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AVENAH’S TOUR WAS INFORMATIVE enough about the layout of the palace—and perhaps Enosis had even managed to remember which court officials the prince spoke of favorably and which he disparaged—but the stress of spending so much time with Avenah wore Cyrele down. Thankfully, the servants he’d sent to prepare Kamene’s rooms had no intention of dawdling and returned shortly with the declaration that the Raya Wing was ready. The princess bid her betrothed a stiff farewell, then the servants led her household to her new chambers.
The increasingly deserted hallways enroute worried Cyrele. Moreover, once the servants brought them to the large doors marking the entrance to the chambers, they didn’t so much as touch the doors, let alone open them for Kamene. Instead, they excused themselves and fled so abruptly that Cyrele couldn’t help wondering if Kamene’s new chambers were genuinely cursed.
Enosis pushed the doors open to reveal a wide receiving room, lit with bright candles. It was clean and furnished, yet somehow still foreboding—though perhaps that was simply due the knowledge of how long these rooms must have been abandoned for.
The princess let out a tired sigh before taking off in search of her bedchamber, leaving Enosis and Cyrele to explore their new accommodations. They found a small room meant for Kamene’s servants, filled not only with tables and a pair of beds, but also with enough clothing, scrolls, and writing materials to replace what Cyrele and Enosis had lost during the shipwreck several times over. Enosis promptly claimed the bed closest to the door, leaving the other for Cyrele.
There was a chest at the foot of Cyrele’s new bed, the first place she could stow her belongings since she’d left home. The mirror she’d been charged with had been strapped to her side since Viemis, physically bound to her even after it was broken and useless. Now that she had somewhere else to store it, she eagerly unstrapped it and placed it inside the chest, shutting the lid with finality.
It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders—though only one weight, of course. It was hard to forget the gravity of her situation as she stepped out the cramped quarters and walked through the hauntingly empty chambers, intended to fit an entire household rather than the mere three survivors who’d made it to Lesra Kar.
While she explored the Raya Wing, Cyrele found herself lingering in a dark room with boards covering the windows, illuminated only by the light coming from the doorway. She could barely make out the shelves lining the perimeter of the walls, hundreds of scrolls sticking out of them. Some sort of personal library, perhaps, preserved from when the queen had lived here...though the covered windows were a peculiarity.
Since she wasn’t fluent in Kavan, Cyrele doubted she could read much of the content contained in the scrolls. Still, she found herself curious about the information that this ill-fated queen had deemed worthy of keeping her in her personal chambers. Pulling out one scroll, she brought it towards the light coming from the doorway...and found it blank. Puzzled, Cyrele chose a few more scrolls at random and found the exact same thing—blank scrolls.
Surely the old queen wouldn’t have bothered to line up hundreds of blank scrolls on her shelves? So what was Cyrele missing?
Before she could give it much thought, a sudden thud came from beyond the walls.
Cyrele froze, remembering how little Akaterin had thought of leaving Kamene unguarded. That sound couldn’t have come from someone with malicious intentions, could it? Creeping out of the dark room, Cyrele headed towards where the noise had come from, into the receiving room.
Enosis was already inside, visibly spooked. “Did you hear that?” she asked. “Do you think someone else is here?”
In a wing of the palace devoid of anyone but the three foreigners who’d been brought here for Avenah’s amusement? “I thought everyone gave these chambers a wide berth,” Cyrele settled for saying.
Another thud echoed through the room, louder this time.
“Let me check the other rooms,” Enosis whispered, as she practically fled through the door.
Then Cyrele was alone...or so she thought, until one of the walls opened up before her—and behind it stood Akaterin, beckoning to her. It was such a puzzling sight Cyrele didn’t know what to make of it. A hidden entrance that opened into the old queen’s quarters? A Kavan royal traipsing through secret passages like some sort of spy?
Impatience flickered across Akaterin’s features—because Cyrele was simply staring at the Karit in shock, wasn’t she? And when the Lady Akaterin had gone to such lengths to call for her, at that. That wouldn’t do.
