Wintersteel (Cradle Book 8), page 5
At least Mercy’s presence solved the mystery of how they’d gotten in. Her room connected to his and Pride’s.
Mercy no longer wore the elaborate costume and makeup that represented the Akura faction, instead settling for a simple set of black-and-white robes. She melted in clear sympathy when he walked through the door, but her eyes moved to the other person in the room.
Yerin stood against the opposite wall, stiff as a board.
She had been fiddling with a gem-like dream tablet before he had come in, and her fingers froze around it. Her other hand gripped the hilt of her master’s sword at her waist, and she stared at him with eyes wide.
Lindon had spent much of the last two hours figuring out what to say to Yerin, but he knew what the first thing had to be. He gave her the most genuine smile he could muster.
“Congratulations, Uncrowned.”
She started to answer his smile, but her expression became complicated, and her mouth worked as she struggled with her words.
Which was all right with him, because he had more. He bowed to her.
“And please accept my apologies. I made you wait too long. I am honored to have felt your full power.” He tapped his ribs and added, “Right through the chest.”
Finally, her smile broke through like the sun breaking through clouds. She tossed the dream tablet behind her, accidentally launching it so hard it cracked one of the overhead beams.
She had crossed the room in an instant and was gripping his arms in both her hands. “It was amazing, true? I’m down to one thin scale and shakier than a drunken sailor, but I had one more move in me. And you! Making up your own techniques without me!”
She sounded delighted, not offended, which relieved him.
“You didn’t tell me about your master’s sword,” he pointed out.
Yerin ran a hand across the hilt of her weapon. “I thought my heart would pop when I used it. Was sure you’d thought of it.”
She tightened her grip on his arm. “And you, you’re scarier than a tiger at midnight, aren’t you? Blocking dragon’s breath is a chore and a half, when if I slip one inch I’m cored like an apple.”
“She has been talking like this,” Eithan said, “for the last two hours.”
Mercy threw a spoon at him, which he snatched out of the air without looking. “Give them a minute!” she insisted.
Yerin glared at Eithan. “You too stingy to lend me five seconds to celebrate?”
“On the contrary. I thought Lindon might enjoy himself more if he knew you were this excited while he was gone.”
Eithan was right. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Yerin so clearly happy.
It went a long way toward easing the pain of losing. He’d kept that disappointment at bay by focusing on immediate problems, like Northstrider.
Which reminded him of the reasons he’d been trying to find his friends in the first place.
“Wait! Apologies, but I need a moment of your time.”
He hadn’t yet told them about Sha Miara.
At first, he hadn’t been sure that she was really a Monarch. Could Monarchs restrict themselves down as far as Underlord? Maybe she was just someone with the same name.
But little things had kept adding up.
The Monarch meeting tonight had finally convinced him, but that brought him to the second reason why he had said nothing: he didn’t want to offend a Monarch.
He had heard repeatedly about the Monarch ability to hear their name spoken. He still didn’t fully understand it—Monarchs were figures of myths and legends, so surely there were too many people talking about them all over the world to pay attention to everyone—but he still didn’t want to refer to Sha Miara as anything other than a competitor.
What if the Ninecloud Court forced him to tell how he had seen through their Monarch’s disguise?
As the other three looked at him curiously, Lindon spoke aloud for their benefit. “Dross. Show them.”
[Right! I’ll show them. I’ll show them right now. Tell me again which—]
Suriel’s visit, Dross, Lindon added silently.
It was painfully awkward facing down Eithan and Yerin and Mercy’s inquisitive stares while he waited for Dross to project the right memory, and he couldn’t help but think how much more impressive it would have been if Dross had done as ordered immediately.
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t warned Dross about this. They should have practiced.
[Got it!] Dross said triumphantly, and Lindon’s room melted away to show the Ninecloud audience hall. Just as he remembered it from Suriel’s vision, it was packed with richly dressed people of every description.
It wasn’t a perfect depiction of reality. Many of the details were vague, as they had faded in Lindon’s mind, and most of the faces were blurred as though they were seen through smudged glass.
He could see Yerin, Eithan, and Mercy clearly. Dross had left them where they were, changing the image of the rest of the room to match the memory. None of them expressed much surprise at being taken inside a projection—they all had enough experience with dream tablets and similar constructs.
Lindon looked eagerly to one side. Suriel would be clear, he knew. He remembered every detail of her perfectly.
“Luminous Queen Sha Leiala,” a woman’s voice said. “Path of Celestial Radiance.”
In the center of the hall, a rainbow cloud descended and a bright light shone, but he was staring in confusion at the woman who had spoken.
It wasn’t Suriel.
She resembled the heavenly messenger in many ways. She wore white, but instead of the smooth, almost liquid armor of the Abidan, she was dressed in a white-and-silver coat, shirt, and long skirt.
Her hair was more brown than dark green, and it hung naturally behind her. Her purple eyes made her look like a member of the Akura clan, and she spoke while stretching her neck and wincing. There was a bend to her nose as though she’d broken it at one point.
And she hadn’t really been the one who introduced Sha Miara and her Path. It had been the gray ghost on her shoulder, which was now missing.
