Changed and ready for the day, Rhiannon left her bedroom and headed toward the burrow’s entrance.
Sister Merida was waiting in the kitchen. “I understand you’ll be gone most of the night.” She handed Rhiannon a cloth sack. “This should tide you over.”
Rhiannon peeked inside and saw a green apple, a wedge of cheese, and a generous heel of brown bread. “I could have made it myself.”
“You want to take away the one task at the Rookery I actually enjoy?” Sister Merida smiled and busied herself at the stove. “I’d never forgive you for it.” She began washing some bowls in a basin. “Be careful at the vyrd, all right?”
Feeling a pang of regret that Sister Merida was here for her sake, Rhiannon nearly told her she should head back to the abbey. Then she thought better of it and said, “I will.”
She left the burrow with a smile—she liked having someone around who wasn’t trying to use her—but the smile faded as the gnawing feeling in her gut returned. Two turns lower along the stairs, she found her mother waiting for her.
“Ready?” Morraine asked.
Rhiannon fell into step alongside her. “Would you be mad if I said no?”
“I’d be mad if you refused to try.”
The day was unseasonably warm and humid, even for the Deepwood Fens. As they wound lower and came near the workhouse, where dragon scales and other ingredients were rendered into drugs, two women—one heavy, one thin—were standing out front smoking tabbaq cigarettes. On seeing Morraine, they stamped them out and went back inside.
Not far from the base of their tree was a shelter with a fenced-in pen for training dragon kits or sometimes to house ailing dragons. Inside the pen, Irik was playfully chasing Tiufalli, the young cobalt kit, while Llorn looked on. Tiufalli gamboled, flapping his wings and suddenly stopped. Irik ran into him, and the two tousled on the ground. Llorn still hadn’t declared whether Irik had formed a true bond with Tiufalli, but he didn’t need to. The kit loved Irik.
Irik rose and dusted himself off, and Rhiannon waved. Irik waved back and headed toward Llorn, who growled at him to take the dragon’s training more seriously. Morraine stared at them, her eyes softly glowing, and spat on the dirt.
“Morraine!” Heading along a well-worn footpath toward them was Sister Dereka. She stopped several paces away and bowed her head. “The looking glass is waiting for you at the vyrd.”
Sister Dereka regarded Rhiannon sourly and headed up the winding stairs, and Morraine led Rhiannon along the footpath beyond.
“What’s a looking glass?” Rhiannon asked, all but certain it wasn’t a mirror.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Rhiannon was tempted to press for answers but the urge died when she noticed how her mother was favoring her right side. Morraine’s hands shook as well, and her lips were quavering. She looked like she was in pain and trying not to show it.
“I don’t need your pity,” Morraine said with a sideways glance.
“It’s not pity, and it’s getting worse.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Morraine said their shared bond helped to ground her and prevent her soul from slipping from her body, but the bond alone wasn’t going to be enough. Only a few days had passed since her quickening, and she’d already grown weaker. Rhiannon worried that soon, she’d simply collapse and her wisp would float up from her body to begin its second life anew. Rhiannon had overheard Morraine tell Llorn that she could take more from their bond, but refused to.
As they took a bend in the path, the gnawing feeling ebbed. “I’m only tired, child. I’ll be fine.”
It was a lie, but Rhiannon knew better than to press.
Beyond a violet-covered hill, the vyrd came into view. When they came closer, Rhiannon spotted a brass basin at its center, surely the looking glass Sister Dereka had mentioned. The basin had clawed feet and was roughly the size of a serving platter. Next to it was an earthenware jug, the sort used at mealtimes for sapwater or pine milk.
They passed between two tall menhirs and knelt on opposite sides of the basin. Morraine pulled the jug’s stopper and tipped the jug over the basin. Clear sapwater glugged out. When the basin was filled almost to the rounded brim, she stopped and set the jug down.
“The basin is magic?” Rhiannon asked.
