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AS QUEEN AMESE HAD promised, there was a path within the storm by which Cyrele could leave. And yet, the truly unnerving aspect of this path was that Cyrele couldn’t see how the old glyphwriters had created it. They weren’t like the Karits, after all. Their work required a physical medium in which they could inscribe their glyphs. The fact that Cyrele couldn’t find any such physical medium chilled her as much as the power of the storm did.
She started down the path with a sense of dread, half-convinced that the storm would close in on her at any moment—because Amese could have been lying about tolerating a partially immortal glyphwriter. If she was so protective of the power of the fourth temple, why let Cyrele leave with it?
But then Cyrele reached the end of the path without incident, escaping the storm to step out into the sunlight...where two figures awaited her. Enosis and Aralath, unaccompanied by any guards, but bearing the signs of their captivity: rope burns and skittishness on the part of Enosis, bruises and bleeding for Aralath.
Clearly, Aralath had awoken at some point and fought back.
“Where are the princes?” Aralath asked, voice sharp.
Cyrele glanced back at the temple, in time to see the storm close over the pathway behind her. “They’re still trapped inside.”
“There was a woman,” Enosis suddenly said. “She told us that she doesn’t mind the ruckus we’d caused so far, but that she would destroy us if we came near the power of the Karits. Who was she?”
“My theory,” Cyrele began, nervous to even speak it out loud, “is that she was the old queen Amese. The glyphwriting in the temple suggests that she escaped her imprisonment. And that she was one of the glyphwriters who’d worked on the temples in Shilanar’s time.”
Even the ever-undaunted Aralath looked somewhat intimidated at the prospect. “How is that possible?”
“More importantly,” Enosis cut in, “what does she want?”
“To guard the power of the fourth temple?” Cyrele shrugged. “To keep the power of the Karits limited to those who already have it? I don’t understand her motivations at all. Aralath, do you know if any of the Karits alive today are descended from her?”
Aralath frowned. “According to the record, Shilanar had no legitimate children. If Amese had given birth to any of his children, they should have been considered legitimate. However, there is evidence that the record was amended at several points in his reign after Amese’s alleged execution, so it’s not impossible that he chose to change the status of their children after he’d disavowed her.”
“He was succeeded by his grandnephew,” Enosis added. “But Shilanar’s illegitimate lineage did marry back into the line of succession.”
So it was plausible but not definite that the princes were Amese’s descendants. The uncertainty made it impossible to guess what the old queen would do next. Would she let Cyrele’s actions stand? Or would she allow the Karits back into the first temple? Or worst of all...
“If Matiser and Avenah truly are her descendants,” Cyrele wondered out loud, “will she free them? They have the power of the fourth temple, which she doesn’t want anyone to have, but if they’re her own blood...”
The silence that followed was not encouraging. Nor was the troubled expression on Aralath’s face, or the horrified realization in Enosis’ eyes.
Cyrele glanced at the tumultuous waters of the river, unable to spot any watercraft even though the princes would have used a barge to reach this place. “Then we have to escape this place before that can happen. How do we do that?”
Aralath followed her gaze. “Amese sank the barge,” she said, “with the princes’ guards on it.”
Oh. Amese would have wanted to protect the location of the fourth temple and the guards could have led someone else here, but...to kill them all? And if she was willing to go so far, why had she let Cyrele, Aralath, and Enosis escape?
Hesitantly, Enosis added, “I think the princess Senna was also on the barge. At least, I overheard some of the men saying so.”
Then the princes had rescued Senna after all...all for her to die here, on their own barge. Cyrele didn’t know how to feel about that. “Did Amese know that Senna was aboard?” she asked.
“I don’t know. We were kept in different locations.”
Which begged the question. Had Amese truly killed Senna? If she had, then had it been deliberate or by accident? And why let the rest of them go, but not Senna?
Except perhaps she hadn’t let them go. Because now they were trapped in the wasteland with no provisions and no transportation. They would die out here within a few days. Or rather, Enosis and Aralath would die. As for Cyrele...what exactly would happen to her if she reached the brink of starvation, now that the power of the fourth temple coursed through her? She had no way of guessing and no desire to find out.
