“I know that,” Oargev said. “I want you to go.”
Cadrel blinked. “Your Highness?”
“You’ve already shown that you understand this business better than I do. You said it yourself, that our lives were becoming a fairy tale. You’re the man who first told me those tales, just as you’ve told me of your adventures. You’ve wandered the world before. Who better to serve me now? Go with them. For Cyre.”
“No,” Drix said. “No strangers.”
Oargev’s face tightened. “Don’t tell me what to do, boy. You claim to hold the fate of Cyre in your hands. I need to trust that you are what you say, that any of this is the truth. If you want my blessing on this, you will have the eyes of the crown upon you. Go with Essyn or I swear I will do everything in my power to stop you.”
Vron raised a hand, but Boranel stopped him before he could speak. “It seems reasonable to me,” Boranel said. “Your boy here will have his stones. Perhaps these elves would bar their gates against a squad of our best. If they’d close their doors against one old man, they’re a cowardly bunch indeed.”
Vron inclined his head. “As you wish, sire.” He turned to Cadrel and Thorn. “I’ve already prepared for the journey; there’s a boat waiting at the Brokenblade dock, ready to take you along the Cyran coast. I’ll need a few hours to gather additional supplies for you, Master Cadrel, and I’m sure you need time to settle your affairs. But I would leave before morning. The sooner we move on this, the better.”
Cadrel was still considering the whole affair. “You’re sure about this, Your Highness?”
Oargev nodded.
A grin slowly spread across the old man’s face. “So be it. I will do my best not to let you down and to return with tales more wondrous that I ever spun in your youth.” He turned to Boranel and bowed. “With your leave, Your Majesty.”
“Of course, and well said.” Boranel clapped Cadrel on the back and walked toward the door. “Sovereigns and Six! I wish I could be going with you. First things first, though-let’s arrange a proper escort for you this time, both to get back to your consulate and to see Oargev to New Cyre. You’ll have every Shield the Citadel can spare until we have you safely home again.”
“Very well, Cousin.” The prince paused by Thorn, looking into her eyes. She could see the fear and uncertainty warring within him. “You served me well this last month. I owe you my life. Serve my people in this, and you will have anything my throne can offer.”
“It’s my honor to serve, Your Highness,” Thorn said with a polite nod. “May the Sovereigns watch over you.”
“Wait a moment, Lantern Thorn.” Vron took Drix outside.
Thorn studied the glowing map on the wall and ran her fingers over the stone in her neck. She was just about to talk to Steel when Vron returned.
“What can I do for you, Lord Commander?”
“For a start, forget that title.” Vron smiled and as he did, his face softened and flowed. His skin was the same pale white, his eyes still shards of glass. They were just smaller and sharper. Cheekbones were higher, his chin slightly pointed. He was still a changeling… a different changeling.
“Zane?”
“For the moment.” Zane was Thorn’s personal handler; he’d recruited her into the King’s Dark Lanterns.
“Was Vron ever here?”
“He was in every way that matters, wasn’t he? There’s a certain level of decorum to a royal briefing, and Oargev surely expected the Lord Commander. But we Lanterns have to deal with more complex situations than the Shields or the Blades. His majesty knows what Vron is doing right now; if my mask keeps Oargev happy, all for the good. Besides, you’re my agent.”
Thorn nodded. It wasn’t the first time Zane had come to her in an unexpected guise, though she’d never seen the changeling impersonate a changeling before. “So what is it you wanted to tell me?”
“What do you think of this assignment?”
Thorn hesitated but she’d never minced words with Zane before. “It seems ridiculous. Do you actually think we can restore the Mournland?”
“No,” Zane said. “I don’t. It’s an entertaining story, and if it somehow turns out to be true… well, it would be a boon to give the thousands of Cyran refugees living off Brelish taxes somewhere else to go. But I think we both know just how likely that is-just as we know that those stones in your neck aren’t eladrin relics.”
“So what am I doing?”
“I don’t believe that these fey are responsible for the Mourning,” Zane said. “Nonetheless, their power is clearly a force to be reckoned with. As far as we can tell, young Drix is essentially immortal. Imagine an army of soldiers possessing such power. Who knows what other secrets are hidden within the walls of that tower? If you can somehow restore Cyre, wonderful. But your primary mission is to acquire as much information about the eladrin as you can, including anything that could provide Breland with an arcane advantage in future conflicts.”
“I see.”
Zane frowned. “Cadrel is a problem. If there are secrets to be gleaned from the tower, we want them to benefit Breland.”
“Are you telling me to eliminate Essyn Cadrel?” Thorn wanted that point to be absolutely clear. She liked the old man. If Zane wanted him dead, he’d have to give an order.
Zane sighed. “It’s not your mission, Lantern Thorn. But the Mournland is a dangerous place, and I’m sure you’ll have your hands full protecting Drix. Make that your priority: don’t risk anything to keep Cadrel alive.”
“Understood. Is there anything else?”
“Yes.” Zane looked at her closely. “The man who attacked you. Cazalan Dal. You’re certain he died?”
“Steel was,” Thorn said. “He was dead center when he detonated the wand, and then the ceiling collapsed. Steel said there was little left of him.”
“Try ‘nothing.’ I received the report from the search teams while I was outside. No traces of any of the attackers, save for the damage of the battle. Bodies, equipment-nothing whatsoever.”
Thorn considered that. “So either someone purged the scene, and quickly, or they all survived.”
“Yes,” Zane said. “And we still don’t know what they were after to begin with. So be careful. Your assassin mentioned the prince by name, so odds are good Oargev is the target. We’ll keep a watch on him. Still, it’s an unknown, and I hate unknowns. Be careful.”
“Of course.”
“Good,” Zane said. “Report to the quartermaster for equipment. Your boat leaves the docks in three hours’ time.”
He left without another word. Thorn remained in the black room, staring at the glowing map. She sat down in one of the chairs and drew Steel.
“Did you get all of that?”
Of course. So now you’re going to fix the Mournland.
“Are we? I thought I was going to rob some elves and maybe kill an old man.”
I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for Breland.
“I always do,” Thorn said. “I always do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Thunder Sea B arrakas 22, 999 YK
She knew she wouldn’t make it in time. She couldn’t find the path. She was running through the forest and searching for the light. Hundreds of fireflies swarmed through the woods, false sparks trying to lead her astray.
A wave of pain rolled through her. It wasn’t a scream. It was the agony of the land, shared by everything around her. Trees shook and a multitude of cries rose up in the night, wolf and songbird united in torment. If Thorn couldn’t find her way, they’d all be dead soon.
At last she reached the clearing, and there it was. A tree, its trunk cast in silver, polished to a mirror finish. Boughs spread wide enough to cover a great hall, covered with glowing leaves of gold. She ran and as she did, she could see that the tree was even taller than she’d imagined. Its limbs were twined with the stars, and she could feel its roots sinking deep down into the earth. The tree didn’t draw sustenance from the soil, no-it was the earth that drew strength from the tree. It was a tree of worlds, binding earth and sky together, forming a bridge between shadow and substance.