“No”—Morraine pressed the cork into the mouth and smacked it with the palm of her hand—“but the spell I’m about to cast will allow us to use it to roam the forest and search for Yeriel.” The blue glow of her mother’s eyes intensified as she whispered words of power. “Sgàthan cian, sgàthan cian . . .” Repeating the chant over and over, she leaned forward, dipped a finger into the sapwater, and ran it around the basin’s edge. She did so three times, then sat back, and the glow in her eyes dimmed. “Sister Dereka tells me you can sense the forest?”
“A bit, yes.”
“Well, that sense is like eyesight, and this”—she tapped the basin’s rim—“is like a spyglass. Bend your will on it, as you do the citadel trees, and it will take you far from here. We’ll use it to search for the veil.”
“As simple as that?”
“No, not simple, but the shard will guide us.” Morraine tugged on a leather cord around her neck and brought up the shard from beneath her dress. It was wrapped in leather so she could wear it like a pendant. She took the pendant off and held it out. “Take it.”
Rhiannon took the shard and felt its tingle, turned it over and stared at its colorful facets.
“Yeriel’s soul is tied to that relic,” Morraine continued. “Searching for her is a matter of searching for that thread and seeing where it takes you.”
“How do you know?” Rhiannon asked.
“Because I saw it once, before I died. I was never able to master following it, though.”
“And you think I can?”
Morraine tilted her head. “There’s only one way to find out, child. But be sure not to go too far. We can’t have you getting lost.”
“Lost?” Rhiannon felt her panic start to rise. “How would I even know?”
“Because you’ll feel thin.”
“What does that mean?”
“That if you go too far, you’ll start to lose all sense of your physical self. Pay attention to your heartbeat, the stink of the fens, the feel of the wind on your cheeks. Use them as anchors.”
The urge to give the shard back was getting stronger by the moment. “But what if I do lose sense of myself entirely?”
“Then you’ll go mad, so don’t.”
The crystal was tingling so much her fingertips felt numb. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” The words sounded small and pathetic.
“And you never will unless you try. The thread will be subtle, like a single strand of hair on the surface of a pond. Take your time. Be aware. Don’t go too far.”
Rhiannon clutched the crystal in both hands and held it close to her chest. The bones in her hands juddering, Rhiannon took a deep breath and expanded her awareness. As she had in the past, she felt the trees, their vastness as they stretched in all directions.
“Look into the water,” Morraine said.
Rhiannon did, but all she saw was a reflection of the snail-shaped clouds in the sky overhead. “It isn’t working.”
Morraine tapped the basin’s rim, producing a ting that went on and on. The view of the sky wavered and was replaced with a view of Irik and Llorn in the dragon pen with Tiufalli. Rhiannon gasped.
“Good,” Morraine said. “Now go farther. Listen to the shard.”
She willed herself beyond the Rookery, and the view swept toward the fens with its dragonflies and midges. She felt like a wisp, weightless, going where she would with no one to stop her. She came to a small brook and followed it to a creek. She followed the burbling creek and came to the churning waters of the Diamondflow. She felt the wind blow, felt the heat under the sun and the cool in the shadows of the trees. She smelled the river’s fresh scent, the stink of a half-eaten deer carcass near the riverbank. Try as she might, though, she sensed no threads, and bending her will on the crystal seemed no help whatsoever.
She continued for some time, always making sure she could sense her own heartbeat, her breath, the solidity of the stone beneath her folded legs. Cant arrived with a clash of lights. As the sky dimmed and Nox rose, Rhiannon returned her awareness to the vyrd. Morraine let the hood of her cloak fall against her back. Rhiannon pulled her own hood up and hooked the loop of her sleeve flaps around her middle fingers. Then she gripped the shard tight and re-entered the looking glass.
For a time, she was drawn to the underroot, where the citadels’ roots dove deep into the earth. It made her sleepy, somehow, so she breathed and drew her attention up toward the forest floor. She passed a pack of wolves on their nightly hunt, saw a clutch of onyx dragons taking flight, found a woman and a boy on a night ranging far to the south. She felt villages on the ground, cities in the trees. But of Yeriel hidden behind the veil of Gonsalond, she sensed nothing.
