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She kept quiet and approached the platform. Her eyes found Lysander’s, but he glanced away. Idonea huddled in the centre of the platform and spread her feet shoulder-width apart. Her stomach lurched as they winched the platform up, keeping her eyes closed until all movement stopped.
In the airship’s belly where they stood was a vast expanse of nothing. A narrow wooden staircase led up and away from the area.
The Templar remained silent, and with Alcaeus behind her, she'd no choice but to follow. There was no Lodamante in sight.
She was escorted up two more flights of stairs, each step becoming narrower. The Templar stopped before a gold-plated door, guarded by another Templar. After a single, heavy knock, the door swung inward. They entered first with Idonea and Alcaeus following.
A long rug cut through the centre of the room like a blood-red path to judgement. The space itself looked wrong. Mirrors lined the walls from floor to ceiling, multiplying their reflections, making the chamber feel endless. Too many versions of herself looking back. At the far end sat a single high-backed chair, more throne than seat. In it, draped in the same immaculate robes she’d seen before, lounged the High Hierophant. His stillness pulled a slow cold through her gut.
He flicked two fingers, and the Templar withdrew without a sound.
Alcaeus stepped forward. “What brings your Radiance here?”
“Current spikes have been detected here,” the High Hierophant said, his eyes flicking over to Idonea. “And I hear a Grand Templar is arriving imminently.”
“What kind of spikes?” Alcaeus asked.
Her eyebrows pinched together; daemons didn’t generate Current.
The High Hierophant rose from his chair. “Something I’ll discuss with your daughter.”
Alcaeus’ posture stiffened. “I’d like to be present.”
“No.” The High Hierophant stepped down from the dais. “You are dismissed, Brother. You will wait outside.”
Alcaeus rested a hand on her shoulder before leaving without another word.
Idonea stared at the High Hierophant. “What is this about?”
“These Current spikes are interesting,” he said. “They spike here, and a duplicate spike, hit back at the capital.”
Her mind scrambled to make the connection.
Was that where the witch was, the one blocking the daemon?
“You know what is in the capital,” he said, “don’t you?”
Her eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. The reform college. Dyota. By laws of magic, it couldn’t be possible. But how did he know the family connection?
A smile crept over his face. “I thought so.”
He clicked his fingers and the mirrors shivered. Their surfaces warped, light bent as if the glass was liquid. The air thickened, Current spiralling, coiling. Her mouth went dry. More than one witch was present in the room — hidden.
Pressure collapsed around her like a fist. She staggered; breath punched from her lungs.
“What are you doing?” Her voice cracked.
“I’m understanding.” He clicked his fingers again.
The mirrors rippled, flickers of images reflected upon them. Current surged around her head, needling into her skull. A white-hot spike of pain seared her mind.
Idonea dropped to her knees, palms slamming hard against the rug. Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden. She gritted her teeth and reached desperately for the Current, raw, like stepping barefoot onto shattered glass.
Another blast of pain ripped through her. She clapped her hands to her ears, though it did nothing to stop it. The sound came from inside her skull.
The images in the mirrors became clearer. A younger Idonea stood in the one before her. The pain ceased as a memory surfaced; it was the day Alcaeus left: the day he took Dyota.
At the sound of the door opening I raced down the stairs. Dyota must be home from the doctors. Father took her after another argument with Nellith. He wouldn’t let Nellith mend her. She’d caught a nasty cold which Nellith didn’t want to see her suffer from.
