Chapter 38: When Paths Divide

  Silence held. The sanctum's slow pulse thudded through the stone beneath the careful tread of attendants.

  A human stepped forward in restrained finery, a golden sun with a slender, stooping avian stitched into his shoulder cape.

  One of the five houses? Aeor thought. Serathen?

  "Do we truly speak of riding for Aurel'Tharan?" he said.

  The chamber broke into voices.

  "What choice remains to us?" a noble asked.

  "It is easily said from a marble seat," a dragon rider replied. "Even with every bonded wyrm and our finest swords, we do not stand a chance, and you know it."

  "If we stand idle, the world ends as we know it," another answered. "All capable hands must move against Vaelkar."

  "And to what end?" the rider said. "By Lord Alvereth's word, the Custodians named Aurel'Tharan as the place where answers lie. Perhaps some records have endured the ages, records that mark where the Ancients once slept."

  "No records of the Forgotten Wars endure," Exarch Alon said. "I dwelt in Aurel'Tharan three decades past. Every surviving text is accounted for."

  "There must be more," the noble insisted. "The Custodians do not speak without cause. Something was overlooked, or read without the right light."

  "Even if we could draw Vaelkar from the ancient capital, or fell him by some miracle, what then?" the rider pressed. "Do we risk the lives of every pillar of our faction on a hope?"

  "We only have twelve days," another voice said. "We must act."

  "Would you have us abandon Tharion and his talon in Sil'Karrel?" Ruvethar said.

  "What profit is their rescue if the Scales remain unclaimed?" the noble returned. "All these Reclaimers, save their master Kalvaxus, appear as deceased. Beasts and men alike move as if by Vaelkar's will. Strike him, and the tide at Sil'Karrel may break."

  "These are suppositions, my lord," Ruvethar replied, his tone held in check. "It would take four days on dragonback to reach Aurel'Tharan. Tharion needs aid now. We do not know whether they can hold. And one truth remains. We cannot defeat Vaelkar. I have seen him cross the sky. His nearness alone shattered it. To ride at him would be folly."

  Voices crashed together, argument on argument. Aeor and his companions held their tongues. So did Alvereth and the princess.

  "Silence," Serenya said at last, and the chamber stilled.

  For a moment, only the faint ripple of the pool and the weight of her gaze filled the air. Then she spoke.

  "Ruvethar, take your bonded wyrm and one other dragon rider. Fly for Sil'Karrel. Two talons of avian riders will follow and arrive a day later; they cannot pace dragons."

  She turned to the Exarchs. "Go to the barracks. Confer with the officials. Issue urgent Threads for wide scouting. I want the avians in the sky, riders searching for anomalies."

  "I will ride for Aurel'Tharan with Commander Cenareth, Lord Alvereth, the remaining eight dragon riders, and a few others, including the party that appeased Morvaketh."

  She turned to look at Commander Ruvethar.

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  "Depart for Sil'Karrel at once." She faced the gathered hall.

  "As for Aurel'Tharan, it will wait for first light. Much remains uncertain, and I will not move our strength blind. Should the night bring no change, I will address the city at dawn, and then our banners will rise with the sun as we depart for Aurel'Tharan."

  She paused, letting the words settle.

  "No matter what the Archive sets before us, we will prevail." She inclined her head. "May your flames endure."

  All in the chamber bowed. "And may your light be remembered."

  The hall eased from stillness into motion. Through the open crown of the roof, night spilled in a pale ring, laying silver across the central pool. The Exarchs and several of the clergy withdrew in quiet knots, low voices skimming the water. Nobles gathered their robes and turned for the outer arches, their steps measured on stone. At the pool's lip, the princess spoke with Alvereth and Cenareth, heads inclined over the drifting light.

  Zoey caught Aeor's sleeve and drew him and Dregor into the shadow of a column.

  "We need to talk to the princess," she said, voice low but firm. "We should be going to Sil'Karrel. Velora's out there. Salt, Pepper, and Korren as well. We could help."

  Neither Aeor nor Dregor spoke. Zoey's words hung there, heavy in the stillness.

  At last, Dregor spoke. "You are right about that," he said quietly. "I won't be of use against Vaelkar either way." He looked at Aeor. "But you might. You've faced an ancient before, and you carry the same affinity as Vaelkar does."

  Zoey opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. Aeor's jaw tightened; he looked away, the reflection of the pool flickering across his eyes.

  After a moment, he nodded. Slow, reluctant, resolute.

  The last of the nobles drifted toward the arches, their voices fading into the courtyard beyond.

  Zoey drew a breath and stepped forward. Aeor and Dregor followed in her wake.