Her mother had said to search for the thread that connects Yeriel to the crystal, yet try as she might, Rhiannon couldn’t find it. In the hours that followed, she grew tired and couldn’t maintain the connection any longer. Like rain pooling into a puddle, she returned to herself.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t find anything.” When Morraine made no reply, Rhiannon stood and looked around. The vyrd and the clearing beyond it were empty. “Mother?”
Rhiannon was tempted to go looking for her, but she was famished. She ate the apple, cheese, and bread Sister Merida had packed for her. She sipped the faintly sweet sapwater from the jug. She listened to the whine of the cicadas and the wind through the trees. Somewhere far away, a panther yowled, prompting Rhiannon to draw the small knife at her belt until she was sure it wasn’t coming in her direction.
Wisps floated in the distance, making Rhiannon feel sleepier than she already did. When her eyes drifted shut, she blinked them furiously open. Morraine would yell at her if she found Rhiannon sleeping. She was ready to head back to the Rookery to see if her mother was there, but then her gaze fell on the looking glass, and she wondered if she could use it to find her mother. She returned to the basin, set the crystal aside, and focused on the reflection in the water. When nothing happened, she tapped the rim, as her mother had. As the tinging sound faded, her vision was swept away.
She’d had difficulty finding Yeriel’s thread, but the one that tied Rhiannon to her mother was easy to follow. It led her to the nearby fen. The ground felt peculiar there—heavy, somehow, as if the land all around it were being drawn inward. Hearing voices, she floated toward them and saw her mother speaking to a druin with a long, striped beard. Faedryn’s teeth, it was Brother Mayhew. His right hand was wrapped in bloody bandages, he had bloody cuts on his face as well, but otherwise he looked much the same as she remembered.
More surprising than Brother Mayhew’s presence was the pillar he and Morraine were standing next to. Made of glittering black stone, the pillar was tall as ten men. Beyond it were more pillars. They formed a massive circle in the fen.
“Well, you’re back now,” Morraine was saying, “that’s all that matters.” She put one hand on the pillar. “And the crucible is nearly—”
Morraine stopped speaking. She looked confused, wary, then she snapped her head to the right and seemed to stare directly at Rhiannon.
Rhiannon tore her gaze from the looking glass. Hands shaking, she stood and backed away while staring in horror toward the fen. Her mother had caught her spying. She was going to be furious. As the insects whined, she wondered how bad her punishment would be. Would her mother switch her? Beat her?
A short while later, she heard footsteps shushing through the tall grass. Morraine appeared, standing outside the henge. “Come. It’s time to go home.”
Rhiannon stood there, stunned. Was her mother just tired? Was she going to punish her in the morning? She picked up the crystal by its leather cord and slung her cloth sack over one shoulder. “Should I take the looking glass?”
“No. Leave it for tomorrow.”
Rhiannon left the vyrd, handed the crystal to her mother, and walked next to her in Nox’s purple glow. “Aren’t you angry?”
Morraine pulled the crystal over her head. “I knew you’d find it eventually.”
“But what is it?” Rhiannon paused to let her mother pass through a narrow gap between two bushes, then rushed to catch up. “What are the pillars for?”
“Let me and Brother Mayhew worry about the crucible. I need you to focus on Yeriel. We need to know how to master the shard.”
“Because you want to control Strages, I know, but the shard is related to the crucible in some way. It must be.”
“I said leave it alone.”
“How am I supposed to help if you keep—”
Morraine stopped and gripped Rhiannon’s arm with an ice-cold hand and spun her around. “If I’d had time to raise you properly, you’d know better than to question your elders. Mind your manners, child.” Her grip on Rhiannon’s arm tightened until it was painful. “Do what you’re told.” She shook Rhiannon so violently her sack slipped off her shoulder to the ground. “Do you understand me?”
Rhiannon cringed from the pain. “Yes, Mother.”
Morraine shoved her away and pointed down the path. “Get your worthless hide back to the Rookery.”
Rhiannon snatched up her sack and sprinted away. She stumbled, recovered, and ran on. Her arm felt like it had frostbite. She dared a glance behind her and spotted her mother walking in a different direction. Where she might be going, Rhiannon had no idea. There were only wetlands in that direction, lit by the occasional wisp.