Cyrele hurried through the secret door and Akaterin closed it behind them, leaving them inside a dusty stone passage so dark she couldn’t see beyond some faint candlelight...except the candle in question was hovering in the air beside the Lady Akaterin. The power of the Karits at work, an incomprehensible ability used so casually.
And Cyrele was alone with this powerful woman—completely at her mercy.
#
THE LIGHT FLICKERED, setting shadows to dancing across Akaterin’s inscrutable expression. The lady opened her mouth—no doubt to demand that Cyrele perform some impossible task beyond her abilities—and sneezed.
“This is ridiculous,” Akaterin complained. “Look at me, scuttling through dusty tunnels like a rat. My cousins would mock me endlessly if they knew—at least until they assassinated me for conspiring to enter the third temple with a Viemian glyphwriter.”
“But why are you here, my lady?” Cyrele asked.
A discomfited look appeared behind Akaterin’s eyes. “It’s the strangest thing. I attempted to enter your mind and found that I couldn’t.”
She couldn’t—and she clearly hadn’t expected to run into such an obstacle. Then should Cyrele feel relieved at this mysterious protection against the Karits’ mental intrusions? Or wary that some unknown ability could challenge the Karits?
“It must be these accursed chambers,” Akaterin griped. “Shilanar was the greatest of the Maelstroms, with power that the world has never seen before or since. He must’ve had some way of blocking the abilities of his rivals and used it to protect his queen’s rooms.”
There was an odd kernel of information tucked into what Akaterin had said. The implication that first Maelstrom Shilanar, the worst of his name, once held more power than the other Karits. That he had powers that the Kavan royals today could only guess at. And yet, the Karits with access to the wasteland’s temples should all gain the power held in whichever temple they entered, no? So what made Shilanar different?
“But look at me complaining over a little inconvenience,” Akaterin said with a rueful note in her voice, apparently willing to set this mystery obstacle aside for now, “when you’ve arrived from such a harrowing journey. And gotten caught up in Avenah and Matiser’s little schemes on top of that.”
Which begged the question. “Your highness, what use do they have for me? If they have access to the temples already, why do they need me?”
“I tried to convince them that they could use glyphwriting to keep unwanted rivals away from their power forever. Senna, for one—she’s already neutralized and therefore safe to name, but there are others. Though...” She trailed off, before continuing with more hesitance. “I have the impression that they actually want something else. Something they haven’t shared with me.”
That was worrying.
“Nonetheless,” Akaterin continued, “if you and I figure out how to reach the third temple before Avenah and Matiser have a chance to deal with you, then you won’t have anything to fear from them. This does, however, mean that we are pressed for time. Luckily, you’ve stumbled on a way to expedite the process.”
The lady was certainly painting a rosy picture of a future where all would be well for Cyrele if only she hurried to fulfill Akaterin’s wishes. But a servant in Cyrele’s position could hardly refuse to play along to Akaterin’s face.
“Do you mean the Princess Senna?” Cyrele asked, thinking back to Akaterin’s fixation on Senna during the ceremony. “Is she truly so important then?”
“No,” Akaterin replied with an almost instinctive derision. Then she sighed. “And yes.”
Cyrele dared not prompt the other woman to hurry up and explain, but oh, how she wanted to. She settled for watching Akaterin with a silent expectation.
“It’s like this,” Akaterin continued. “The Maelstrom—and my dratted cousins, who unfortunately have more influence than they deserve—have never granted me access to the third temple. That’s because the third temple’s power controls and maintains the storm.”
Cyrele had already witnessed the temple’s power when Osena had walked out of the third vault with the ability to make the storm recede before them. But somehow, she hadn’t considered that the third temple’s power maintained the storm as well. And that was the temple vault that Cyrele had locked the Karits out of. So what would happen if the Karits lost the power of the third temple? Would the storm simply...dissipate, revealing every temple to the entire world?
The possibility was beyond dangerous. It would give anyone and everyone access to the temples and their vaults, provided they could survive the traps. And surely, someone would.
