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SENNA SMUGGLED THE three members of Kamene’s household out of the Emerald Palace by disguising them as servants, then leading them out to a barge awaiting in the floating river just outside. And from there, they were gone with no one the wiser. Senna had arranged it all with such ease that Cyrele couldn’t help but wonder what else she had arranged for without the court’ s knowledge over all of these years...and to what end.
The three of them were to remain hidden for the entire trip along the Rasa River, in a small, cramped cabin that not even Kamene dared to complain about. Cyrele wondered how much of Kamene’s restraint was due to Senna herself, and how much of it was due to the presence of the guards who had assaulted them that day when Senna had answered Kamene’s invitation. All four of them had joined this expedition, but it must have been the one who’d held the knife to her finger who troubled her the most—Ninesh, as the other guards called him. There were times when they could hear the sound of footsteps approaching their cabin...and Kamene would flinch.
Yet Kamene never voiced her concerns aloud. And neither did Enosis, who instead kept her thoughts hidden behind a blank expression. And frankly, neither did Cyrele. For how could any of them trust one another? They’d been thrown together into this mess, but beyond that, they had nothing in common.
Thankfully, the journey to the Temple of Shattered Dreams took only a few days, which was far less time than the one from the Temple of Lost Hope. Senna’s servants roused them early on the morning of their arrival. Cyrele made sure to remove the extra clothing from her bag to lighten her load before she strapping it to her side. Then the servants ushered them off the boat, towards where Senna stood before the majesty of the Maelstrom’s storm, carrying a small satchel and flanked by four of her guards—
—and it could not possibly have been a coincidence that the four men Senna had chosen to accompany them inside the temple were the same four that had attacked them on Senna’s command.
The very sight of those men had Cyrele tensing. Quickly, she turned her attention towards the storm so as not to risk making eye contact with any of them. Unfortunately, the storm was no less fearsome than the guards were, with lightening sparking among the thick dust clouds that covered the interior of the wasteland.
It was impossible to see past the Maelstrom’s magical storm into what it protected from the rest of the world—the temples that hid the source of the Karits’ power. Cyrele had breached the protection of the storm twice now, though only once without the knowledge or permission of any Karit. If all went well, today would mark the last time she would ever set foot inside one of these temples again.
Senna suddenly turned to Kamene, taking off one of her bangles and holding it out to the Viemian princess. Cyrele caught a glimpse of the bangle’s inside, rimmed with glyphwriting—was it an artifact? How had the descendent of the man who’d sought to eradicate glyphwriting from the world come to possess one of the last remaining treasures of the old Glyphwriting Order?
Cyrele had enough time to recognize exactly one word before Kamene took the bangle: ‘drain’. It was not a comforting instruction to find written on such a powerful item. And the two princesses were allowing it to touch their skin.
“Put it on,” Senna told Kamene.
This seemed like a poor idea, given that Senna probably didn’t understand how the artifact worked any more than Cyrele did. What exactly was it supposed to drain? The storm? But how would that let Senna use the power of the third temple?
Kamene eyed the jewelry with wariness—a reasonable emotion when dealing with an unknown artifact—but slipped it onto her wrist nonetheless. “You said that I could get past the storm,” she said, fingering the bangle on her wrist with her other hand (which was so much unnecessary contact with an artifact designed to drain some hitherto-unidentified target). “Is this trinket supposed to help?”
“Yes. Though I’ll expect it back, of course. Now here is what you need to do...”
And Senna coached Kamene on how to access the power of the storm, how to push it back, how to keep it back for long enough that they could safely cross. And why hadn’t Cyrele considered sooner that they would be at the mercy of Kamene’s fledgling powers for every second they remained inside the bounds of the storm? If Kamene lost focus for one moment, if she panicked, the storm would sweep over them and wipe them out of existence.
And yet, while Cyrele had overlooked this danger, Senna certainly hadn’t—so why was the Karit desperate enough to place her life at the mercy of Kamene’s fledgling power?
Then there was the bangle. Where did Senna get it? How did she figure out how to use it? Did the princess even understand the magical technology that had fallen into her hands?
But even as Cyrele was tempted to ask her questions, she remembered the grip on her hair as Senna’s guard had pulled her through the hallways—the very guard standing at Senna’s side right this moment. And she chose to hold her silence instead.
“You’re ready,” Senna said, not a trace of uncertainty in her tone. Could she truly be as confident as she seemed? In Kamene’s abilities?
Then Kamene reached out towards the storm...and the storm began pulling back. It continued to recede, further and further, until Cyrele could see an expanse of half-buried ruins adorned with crystals reflecting the sun. Matiser’s abilities had been far more impressive, of course...but Kamene had managed to push the storm back much farther than Osena had.