  "Your Radiance," Zoey said, keeping her tone steady. "A request."

  Serenya looked at her. "Speak."

  "You're sending a flight to Sil'Karrel. I'd ask that Dregor and I go with them."

  Silence pressed in again, rippling with the sound of water. Cenareth's gaze lifted, measuring her.

  "May I ask what compels you to go to Sil'Karrel?" Serenya said at last.

  "The ones at Sil'Karrel are our friends," Zoey said. "They've already been through a lot. If there's even a chance we can help them, we have to try."

  Serenya studied her for a long moment, unreadable. "You speak as if friendship outweighs duty."

  Zoey held her ground. "Sometimes it does."

  That earned the faintest quirk at the corner of the princess' mouth. Her gaze shifted to Aeor.

  "Are you still coming with us?"

  Aeor met her eyes and nodded.

  Serenya's gaze returned to Zoey. "Very well. Join Ruvethar's talon. They fly soon. Make haste."

  Zoey exhaled, shoulders easing. "Thank you, Your Radiance."

  "Do not thank me," Serenya said. "Just return. Both of you."

  Dregor stepped forward, bowing before the princess. Turning, he clasped Aeor's arm briefly. "Be safe."

  "You too," Aeor said. "Bring Velora and the others back."

  "I will," Dregor said, turning toward the arches.

  Zoey lingered. Her hand twitched as if to reach for Aeor, then stopped halfway. "Take care of yourself, okay? And try not to do that whole terrifying violet death-flame thing."

  Aeor's mouth curved faintly. "No promises."

  She smiled, small and bright. "That's what I was afraid of."

  "Take care, Aeor."

  With that, she turned to follow Dregor toward the arches.

  Aeor watched them go as their steps echoed softly, fading into the night beyond.

  Seyla

  Seyla held her sister's hand as they left the wide canal street and turned right into a narrow lane beside a smaller canal. Spray from the water slicked the uneven stones, carrying a faint smell of silt and iron. Buildings crowded close, wood-and-brass balconies hanging over the dark run.

  "Step," Seyla said, quiet. Mayla matched her without a falter, head tilted as she listened to the beats her sister gave.

  The settlement cried around them, fear and grief braided through the streets. From a stairwell a woman keened until her voice thinned. Somewhere a man called a name until the sound lost its shape. Far off, bells tolled out of time. Smoke lay low over the lanes, and beneath it lingered the faint scent of blood.

  Seyla slowed, pulling her sister close. A man slumped against the canal wall, eyes open to nothing, thin trails of dried blood striping his cheeks.

  "Mayla, what is happening here?" she asked.

  "Not just here," Mayla said. "Across Sol'Karenth."

  Seyla stopped short. "What? Is it happening in—"

  "Yes," Mayla said, cutting her off. "Please. We have to keep moving. If Threadgaze touches us, this path ends here."

  Seyla bit her lip, turned, and led on.

  Everyone here sees something. The thought churned in her mind. Yet we saw nothing. The dreams she claims to see, did they shield us?

  They climbed a lane hemmed in by close walls and stepped out onto the stone walk along the canal. Ahead, through a gap in the alleys, towers rose against the night, obsidian spears banded with gold. The sight fixed the place in Seyla's mind.

  The upper district.

  Thar'Iluneth.

  She tightened her grip on Mayla's hand and kept on. The city pressed close as they walked.

  They slipped through the threshold of the healers' hall and into heat and noise. Lantern smoke pooled under the rafters. The air smelled of boiled herbs, old ash, and iron. Cots lined the walls and spilled into aisles. Runners shouldered past with basins and cloth. Priests in soot-marked stoles bent over the wounded, murmuring rites that frayed at the edges.

  Seyla kept her hood low and moved slowly, drawing as little notice as she could.

  "Are you sure about this, Mayla?" she asked.

  "I am sure of the need," Mayla said. "I am not sure of the end. When it comes to him, my dreams do not hold their shape."

  Seyla thought of Aeor, and of the impossibilities Mayla had spoken because of his existence. None of it made sense, but one fact held. She would keep Mayla safe and carry them through the Initiation one way or another.

  A surge of voices cut her reverie. The crowd opened just enough for two figures to push through. A young man came first, tousled blond hair catching the lantern light. He half carried a wounded human across his shoulders, the man's eyes rimmed with dried blood, breath hitching but present. He called for a healer, voice raw. A woman followed close behind, her auburn braid loosening, exhaustion plain in her eyes.

  Seyla rose, but Mayla was already moving.

  She let her vision narrow as Threadgaze slipped across the press of bodies and fixed on the woman. The air seemed to thin as the Archives whispered her name.

  Lyra.

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