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No one makes mention of the two elementals who ran, or why. No one voices questions about how they escaped in the first place. To do so would mean admitting that one—or more—of those nineteen elementals left in Argon’s jeweled castle likely aided in their escape.
“We are adjourned for today.”
Chair legs scrape against stone as council members abandon their seats in a rush, many wringing their hands over the news that Mordain has been conscripted into Queen Neilina’s war.
Allegra’s head is held high as she strolls toward the door. “You were late today, Master Scribe.” Reprimand hangs in her voice. “Walk with me so I may hear your inadequate excuses.”
I scuttle out the door next to her, struggling to keep her fast pace while remembering that I once whipped her bare behind for eating her classmate’s lunch. Along the parapet we march, down the stairs, and into the courtyard. The bronzed statue of Caster Yason draws a shadow over a group of stone casters as they take their lesson on the building’s spelled doors.
“I beg you, slow down, please. These old legs are not what they once were.”
Allegra huffs with annoyance but adjusts her speed. Her eyes—the color of an evergreen forest after a heavy summer rain—flitter about us to check for listeners. “Any news from our sisters?”
“Indeed, there is. We have lost Ianca to the change. It happened on their journey down.”
Allegra winces. “Likely for the best, though. This way she cannot speak to her crimes. Not that Lorel would acknowledge them.”
If Ianca’s even still alive to speak at all. When Gesine wrote this message, Ianca was barely holding on. What a loss. The caster played a vital role in what has happened and what is to come. Her name will live on through the ages, as surely as Caster Farren’s has. I would have loved the opportunity to capture her seer visions for our scrolls.
“And what of this resurrected princess?”
“She is not who she seems.”
Allegra’s brow wrinkles.
Again, I curse the need to involve the Second. But again, Allegra has played an important role in our ability to communicate—both with Gesine in Argon and with our sources in Cirilea—for years.
Not without cost. In the rare occasion that the masters are called upon to vote, she always has mine, whether I agree with her stance or not.
Leading her into an alcove, away from prying gazes, I thrust the scroll into her hand.
She unfurls it, flips it over, studies it. “There is a tracer spell woven into this.”
“I’m not shocked. Gesine was always quick to learn things she wasn’t meant to.” But it’s a blessing because it also ensures our response to her will arrive where needed.
“Where is she now?”
“Traveling north toward Venhorn.”
“Venhorn. She still hopes to discover something at this Stonekeep.”
“She believes it is tied to this prophecy.” A more astute pupil than Gesine, I have never known.
With another perfunctory glimpse around, Allegra unfolds the letter.
I watch her eyes dart back and forth until they flare.
“A key caster,” she hisses, pausing to flash me a panicked look. “How is that possible? Affinities can’t be gifted, even by the fates themselves!”
“I do not know, but the king of Islor is aware.” Or former king. Gesine’s letter confirms that rumor of his exile is true as well.
“And yet he does nothing … because he is still infatuated with her. Of course, it is as Aoife meant it to be,” Allegra murmurs, still reading.
I don’t need to point out the line after, where Gesine declares this version of the princess is genuinely in love with her once betrothed.
Allegra gasps. “Gesine is sure of it?”
“‘She rose again as a Daughter of Many and a Queen for All,’” I recite the scripture word for word. “I do not know what other puzzle pieces Gesine has cobbled together since sending this message. It arrived by common carrier pigeon.” An exhausted bird with no affinities to aid in its travel, short of the one Gesine wove into the scroll to guide its path here. They were outside a city named Bellcross, heading north, when she got her hands on paper and coerced someone to send it. It’s likely been weeks since, and much may have changed.
“What is …” She frowns at the scribble hastily added at the bottom of the page, as if added in a rush. “Ulysede. What is that? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Neither have we.” I point to the drawing of two intersected crescent moons. “But the seers have seen that symbol time and time again. No one has ever gleaned a meaning behind it. This is the first time we can tie anything to it.” A single word. A name. What does it mean?
Allegra shakes her head, rolling the paper. “I do not like the idea of a key caster within easy reach of an Islorian king who is desperate to regain his throne. At what cost, Agatha? How long before this proves disastrous, and we are complicit?”