Cyrele turned to Aralath. “Then the two of us are our only hope. If we had so much as a plank of wood, we could try to use glyphwriting to make it act like a barge for us.”
Enosis looked back and forth between the two of them. “If you intend to use glyphwriting, then does it have to be wood? There’s a decent amount of stone on these banks.”
Using stone would add an extra step to the process, since they would need to use glyphwriting to make the stone buoyant, but they could figure it out with a little experimentation. The thoughtful look in Aralath’s eyes told Cyrele that the other glyphwriter was as ready to make the attempt as she was.
So within an hour, they had a collection of floating stones strapped together with fabric torn from their dresses. Within a few more hours, Cyrele and Aralath had settled on the glyphs that would instruct the stones to sail as smoothly as possible over the turbulent waters. And by the time the sun began to set, they were ready to go.
“But where are we going to?” Enosis asked.
“We must go downstream, towards Lesra Kar,” Aralath said. “It would be much more difficult for Cyrele and I to guide the stones upstream. And moreover, we would have nowhere to go. At least in Lesra Kar, I have contacts that we can hide with for a time.”
“And then what?” Enosis pressed. “Do we remain in hiding our whole lives?”
Aralath gave an exasperated sigh, like she thought the next step should have been obvious. “Then we wait and see whether Avenah and Matiser come back. Only after we know if Amese has freed them can we plan accordingly.”
Except that wasn’t entirely right. Whether or not the princes came back, whether or not the power of the Karits faded, the glyphwriting triad would remain at large. Always able to intervene, always acting according to unknowable motivations. Always liable to change their minds about letting Cyrele go.
“If we don’t want to be at the mercy of Amese,” Cyrele said, “then we must learn enough glyphwriting to protect ourselves. All three of us should learn.”
Enosis startled, pointing at herself. “I could be a glyphwriter?”
“Whyever not?” Cyrele asked.
“Alright,” Aralath interjected. “I see your point. Right now, we are very far away from being able to match the abilities of the old glyphwriters. At heart, you’re a scholar and the most likely of us to one day rival them if you have the correct resources—but I’m a spy. I gather information. So tell me, what information do you need me to find so you can begin figuring out how to rival the old glyphwriters?”
Rivaling the triad was certainly an ambitious goal, seemingly out of reach...but it was what Cyrele needed to strive for, wasn’t it? Perhaps she would never need to test her skills against the glyphwriting triad at all, but if she ever did, she needed to be as ready as possible. “Can you smuggle out the scrolls from Amese’s library in the Raya Wing?”
“Easily.”
“Then that’s where we start.”
“Do you truly believe that we can do this?” Enosis asked, regarding the both of them with surprise—but also a hint of interest.
Cyrele met her eyes. “I believe that, unless and until we succeed, it’s best we remain in hiding from both the Karits and whatever glyphwriters of old have survived. This is our only chance to live freely, which makes it pointless not to try.”
Enosis turned her gaze to the glyphwriting covering the floating stones. “Alright. Then, as soon as it’s practical, explain to me what these glyphs mean.”
“I will,” Cyrele promised.
As the three of them settled into their makeshift boat, ready to make their way back to Lesra Kar, Cyrele wondered at how she’d ended up with an even more monumental task to strive for. When she’d left the city with Senna, she’d imagined that, whether she failed or succeeded, her struggle against power would be over once she left the temples behind her. But it turned out that there was only one ending in life, and that was death. Everything else was simply a new beginning.
So long as her life continued, so long as she survived against all odds, she needed to keep acquiring knowledge in the hopes of staying ahead of those who would threaten her. She couldn’t afford to ignore the rest of the world in the hopes that it would ignore her back. No, she had to fight back against anyone who tried to control her. Then do it again and again, until there was nothing left to fight with.
Always remember that we are watching you, Amese had warned her.
But if they insisted on watching her, she would simply have to learn how to watch them back. Even if it should take a lifetime.
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