her drop had been so easy. Gifford told her about how ghastly everyone had appeared right after impact, explaining how some hit harder than others. She was sorry she hadn’t been there to help but pleased she hadn’t seen it. The thought of Tesh’s crushed head and scattered teeth was difficult to hear, let alone witness. According to Gifford, the trio were much better than when he had found them.

  They had been the only ones to fall. According to Tesh, Moya and Rain had been taken by Ferrol. Miraculously, Tekchin had turned up and freed Tesh from the queen’s tower, but the two had been separated during the battle at the bridge. Tesh and Tressa had fallen when he broke the stone span to prevent the White Queen from getting Eton’s Key.

  The news that Moya wasn’t with them was both a blessing and a curse. More than ever, Brin felt the need for their confident, headstrong leader. While she was concerned about what Ferrol might do to Moya and Rain, she suspected they were better off than the ones who had fallen.

  “Those lost to the Abyss are never seen again.” That was what Ferrol had said just before Brin fell into the Abyss.

  Was she just being overly dramatic? I mean, yeah, it’s far, but given enough time we should be able to climb out. And I don’t think time is the same in Phyre as it is on Elan.

  Looking at the sorry state of the others, she knew scaling the cliff walls wasn’t possible . . . not yet.

  They just need more time to heal.

  After finding them, the group had sat in the open for a long time. Brin waited for Tesh, Gifford, or even Tressa to step forward with a plan. Being the youngest—and an extraneous member of the group—she didn’t think it was her place to step forward.

  When none of them had shown any sign of doing more than sitting, Brin had asked for suggestions, but none were given. The only conversation revolved around being cold and wanting shelter. Which way to go, or when to set out, seemed too difficult a problem to overcome. Brin had tried for consensus, calling for votes on various options. Even that proved to be too much, so she accepted the unwanted role of leader. Summoning her inner Moya, she barked them to their feet, demanded they walk, and kept everyone moving with the promise they could rest soon.

  She helped Gifford with Tressa, who could barely move. Between them, the older woman slumped and dragged her feet, leaving furrows in the frosty crust, torment displayed in the taut lines of her face. Tesh and Roan followed, helping each other. Neither looked good, as if every step was an agony.

  Brin searched for a place that was sheltered, a niche or crevice, but she remained hesitant to get too close to the ravines for fear of discovering more of the slug-like creatures. She had easily outrun the globs that had been drawn to her light like moths to flame but didn’t think Tressa and Tesh could do the same. Perhaps those creatures were harmless, but Brin didn’t want to risk finding out otherwise. Frustrated with her inability to find anything but open expanse and plagued with complaints from the others about being exhausted, Brin took note of some bits of shattered rock. In desperation, she steered them that way and found more. Pieces lay strewn across the ground. They ranged from boulders to chips. She followed the fragments and wondered where they had come from.

  A landslide? In the Abyss?

  She tracked the growing mounds of stone to the foot of a cliff. Quickly glancing around, she found the place devoid of globs. What’s more, there was a cave, but it was a strange thing. Nothing about it appeared natural. The opening was huge, and—

  “Looks like something ripped the stone open,” Gifford said, standing beside her, Tressa’s opposite arm over his neck. He pointed at the distinct grooves in the rock, the same sort of marks a person left when digging in mud. “Something big.”

  Big didn’t begin to describe the opening before them. By picking such a mundane word, Gifford was likely trying to minimize the possible implication, perhaps for her benefit. What Brin saw was a hole ripped in the side of the cliff that would have required something with appendages larger than Goll the one-eyed giant or Balgargarath from Neith. Even if she and the rest of their group stood on one another’s shoulders, they couldn’t touch the top of the entrance’s archway.

  “What could have made this?” she asked.

  “Dunno,” Gifford replied. “This is real stone, not created by eshim. What could dig through that? Should we go in?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I hear something,” Roan said from behind them. Both she and Tesh were looking back over their shoulders. “Something is coming.”

  They listened. It didn’t take long before Brin picked out the throbbing resonance. She’d never heard anything like it. Delivered in a constant rhythm, the sound was deep, below what normal, living ears could hear. It reverberated off the cliffs and shook the frost-covered ground.

  “I think we should give it a try,” Gifford said, pointing at the huge gaping hole.

  Brin nodded. “I agree. Everyone inside.”

  “Are you sure?” Tesh asked. “We don’t know what’s in there, and I can’t fight. I can barely walk.”

  “We don’t know that anything is in there, Tesh,” Brin replied, “but something is absolutely out here. It’s getting closer, and I don’t like the sound of it.” Focusing her attention on Gifford, she added, “Just to err on the side of safety, let’s lift Tressa for this last part so we don’t leave a trail.”

