He crouched before the fireplace at the opposite end of the room, wrapping a small slip of paper around a strange iron pen. It seemed to have a quill point at each end. He stopped by the fire and the others all watched as he knelt down and thrust his hand into the flames. I clutched the panel, my stomach turning as he waited, his face impassive. When he was finished, he drew his hand back and I almost turned away so I wouldn’t have to see his burnt flesh—but his hand appeared normal. I squinted as he turned it to the side, revealing a single, weeping burn. It reminded me of the etchings that already covered his hands.
“Helki,” he said, and the Warmaster approached, tugging at the straps of his Vold armour, pulling away the section covering the lower half of his stomach until the scarred bulk of dusky muscle was on display. I blinked as Fjor set one end of the pen to Helki’s stomach, quickly carving out a symbol, which blossomed just as red and angry as it had on Fjor’s own skin. Those weren’t scars on his stomach.
They were carvings.
Helki stepped away, swiping at the new mark in what appeared to be disgust as Fjor thrust one tip of the pen back into the fire.
“Vale,” he said, and the Weaver glided forward with enough dark temper to convince me that he wanted the mark even less than Helki. He unwound one of the wraps stretching up his arms, letting the material fall away to reveal neat rows of scripts and symbols crawling from his wrist all the way up the inside of his bicep. He bore the mark with a tense set to his shoulders, his face turned away from me. When he moved to one of the chairs strewn about the room, I was forced to duck back behind the panel, and only re-emerged when Fjor spoke again.
“Andel.”
The Scholar’s step was an angry snap, his body tense and stiff as he knelt beside Fjor, bending his head. Bile rose to the back of my throat as Fjor carved another symbol into his skull, bordering the long braid that ran down the middle. I was forced to look away after a moment but glanced up again as Fjor called Vidrol forward, unable to curb my curiosity, needing to know where the King had been hiding his markings. He stopped before Fjor, holding out his right hand. I peered at his skin, barely managing to make out the symbols marring the mottled texture of his palm. They had been layered over each other again and again, until his entire palm seemed to consist of scar-tissue. I hadn’t exactly made a habit of examining Vidrol’s palms, but it still surprised me that I hadn’t noticed. Now that I knew the cause, it seemed obvious that the skin wasn’t quite right.
“Has she been brought back to the Keep yet?” Vidrol asked, though I couldn’t see who he directed the question to as he turned from the fireplace and I was forced to duck back behind the panel again.
“She’s close by,” Fjor’s velvety voice returned.
“And the Captain?”
“They came together. Started a fight at the gates.”
“Vold,” Andel muttered in disgust.
Helki growled in response.
“Do we have enough food and wine stocked for the festival?” Vidrol was pacing now, ignoring Andel and Helki. I could hear his booted feet prowling back and forth in front of the fireplace.
“Our deliveries arrived in Edelsten yesterday,” Andel replied. “And our own stores are full. The livestock in the surrounding areas have been cleared out. People will travel here from all over Fyrio to attend the festival, and they’ll have only our food to eat, our wine to drink. That should contain—”
“Too close,” Fjor muttered, cutting across Andel. “She’s too close.”
I sank back, pressing myself into the dusty rugs, fiddling with my ring nervously. I closed my eyes, thinking of the corridor just outside the room they stood in, twisting the band around my finger and whispering, “The driftwood room.”
I wasn’t sure it would work—I had, after all, named the room myself—but I fell to the floor outside the room just as Fjor yanked the door open. I had my hand against the wall to steady myself, my heartbeat tripling in my chest.
“Tempest.” He opened the door further, turning sideways and raising a brow at me.
I squeezed past him, my already-racing heart stuttering at the way his dark eyes examined me.
“We weren’t expecting a visit so soon.” He spoke again before I had fully moved past him, causing me to halt, my eyes stuck forward, not daring to look up at him.
“I’m here for Andel,” I said, forcing my eyes to move over to the Scholar, who sat in one of the driftwood chairs, a hood pulled over his head to hide his newest carving.
“And here I am.” He spread his hands, his elbows notched onto the furs draping the twisted arms of the chair. It was such a welcoming gesture, so at odds with the shiver of challenge in his eyes.
I realised Andel wasn’t going to step out of the room with me any sooner than the other masters were going to give us privacy, so I willed the pounding in my chest to cease and walked to his chair, stopping before him.
“You must know what’s happening.” I tried not to sound accusing, but rather, hopeful. This was a game to them, and I was only a toy. They wouldn’t respond if I barged in, tossing about accusations.
“I must,” he agreed.
“Why does it seem like the Darkness has disappeared?” I asked.
“Because it’s invisible.”
“No, it isn’t.” I peered at him, at his steepled fingers, his parted knees. He was playing with me again. “It has a smell. A … feeling. It’s not invisible; it’s just not here.”
“Are you here to make a deal for information, koli? Is that it?”
I grimaced, closing my eyes. One of the others chuckled—probably at Andel’s nickname for me.
“No.” I struggled for patience. “I’m here because if you don’t help me, the Darkness will win. The world will end. I will die, and if I do, there will be nobody left for you to play with! Not that it will matter because you’ll be dead as well!”
I opened my eyes again, my chest heaving. Andel dropped his hands, shaking his head at me.
“You think your Eloi power is strong enough to feel the Darkness?” he asked, snatching my hand in both of his, his thumbs pressing into my palm. “Then feel mine. Feel me and tell me that you really think it can defeat me, you stupid girl.”
I ignored the insult, because Andel wasn’t simply withstanding my touch, he was encouraging it. Asking me not just to touch him but to see inside him. It wasn’t something the Scholar would invite lightly. I swallowed, passing my eyes from his hands to his face, to the savagery that hovered around the edges of his eyes. I stared at him until I could no longer feel the ground beneath my feet, or the sea mist clawing through the open balcony doors. The more I tried to see into him, the further I found myself tripping inwards, trapped within the frightened stutter of my own cowering power. I fell further, until my ribcage encircled me. The more I tried to beat against the bars of bone, the worse the breath was knocked out of me.
The Scholar had no weakness.
There was no way to kill him.
To see inside him was to face nothing more than my own horrible weakness.
“Help,” I gasped, my knees buckling, my eyes rolling backward until the roaring of my blood was the only sensation inside the velvet darkness slipping around me.