What had Cyrele unknowingly set in motion by intervening when she had? She shouldn’t have done it. The lure of being able to take something from the all-powerful Karits had been too tempting, but she should have resisted. Now the consequences were spiraling beyond her control.
“How many temples do you lack access to?” she asked Akaterin, needing to understand the scope of what she was dealing with.
“There are only the three temples,” Akaterin said. “Once we reach the third and last one, I will have all the power I need to challenge my cousins.”
Could that be true? Then Osena had truly wielded the power of every temple, at the end, like a true Karit. So why had her control over the storm paled in comparison to Matiser’s? Was it simply that her body had been weak from hunger? Or was there something else beyond accessing the power in the vault that determined the strength of a Karit’s power?
“But without the power of the third temple,” Akaterin continued with a scowl. “I remain dependent on the three of them—the Maelstrom, Avenah, and Matiser—to let me access the first and second vaults.”
Wait—remain dependent? Why? Was she saying that she still needed to visit those vaults, even after she’d already claimed their power?
Did the Maelstrom still need to visit those vaults after he’d claimed their power? The same Maelstrom who was on his metamorphosis journey at this very moment, a journey that would have him visiting all of the temples?
Up until now, Cyrele had believed he that would never need to return to the vaults again. That whatever he wanted with the temples now, it had to do with other secrets that she’d yet to discover. But if he, like Akaterin, still needed to access the vaults for some reason, if he used his metamorphosis journey as an excuse to do so...then when he reached the third temple, he would know.
A sudden chill swept over her, as she realized how close the Karits were to discovering her sabotage. When she’d changed the glyphwriting that controlled the vault’s entrance, she’d imagined it would take years or even decades before the Karits discovered that they could no longer access the vault. Instead, it would be a matter of weeks.
Akaterin’s expression suddenly grew distant. “Oh, bother. They’re searching for me, those clingy cousins of mine. You’d think it would kill them to have me out from under their surveillance for one measly little hour.”
Akaterin’s tone might have been sardonic, but Cyrele felt a shiver at the very real implications that the words held. Akaterin was being watched. She’d escaped long enough to seek out Cyrele. And it truly might kill the royal cousins if they remained oblivious to Akaterin’s schemes—but if they instead discovered those schemes, it could very well kill Cyrele instead.
“Before you go,” Cyrele said, “is there anything else you can tell me about what I’m looking for? Why do you think Senna knows something useful?”
“There have been moments when I’ve suspected that Senna was subtly drawing on the power of the third temple, even though she should be powerless. But truthfully, I have no idea how she’s doing it. Still, she must have some way to access the third temple. Any link you can find that connects her to the power of the third temple, anything at all, would help.” Akaterin glanced back down the passageway she’d arrived from. “I have to go. Step outside these quarters sometimes, if you can—I’ll be able to speak with you then.”
And then both she and her light were gone.
Leaving Cyrele alone in the dark, uncertain whether her actions had unleashed a chain of events that would change the world for the better or for the worse. She could still turn away from the consequences—the Karits would have no way of knowing she had sabotaged the third temple rather than Osena and her disciple. It was ever so tempting to run away from it all and never look back. But then she would always know, for the rest of her life, that whatever happened next was her fault.
So where did that leave her? Scrambling for a way to regain control of the future, placing herself in direct competition with Aralath and the Karits? With a heavy sense of trepidation, she faced the reality that she was very much outmatched. That she would likely die as a political casualty before she could make much difference at all.
But she only had herself to blame, didn’t she? For thinking for even a moment that she should meddle in the affairs of Kava’s god-kings.
Slipping back into the queen’s chambers, Cyrele went to bed that night with a heavy heart. Her task seemed impossible, but she couldn’t simply give up before she’d even started. If she could only somehow reach the first temple, then she’d have the chance to lock everyone out of the first vault—ensuring that all of the vaults would remain out of anyone’s reach as best as she could. But how could she possibly find the first temple?