  “Good idea.”

  Stepping through the opening, they saw less a cave and more a deep tunnel. Its interior was littered with more wreckage, piles of shattered rock shoved to the sides. Much of it was the porous sort that Brin had observed before, but as they went deeper, the rock changed. She saw streaks of lighter gray, and white-lined layers like stripes of marble, even some yellow and speckled sections of a rusty orange. At a place where the primary stone was a kind of slate, some of which was broken into thin sheets and piled along the sides, the tunnel ended near a trio of boulders. Here, deep in that passageway to nowhere and hidden behind stacks of rubble, Brin called a halt to their march.

  Instantly the others collapsed like rag dolls. Tressa curled up into a ball. Tesh dropped beside her, and Roan and Gifford settled together against the tunnel’s wall. They were a sorry sight.

  Not great, Brin thought, but better. At least the stone isn’t frosted.

  Looking back, she listened but didn’t hear the sound anymore.

  I just hope that whatever we heard outside doesn’t live in here.

  They waited, and for a moment, Brin thought she heard the rhythmic rumbling sound again, but it soon faded. They were alone in the tunnel, a feeble pack of moles clustered in the dark. No one spoke. They were all too sick, each one suffering. Brin wanted to help but didn’t know how. This was the Abyss, the bottom, the lowest of the low, the dry well of the afterlife.

  “Those lost to the Abyss are never seen again.”

  But why?

  Brin held onto the hope that they would eventually climb up, pass through the door to Alysin, finish their mission, and save Moya, Tekchin, and Rain on their return trip. While the plan was optimistic, it was no more impossible than anything else they’d gone through. And yet while looking at the others huddled on the floor, she had to ask herself, If climbing out is so easy, why hasn’t anyone ever done it?

  When Moya had been in anguish from the loss of her leg, Brin had gone in search of help and found it. Buoyed by the memory of that success, she felt that searching was worth trying again, given that she didn’t know what else to do. “I’m going to go explore. The rest of you wait here.”

  “Brin, be careful,” Tesh said. He looked so pale, so weak.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to look around. Maybe I can find help, or an easy way out, or something useful. While I’m gone, everyone needs to rest. Get your strength back. We won’t be staying for long. We have a mission to complete, remember?”

  Everyone nodded except for Tressa, who didn’t move at all.

  Brin slipped outside. Free of the others, she moved quickly, surveying their surroundings at a brisk trot. The Abyss was a quiet place, and when she stopped to listen, she heard nothing—not a drip, squeak, rattle, or breath of wind stirred the place. Absolute silence was absolutely frightening. This time Brin stayed clear of the ravines and the pitted cliffs. She was out in the open again, and at her speed, it wasn’t long before she returned to the fallen slabs of the bridge. The remnants had landed in a rough line. Assuming they’d fallen straight down, Brin figured she could use them as a perfect reference point to align herself to the upper tier of Nifrel. Straight up was where the bridge had been. One end of the line of debris pointed at the Plain of Kilcorth, while the other was an arrow aiming at the door to Alysin.

  For a moment, Brin felt wildly brilliant.

  I’m a veritable Roan, I am.

  The moment faded as she saw no practical use for the knowledge—at least not yet. What she needed was a way to help the others regain their strength. She was also unable to determine which end of the series of stones was which. That would be important later. When they did climb out, it would be best to scale the pillar that led to the Alysin Door.

  Hoping to find a clue, she followed the row of bridge sections until she reached the end. Peering out into the darkness, she spotted a series of large, rocky mounds. One moved, and Brin gasped and nearly bolted. A moment later, she recognized what she was seeing—the Breakwaters. The giants appeared to sit or lie where they had fallen. Three still had their arms linked together. None spoke; nor did they move much. Each appeared befuddled. Watching them, Brin was reminded of how Tesh, Tressa, and Roan had just sat where they fell.

  Slowly the giants’ heads turned. They could see her, of course. Without anything to block her light, it must be visible for miles, and in that eternal dark, light would be . . .

  Hope.

  The idea came to her then. In Phyre, nothing physical existed. Everything was manifested from the spirit. Brin had no legs or feet, yet she understood that’s how she moved. Light was the same. There was no true illumination. Or perhaps she was simplifying too much. Light might also encompass confidence, belief, faith. Each generated a kind of power on the spiritual plane, and that power showed itself in the form of light. That was why the blobs had chased her. She was a beacon of hope.

  Not wanting to get any closer to the Breakwaters, Brin returned up the line of debris in the opposite direction. Eventually, she reached a rough column of stone—the Alysin Pillar.