“Good,” Senna said, before striding towards the buried temple complex, unconcerned that Kamene could lose control of her newfound powers at any second.
Yet there wasn’t exactly a choice but to follow her. Especially since Senna’s guards stayed behind with them, eyeing Cyrele and Kamene...though they paid Enosis far less mind.
Enosis, who was watching the edges of the storm with fearful eyes. Who didn’t even need to be here. And who took the first step to follow Senna after herself, prompting Cyrele and Kamene to follow—with the guards trailing after them all.
Senna led them through the remains of the complex, ignoring half a dozen entrances on the way towards the most distant buildings. “This is the most direct route to the vault,” she called back. “There are other entrances, but since the most powerful member of our little expedition has all the finesse of an untrained ostrich, let’s avoid as much of the interior as possible.”
Cyrele dared not glance at Kamene to see her reaction at the comparison. Instead, she kept her eyes on the two modest, square-shaped buildings before them, surprisingly underwhelming compared to the third temple complex. But rather than turning towards one of these buildings, Senna walked in between them—except that there was nothing past them. Why head for an empty wasteland?
Then as Cyrele followed after her, something shifted in the periphery of her vision. Glancing back at the two unimpressive buildings behind her, she found that they had shifted. To be much further away than they had seemed before. And when Cyrele looked back towards Senna, she suddenly saw her entering a large, columned entrance. One that had absolutely not been there when Cyrele had last looked.
What was this place? Already, the first temple complex was proving to be nothing like the third one.
The rest of them followed Senna inside the doorway to find a grand stairway descending down into darkness. Cyrele was uneasy at the thought of what awaited them below...but then the guard who’d dragged her by the hair stepped behind her—only passing through the narrow space, not thinking of her at all—and it was all she could do to keep from shuddering at his proximity.
“You can let the storm go now,” Senna’s voice echoed through the confined space.
Kamene’s brows furrowed in concentration and Cyrele waited for the moment when the storm would roll back in. And waited, and waited. But the minutes ticked by, the frustration on Kamene’s face growing more and more pronounced...
...and nothing happened.
#
THE MAELSTROM’S STORM hovered over the edges of the complex, leaving a clear path inside for anyone who happened to pass by—not that anyone was casually traveling through the wasteland. Cyrele wasn’t worried about the risk of discovery, not yet, but she found herself puzzled as to why Kamene was struggling all of a sudden. Was it truly more difficult to let go of the storm than it was to hold it back?
“Oh for pity’s sake,” Senna snapped. “At this rate Avenah will become the Maelstrom before we leave this place. Just move the storm back over the complex already.”
Kamene shot her a glare, the sunlight coming in from the entryway reflecting off the beads of sweat that had gathered on her forehead. Her hands clenched into fists, and she was standing so close that her fingers brushed against Cyrele’s—and Cyrele felt a shocking jolt across her whole body, like some force within her was rejecting Kamene’s touch.
With a yelp, she flinched away from the princess. Only to find that Kamene had also backed away from her, shoving Enosis against the wall in the process—and was staring at Cyrele with wide eyes.
“What was that?” Senna demanded.
Kamene shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Enosis slipped out from behind Kamene, supporting herself with a hand along the wall as if she were injured or exhausted...but she had seemed physically fine only a moment ago? And Kamene hadn’t pressed against her so hard as to crush her...but she had touched her, much like she’d touched Cyrele just before that jolt.
“Let me see that bangle,” Cyrele said before she could stop herself, then froze as she realized she’d given an order to a princess.
Thankfully, Kamene looked at her in puzzlement rather than anger, before removing the bangle and holding it out to Cyrele as asked. Everyone watched as Cyrele used her dress as a barrier between her skin and the bangle, their gazes so intense it was nerve-wracking.
“What is this artifact supposed to be?” Cyrele asked as she began examining the glyphs.
“An amplifier,” Senna said, though she sounded reluctant to answer. “A tiny spark of power stayed with me even after I’d been banned from the temples. This amplifier made it much more potent.”
“But this says nothing about amplifying the power inside of a person,” Cyrele contested. In fact, what she’d managed to translate so far made her blood run cold: ‘The bearer... skin contact...drain vitality and power...’
And hadn’t she seen the glyph for ‘vitality’ somewhere else recently? Yes, in the mysterious scroll that she’s brought with her. Was that what she’d felt when Kamene had touched her? The scroll protecting her from the bangle? If she hadn’t taken the scroll with her on a whim, then would she be experiencing whatever had happened to Enosis?
The thought sparked a hint of guilt—she’d been protected, but that had left Enosis vulnerable. Yet there was nothing she could do about that. Nothing aside from deciphering what the bangle could do so that they’d understand the extent of the damage.
