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A surge of anger overwhelms me and I want to abandon the effort to find her. She’s a god. She’ll be fine. There’s no need for concern.
Except those fucking dogs. She would have only sent them away if she was faced with grave danger. She would have protected them at all costs and to have sent them away tells me she didn’t think she could keep them safe.
“Maddox?”
I startle and turn toward Amell. “What?”
“I asked if you have any ideas where she could be.”
I shake my head. “No.” But then renewed inspiration strikes. “But I know someone who might.”
Everyone looks at me with hope.
“I’m going to see the Scryer in Faere. Carrick, you and Finley should go to the Council and wait for them to appear.”
“I’ll start gathering Ariman’s supporters,” Amell says with the promise of retribution in his tone. “A little torture should loosen tongues.”
I give him a curt nod and without waiting to see if Carrick agrees with my plan, I cross through the veil into Faere, coming out right at the Scryer’s cottage.
It’s nighttime in this realm, and while Nimeyah created a world without a sun, she was enamored of moonlight, so there’s always a large full one in the sky. Still, its rays don’t penetrate the forest canopy well enough for me to see clearly. Fortunately, Faush has lit sconces on poles lining the path to his home as well as others attached to his cottage. They glow not with fire but with a magical light conjured from energy alone.
The front door of his home opens, and the Scryer steps out. “Greetings, Maddox.”
“You foresaw me coming?” I ask.
He shakes his head, holding up a long curved pipe. “No… merely stepping out to smoke.”
“Zora is missing. So are the other gods, for that matter. We suspect a dark immortal priest, Ariman, has something to do with it. We have nothing to go on.”
“And you want to know what I can see?”
“Yeah, no matter how cryptic. I’ll take anything.”
Faush nods and pauses to strike a match to light his pipe. After he puffs on it a few times, he blows out a perfect smoke ring. “Come with me.”
I follow Faush around to the back of his cottage. He has a small stone patio with glowing torches all around that provide a cozy ambiance. A firepit in the center is surrounded by four wooden chairs. There’s no wood, coal, or other fuel source, but with a wave of his hand, flames leap up from the center. Faush takes a chair, but I remain standing.
Reaching into a satchel at his waist, he pulls something out and tosses it onto the fire. The flames turn purple and hiss angrily.
With his pipe clamped between his teeth, he leans forward and stares into the dancing licks of heat.
I wonder what he sees—or perhaps he hears something as he cocks his head to one side. Then he doesn’t move for what seems an eternity before waving his hand to extinguish the fire. It dies out immediately without any residual smoke.
Standing from the chair, he pulls the pipe from his mouth and faces me. I prepare for vague visions and nonsensical suggestions.
Instead, he gives it to me straight. “The Blood Stone is in play.”
“The fuck it is,” I growl. “It’s under my brother’s protection.”
“It’s not,” Faush says with such certainty, ice runs through my veins. “Ariman has it.”
“You’re wrong,” I insist. The last time that thing was in the wrong hands, Zora died. I refuse to believe we have to battle it again.
Faush is calm, unruffled by my denials. “I could be wrong, but it’s what I saw in the flames.”
Putting the Blood Stone aside, I demand, “Where’s Zora? Does Ariman have her?”
“I do not know,” he says, regret in his voice. “But she’s near the Crimson River. I heard the cry of the tortured souls within it.”
