“Dust!” a voice shouted.
Farr stood a dozen paces away, holding up his left hand. Blood rained down from his palm, but it vanished before it hit the sand. The air buzzed and shimmered, as if filled with insects too small to be seen save for the glint of sunlight on wings.
As if drawn to him, the vipers slithered toward Farr; sweat poured down his brow. He thrust his hand forward.
“Dust!” he shouted again.
Each of the vipers exploded in a black puff. For a moment sight and breath were impossible. Then a gust of wind snatched the foul smoke, carrying it away and clearing the air.
Travis rubbed his stinging eyes. There was no trace left of the serpents. Farr was hastily binding a cloth around his hand, staunching the flow of blood. The buzzing faded to silence; the morndariwere gone.
Farr gave the three T’gola disgusted look, then approached the stone door, careful not to touch it.
“What is it?” Travis said, his throat burning from the smoke.
“It is a blood trap.” Farr looked at Grace. “You’re right. This was a temple, and I know now these are the ruins of Golbrora, whose sorcerer‑priests held the black viper sacred. Blood traps were set to keep thieves from stealing the temple’s treasure. A thief who reached into the hole to try to unlock the door found himself trapped, held in place while his blood was drained.”
“And the vipers?” Larad said, raising an eyebrow.
“They were meant to take care of any companions the thief might have had. It was difficult–my spell was weak–but I destroyed them.”
Travis felt the blood surging in his veins, and his hands twitched into fists. Despite his claim that his spell was weak, Farr seemed smug, even arrogant. But Travis could have dispelled the vipers, and by spilling less blood than Farr. He was sure of it.
Stop it, Travis. This isn’t a contest. Hadrian has studied these things, and you haven’t. And be grateful he has, or all of you would have ended up like Rafid.
Grace knelt, touching Rafid’s leathers. “I don’t understand. Why did he try to open the door?”
“Voices,” Travis said, remembering the whispers he had heard as he approached the altar. “He heard voices.”
Farr nodded. “It is as I said. He feared magic, and so was compelled by it.”
“He was weak not to resist,” Kylees said, her words harsh. She turned her back and walked away. Avhir cast his bronze gaze on the empty leathers, then followed after her.
“Come,” Vani said, touching Grace’s shoulder. “The day is nearly done.”
Travis cast one last glance at the door, not even daring to wonder what lay on the other side. Had Rafid really been weak? Travis doubted it. One did not survive for thirteen years in the Silent Fortress by being weak.
It could just as easily have been you who stuck a hand in that hole, Travis, not Rafid.
Only it hadn’t been; that fate wasn’t his. Travis clamped his hands under his arms and trudged after the others just as the sun touched the western horizon, staining the ruins of Golbrora crimson.
29.
The camels paced over the silver dunes, silent as wraiths in the moonlight.
Grace huddled inside a blanket as the camel’s hump rose and fell beneath her. The day’s sweat had dried to a crust on her skin, and now she was shivering. Once night fell, the desert had quickly surrendered its heat to the cloudless sky. Stars glittered like cold gems above–but not in the rift, which was as dark as the vipers that had slithered from the stone door in the ruins of Golbrora. Only the rift wasn’t something that could be fought with blood sorcery, not like the serpents. It wasn’t anything at all.
How can you fight nothing, Grace?
It seemed impossible, but she wouldn’t let herself believe that. Their only hope was for Travis to find the Last Rune, wherever–whatever–it was. But first they had to find Nim.
And maybe this is how it’s meant to be, Grace. Sfithrisir said Travis would lead you to the Last Rune, and dragons can’t lie. Well, this could be how he does it–by going after Nim.
It didn’t make much sense, but maybe Fate didn’t have to. Or maybe it was something else altogether that had drawn them to this place. Something simpler–and far stronger–than mere Fate. Maybe it was love.
And what do you know about love, Grace?
A lot more than she used to. She had learned so much since coming to Eldh: how to be a witch, a warrior, and a queen. But more amazing than any of those things, she had learned that her heart, however damaged, could still hold love.
Her gaze drifted to a dark form riding just ahead of her. Hadrian Farr. As often happened when she gazed at him, her pulse quickened, though she didn’t quite understand what it meant. She could catalog all of the symptoms–shortness of breath, elevated blood pressure, a ringing in the ears–but she couldn’t diagnose the disease. What was it that looking at him did to her?
Grace didn’t know. Only that it made her feel frightened, and excited, and strangely free. It was like what she had felt at the last feast in Gravenfist Keep, when she had realized that Malachor didn’t really need her anymore.
It was like letting go.
“Is something the matter, Grace?”
Her pulse spiked in alarm. Hadrian had slowed his camel, and now he rode close to her. His dark eyes glittered in the moonlight, studying her; he must have noticed her staring.
“I was just wondering,” she said and cleared her throat, trying to think of something she could possibly say to him. Then, to her surprise, she did. “I was just wondering what Sister Mirrim told you in the Hagia Sophia, in Istanbul. You said she whispered something to you there, something important, but you never said what it was.”
Farr turned his gaze forward, into the night. “She said she knew the answer to the mystery.”
“What mystery?”
“That’s exactly what I asked her. What mystery did she mean? And she said. . . .” His voice trailed off. Grace wondered if was going to answer at all. Then he drew in a breath. “She said the mystery was for me to determine, but the answer was ‘the catalyst does not change.’ ”
Grace couldn’t help a wry smile. “That sounds like something one of them would say, all right. Suitably cryptic.”
He gave her a sharp look. “Do you know what it means?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea. Maybe you should ask Travis about it. He’s spoken with the three of them a lot more than I have–Cy, Mirrim, and Samanda.”
Farr’s gaze moved past Grace, toward where Travis and Larad rode. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” Grace said, her heart rate quickening again, only for a different reason this time.
“He doesn’t trust me.”
Grace licked her cracked lips, but this time her attempt to find something to say failed.
“What about you, Grace Beckett?” He was looking at her again, his dark eyes unreadable. “Do you trust me?”