“Tomorrow, an enemy nation is predicted to attack her city,” the Suriel imitator went on. “Sha Leiala will strike down their cloudships with one sweep of her sword.”
“Stop it, Dross,” Lindon said, and he couldn’t keep some heat from his voice.
The vision froze.
[You know, it’s hard enough projecting to three people, and holding it all in place doesn’t make it any easier.]
Lindon waved a hand around them. “I don’t need you to change things. Show them my memory.”
Color bled from the Ninecloud audience hall, then the vision vanished completely. They were back in his room, and Dross appeared in front of Lindon.
[Um…you’re not shouting at me, but it feels like you want to shout at me, and I don’t understand why.]
Dross often misunderstood Lindon or toyed with him, but this felt different. He sounded honestly baffled.
“I wanted you to show them the memory as it is. Why are you changing things?”
Dross’ mouth hung open for a second. [I didn’t change anything. That’s exactly how you remember it.]
For a long moment, those words made no sense to Lindon.
[If you’re worried about the blurring, that’s how memory works. The best way to get a pristine memory is to use a construct to record it as it’s happening. I could sharpen the faces of the crowd, but I’d be making it up myself, so they’d probably all end up looking like Eithan.]
“Good choice!” Eithan called.
Lindon stepped away, holding Dross in his Remnant hand. It was easier to grip him with that than with his left hand.
“Dross…that was how you see my memory?”
[Reproduced exactly!] Dross said proudly.
So you don’t see Sha Miara? Lindon thought, still wary of speaking her name out loud.
[I told you I’d never heard of her.]
And Northstrider?
Dross sighed and brought Lindon into another memory. Just Lindon, this time.
He and the imitation Suriel drifted above an endless ocean, only instead of floating on nothing, they stood together on a blue Thousand-Mile Cloud.
“Northstrider,” Suriel said. “Path of the Hungry Deep.”
She spread her hands and a viewing construct appeared beneath them. Showing him deeper into the water, where a man plunged with his arms crossed. Northstrider.
“He consumed sacred beasts in the deepest places in the world. Used to take their powers with him when he fought on the surface.”
Lindon took an involuntary step back as Dross canceled the vision.
[Lindon, are you okay?]
Lindon’s head spun.
He could remember Suriel’s visit clearly. So clearly. They had plunged down together into the water. She had taken him to real places in the world, not making up visions. And all the details were different.
His left hand plunged into his pocket, feeling the warm marble there.
The glass ball still comforted him, its blue candle-flame burning steadily. He focused his spiritual perception on it, basking in the familiar feel of order and restoration. It made him think that everything was right with the world.
[Lindon?]
Lindon took a breath and faced Dross, calmer than he had been a moment before. He didn’t doubt his own memory. Too many things would make no sense if the visit from Suriel hadn’t occurred as he saw it.
“Apologies, Dross,” he said. “I was confused.”
Yerin and Mercy now looked concerned, and they were whispering to one another.
He turned to them. “Is there a way to protect memories?”
“If she was a messenger from the heavens,” Eithan said, “then you would think she could do anything. But yes, it is common practice to alter or conceal memories to prevent them from being stolen or recorded.”
“But I’ve never heard of a technique to alter a memory for everyone except you,” Mercy said. “If the memory was changed, you should remember the altered version too.”
She seemed contemplative, not doubtful.
Eithan raised a hand. “I, for one, need no further proof. I trust you completely, my student.”
Lindon was touched for a moment, but he could feel a second statement on its way.
“Also, I had figured it out myself.”
Yerin turned to him with doubt clear on her face.
“Many Heralds and Monarchs have made strange comments about the Ninecloud team or one of the competitors. Sha Leiala hasn’t shown herself openly in years, the Celestial Radiance ability to transfer power to an heir is something of an open secret, the Luminous Queen has made several interesting addresses in recent months that suggest immaturity…”
Eithan paused and glanced around to make sure their eyes were on him. “…and you mentioned her name to us about two years ago. I value you so highly that I remember every word you have ever spoken.”
Lindon hoped that wasn’t true, but he took a deep breath. “Gratitude. Thank you, Eithan.”
Mercy spoke as though each word was being pulled from her. “I’m…really sorry, Lindon, really sorry, but…I can’t…it’s hard to take that on faith. I believe you that your memory was altered! But you were Copper at that point, weren’t you? You didn’t know what a Monarch was, so…how could you tell you weren’t just seeing an Underlady?”
He hadn’t even had a dream of Copper at that point, but otherwise he understood her point. He was about to argue for himself when she continued.
“Please don’t be offended when I check for myself.”
Mercy closed her eyes, and suddenly the room grew darker as shadow aura surged. Madra licked out of her, black and unformed, and the ghost of a violet book loomed over her. It was made of bright, Forged madra, and it had an intricate layer of script-circles on its cover.
“Uncle Fury!” she called.
There was a long pause as no one responded.
Unveiling herself and spewing madra while trying to attract Fury’s spiritual attention was similar to screaming and waving her arms in the middle of a silent theater audience. Everyone around her would be bothered, including most likely Fury himself.
