He stopped hearing the gong. When the soldiers caught him or his Burning Cloak flagged, he simply walked away.
It had been four months since Eithan had first opened the temple at the top of the mountain, and Cassias had grown used to his duties.
Since Yerin and Lindon usually needed two or three days of rest between attempts, he could bring his work with him. He’d moved a table up to this peak, writing letters and reading reports while keeping half of his detection web on the children. After sixteen weeks, this hidden temple looked more like an office than his actual office did.
Cassias spent most of his time alone with paperwork or his own training. He found he enjoyed it; letting Eithan handle the bulk of Arelius affairs suited him. He’d needed a break.
In contrast, the children were having the most stressful experience of their lives.
He sipped tea as he watched the children cycle in the morning, through the scripted window. He no longer expected they would give up—if they hadn’t done so by this point, they likely never would. They would die in an accident during the Trials before they surrendered.
Cassias had given himself over to that prospect with weary acceptance. In four months, you could grow used to almost anything.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he still hoped that today would be the day Eithan would grow tired of this project and pull him away. Almost half of the allotted time to Jai Long’s duel had passed, and even a blind Copper could see that Lindon wasn’t ready.
Certainly, he’d improved during his time in the Trials. Cassias almost couldn’t believe a Jade could improve so fast. Yerin was straining against the limits of Lowgold, perfecting both her skill and her advancement, but Lindon was reaching the point where he could almost—for a brief breath or two, with the Burning Cloak active—match her in a fight.
That itself was a feat worthy of pride, but he was far from defeating Jai Long. In fact, if Yerin could finally break through that last barrier to Highgold, Cassias would suggest that Eithan pit her against the Jai exile instead. She would still be a stage behind him in advancement, but Cassias wasn’t sure that would matter.
He could recognize a prodigy when he saw one.
Still, neither of them had received any instruction in the last months, besides whatever was written on that tablet the Blackflames had left behind.
Cassias wasn’t sure exactly what date Eithan had in mind for the duel, but Lindon had at most seven months remaining. Even with a teacher, Cassias couldn’t imagine a favorable outcome for them.
Without one, Lindon would certainly die.
Cassias gave a heavy sigh and sipped his tea. He would have to appeal to the branch heads, get them to rein in Eithan’s…enthusiasm about this duel. But he doubted they would go against the Underlord for the sake of a Jade. Cassias himself would have thought the same, if he hadn’t spent so much time in the last half a year watching the children struggle. Now, he couldn’t help but wish them success. No matter how unlikely it was.
When Yerin and Lindon had finished their morning meal and cycling session, Cassias set down his tea and prepared himself. They would be challenging the Trial now.
But instead of dragging himself through the archway, as he usually did on Trial days, Lindon went back into his cave like he’d forgotten something.
A few breaths later, he dashed back out, seizing Yerin by the arm and dragging her inside.
Cassias extended his awareness, reaching in to watch the cave.
Lindon pulled Yerin inside and gestured to the Sylvan Riverseed, who scampered around the cave, curiously examining his bedroll and the occasional rock.
“Did she break out?” Yerin asked uncertainly.
“No, she’s…it’s…watch my soul!” Lindon wouldn’t have understood what happened if he hadn’t seen it for himself. Instead of explaining, he called Blackflame into his channels.
But instead of guiding it, he let it rampage through his spirit. The result was an uncomfortable spiritual pain, like a red-hot iron pressed against his stomach while a bird screeched next to his ear.
It was only a little madra, and it burned out quickly, but he hadn’t controlled it at all. His madra channels felt scorched at several points, and a black substance had built up like rubble in a tunnel. This was the effect of Blackflame corrosion, and the reason why he had to cleanse his spirit with pure madra every day.
When the madra was controlled, the blockage wouldn’t build up so quickly. But if he slipped, it would happen in seconds.
Yerin glared at him and snatched her arm out of his grip. “Are you cracked? Now I have to burn my time away while you sit there and cycle your spirit clean.”
Lindon reached his hand out to the Sylvan.
Grinning like they were playing a game, the Riverseed darted up and slapped her palm against his. A blue presence dripped into his spirit, rolling through his madra channels.
Wherever that deep blue light ran, the corrosion of Blackflame vanished. Even his madra channels felt refreshed, as though they’d never been scorched by out-of-control power.
The spirit paled to the color of a summer sky, leaning against Lindon’s shin to stay balanced. With one hand, she pointed to her gaping mouth, and he fed her a fistful of pure scales that he’d prepared for that purpose.
After using her power, she grew pallid and weary on her own, and then demanded even more scales. She would sap all the power in his pure core and then beg for more before she was back to her usual state.
In seconds, Yerin went from irritated to speechless, which gave Lindon more than a little satisfaction. He had almost collapsed when the Sylvan had reached up and grabbed his fingertip while he fed her, scrubbing his spirit clean.
Somehow, it felt better not to be the only one surprised.
Yerin darted over to the Riverseed, scooping her up in her bare hands.
The spirit squirmed out of her grip, scuttling over to hide behind Lindon’s leg. She bared her teeth at Yerin in a threatening grimace.
Yerin’s face fell. “She doesn’t like me?”
Lindon was as surprised as she was. The Sylvan had never interacted with anyone but him, as far as he’d seen, but she’d always seemed active and curious. Whenever she saw Yerin through the glass of her case, she had pointed and waved.
He extended his perception to the Sylvan. A sacred artist would feel a scan as a light brush, but it usually seemed to comfort her. She was weaker after expending her power, but she had enough madra for a second attempt.
“Go to Yerin,” he said, gesturing. “Go on. Do to her what you did to me.”
The Riverseed shuffled a few steps forward, but turned over her shoulder to give Lindon a doubtful look.
“It’s okay. I’m right here.”
The Sylvan dragged herself over to Yerin, keeping her eyes on the stone floor. When Yerin stuck out a hand, the spirit slapped her finger once and then scampered back to Lindon, climbing up to sit on his shoulder. She had lightened some more, and she swayed as though dizzy.
“It’s only been a few days since she would come out of her case,” he said apologetically. “Did it work?”
“I feel like I should be more than a little hurt right now,” Yerin said, eyeing the Sylvan. “Worked, though, true and stable.”
Yerin had built up a slight blockage in her own soul—one of the hazards of cycling within such an ocean of Blackflame aura. It was nothing compared to Lindon’s, but she took longer to get rid of it.
Lindon patted the Sylvan on the head with a finger. He wouldn’t have to control his Blackflame madra so carefully during the Trial, and he could dive right back into another attempt without cycling pure madra to cleanse his channels.