“I think it drains power from those who are nearby,” Cyrele said, turning to Senna. “In your case, your highness, you would have gained the power of the temple because you drained some of it from the Karits that you interacted with.”
Senna regarded her blankly. “But that can’t be.”
Kamene suddenly grabbed the bangle back from Cyrele, placing it around her wrist once more. That wasn’t where Cyrele would prefer to keep such a dangerous artifact...but she wasn’t in the position to argue with a woman who could incinerate her with a thought.
“I need this to control the storm,” Kamene said, as if by way of explanation. “So regardless of what it does, I should hold onto it for now.”
Was Kamene not listening? Or did she simply not want to listen?
“The Princess Senna taught you how to control the storm,” Cyrele explained, trying to sound patient rather than uneasy. “You didn’t need more power, you needed knowledge.”
Then a tight grip closed around her wrist, and Cyrele instinctively pulled away before realizing it was Senna who’d grabbed her. Senna, who was suddenly watching her with a sharp, desperate look in her eyes.
“What else do I drain from the people around me?” she asked.
Cyrele winced, gathering from the princess’ sudden intensity that the truth would displease her. “I haven’t been able to translate all of the glyphwriting on this bangle yet, so I can’t fully answer that question. But I did see the word ‘vitality’.”
Senna’s grip on Cyrele’s wrist suddenly failed like she’d lost the will to hold on any longer, her expression growing pained. “So it was me the whole time,” she said, almost to herself.
“You couldn’t have known,” one of the guards—the one who’d once grabbed Cyrele by the hair and threatened her life—told Senna in a startlingly gentle tone.
“That doesn’t comfort me, Arrukin,” the Karit replied.
“Your highness,” came Enosis’ weak voice, from where she’d slumped against the wall. “I think I’m unwell.”
Senna stared at Enosis with unfocused eyes, like she was seeing someone else entirely. Then she spun to face Kamene. “It seems that you don’t require that bangle to affect the storm after all. Return it.”
A stubborn, calculating expression crossed Kamene’s face, as she resolutely said, “No.”
“No?” Senna repeated, a note of warning in her voice.
And for just one second, Kamene hesitated. Perhaps the princess was growing wiser, learning just how precarious her place in the world was. Perhaps she would finally do the smart thing and stop antagonizing the Karit standing before her.
But then Kamene raised her chin in defiance. “All of you heard what my glyphwriter said. If your soldiers touch me, I’ll drain the life out of them. And that’s if I don’t set them on fire first.”
“Think carefully about what you’re doing,” Senna cautioned.
“I am. Which is why I know that I’m the one holding the power here. I’m the only one who can command the storm. And my glyphwriter is the only one who can open the temple. You need me, but I don’t need you—not anymore.”
Senna looked at Kamene like the Viemian princess was an unruly child. And why not? Kamene seemed to have completely forgotten what they were up against—specifically, Matiser and Avenah. And maybe even the Maelstrom himself, at that.
Kamene could grandstand against Senna and her guards after Senna had miscalculated enough to hand away her soul-sucking artifact. But what then? Kamene hadn’t the power, knowledge, or temperament to challenge the rest of the Karits. She needed Senna, at full power, to protect her.
Though of course, unbeknownst to both princesses, Cyrele had no intention of letting that happen.
“You can’t even put the storm back where it belongs to cover our tracks, but you think you can threaten me,” Senna said.
“I can,” Kamene protested, her voice fierce. “I’m inexperienced, yes, I’ll admit it. But I’m the most powerful person here.”
“Then move the storm already,” Senna retorted—and Cyrele couldn’t help but wonder why, out of all the things Senna could have said or done, she remained focused on putting the storm back in place. What was she afraid of? “If you can do that, I’ll leave the matter of the bangle alone.”
The words for now remained unspoken, but Cyrele heard them all the same. Could the same be said for Kamene?
“Don’t rush me this time,” Kamene rebuked the other princess, as if she genuinely believed she’d won some sort of victory and could afford to press her advantage. As if she believed her own words about being the most powerful person here.
Kamene was well and truly doomed, wasn’t she? She hadn’t the ability to stand on her own. And she was on no one’s side, therefore ensuring that no one was on hers. Even if Cyrele hadn’t devised a plan that would leave all of them powerless before the princes in the short term, Kamene would never have fared well in Lesra Kar.
Still, Kamene proved her worth as the storm began creeping back over the complex, though it moved far more sluggishly than it had the first time that Kamene had exerted her power. Gradually, the roiling clouds of lightening approached the doorway—until they completely blocked out the sunlight lighting up the top of the stairway.