Lindon slid up to Yerin’s side. “Pardon,” he muttered, “I’m sure she knows best, but isn’t there a more…polite…way to contact a Herald?”
“Bleed me if I know.”
“Uncle Fury!” Mercy shouted again. “Please! We have a—”
A gust of wind blew in from the suddenly open window. The tree’s leaves whipped, an empty chair tumbled across the floor, and Yerin’s hair was blown into Lindon’s eyes.
Akura Fury stood in the center of the room.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, muscled like a heroic statue, and his black robe hung open to reveal several inches of bare chest. His liquid-shadow hair drifted up as though caught by a current, and his red eyes shone from the shadows.
He raised one hand. “Hey, Mercy! Sorry, but this isn’t a great time. We’re pretty busy right now.”
“Is Sha Miara a Monarch in disguise?”
Red eyes crawled away from Mercy.
Fury shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He licked his lips. He looked up to the ceiling as though hoping heaven would give him the answer. Finally, he raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head.
“Noooo…?”
It was the least convincing cover-up Lindon had ever heard.
The Herald could tell, because he made a frustrated sound. “I guess that secret is coming out already. No one’s going to keep quiet now that Monarch lives are on the line. Still don’t…talk about it too much, okay?”
Yerin threw up her hands. “How are we supposed to fight a Monarch?”
“She’s limited to Underlord,” Fury explained. “The rest of you have the possibility of advancing, but she can’t. She had to give up her prizes, all the other Ninecloud competitors on her team were weaker than usual, and the Court paid a fortune in compensation to the rest of us. Plus, it was supposed to be a way to avoid paying out on the grand prize, but now…”
He ran both hands through his hair as though he was about to pull it out. “Listen, I really don’t have time for this. I’m leaving in the morning, and I’m taking most of the family fighters with me.”
Mercy’s face fell, and she leaned more heavily on her staff. “We haven’t even gotten to the Uncrowned yet.”
“I know.” Fury looked more disappointed than Mercy. “Our timeline’s been moved up, and we want to get in position before the dragons or anybody else. But hey!” He perked up. “At least it should be fun. There’s a Dreadgod!”
Mercy and Yerin exclaimed at that, but Fury was already dangling out the window. He poked his head back in and looked from Lindon to Yerin. “Oh, right! Great fight, kids! Great fight! We should spar sometime!”
He smiled brightly and vanished in another mighty gust of wind.
“Don’t fight him,” Mercy advised. “He doesn’t hold back as well as he thinks he does.”
“What’s he saying about the Dreadgods?” Yerin asked, and Mercy shrugged.
Eithan sighed, and Lindon realized he hadn’t said a word while Fury was around. “There’s been buzz for quite a while now about the Wandering Titan stirring. But I think I may not be the most informed on the subject. Lindon?”
Lindon had gone so far astray from the message he had originally intended to relay that it took him a few seconds to reorganize his thoughts.
“The judge of the Uncrowned King tournament took me aside tonight.” He waited to make sure they understood who he was talking about, and Mercy and Yerin both looked at him in obvious shock. Eithan leaned forward, toying with a pair of scissors.
Lindon recounted the evening, trying to avoid naming as many Monarchs as possible. He didn’t know that was necessary—he hadn’t been instructed not to tell anyone—but it was better to be safe.
When he finished, Eithan looked off into the distance, uncharacteristically serious.
Sword madra flashed around Yerin’s fingertips as she thought. Lindon felt blood madra surge within her spirit, so her Blood Shadow was mulling it over too.
“Mother won’t want too much out of you,” Mercy assured him. “You’ve done our family proud. I’m afraid it might be my fault that you two had to fight each other; she would have made whatever deal necessary to get me an easy match.”
She bobbed her head in apology, but Yerin waved her off. “If she paved you an easy road, then that’s one sure win. Two, if you count me and Lindon. She had to give something up.”
As one, they all turned to Eithan.
He was still staring off into the distance and fiddling with his scissors. “Yes, it would seem that I have been thrown to the proverbial wolves. Our situation has grown overly complicated. You two might have to fight for the fate of the Empire on your own.”
“I’m so sorry, Eithan,” Mercy said. “When are you fighting?”
“I have been instructed to prepare to fight tomorrow morning,” Eithan said, “but I’m certain you have as well.”
She nodded.
“Most of us remaining in the fourth round have, I would suspect, though regrettably I haven’t been able to check everyone. They wish to keep us unsure about our opponents. But now that we can be sure it isn’t randomly chosen…”
He snapped his scissors open and closed.
Lindon took over his line of thought. “Who is a guaranteed loss for you?”
“I just want to see somebody mess up your hair,” Yerin put in.
Eithan slipped his scissors away and pressed his fingertips together. “There are six people remaining in the competition who I would prefer not to fight. But there are only three, I believe, that the Monarchs would consider a definite loss for me.”
“Sophara,” Yerin suggested.
“She is the first. The second is in this very room with us.”
Mercy winced.
“And the third is the young woman we were just discussing.”
They were talking about Sha Miara as a competitor in the tournament, not as a Monarch, so surely this wouldn’t attract her attention. Also, she was restricted down to Underlord. But Lindon didn’t want to be the one to say her name.
