She heard the roots guzzle, ripples of the empirium betraying their primal, unthinking appetite, and she understood the feeling.

Her power was ready and coated in steel. It was hungry. And she ached to feed it.

The Prophet was wary. What will you do? Tell me.

It’s like I said before, Eliana replied. The world is so thin here. The air feels fragile.

Her fingers buzzing and hot, her castings like little stars relearning their light, she thrust her hands forward, then pushed them apart, palms out. A wave of energy detonated, but she stopped it, absorbing it with her own flesh and blood so it would not shake the palace.

The Prophet marveled. Oh, Eliana. Watching you work is a joy I have not felt in an age.

Eliana only half listened, her hands still buried in the air. Gold veins of the empirium crackled around her fingers. Each grain of light painting the thicket gold whispered to her, and she listened closely, staring at the impossible thing before her.

A shape floated in the air, dark and thin, like the pupil of a cat’s eye. Its insides roiled with stormy color—indigo and violet, a blue so brilliant it was nearly white. At once, Eliana felt pulled toward it, as if it were a mouth greedy to swallow her.

She dug in her toes, braced her hands against the earth. In her mind, the Prophet’s surprise hummed like a struck bell.

What is this? Eliana asked.

A seam, the Prophet said carefully. You have opened many across the world without knowing it in those moments when you called upon your power in fear and anger. This, though—look how even it is, how precise. It was your focused will, Eliana, that opened this door.

Eliana stared at it. Something pulled at her shoulders, beckoning her forward. She searched the darkness, the angry light shifting inside it, and saw a faint vista of low hills, scattered pine woodlands, a sky purple with twilight.

A door to where? she wondered, her heart pounding, and before the Prophet could answer, Eliana’s hands flew to the seam. She gripped the edges and pried them open wider until it was possible for her to slip inside.

The Prophet flew into a panic. Eliana, wait!

But the empirium had pulled her to this place, and now golden whispers tugged her forward.

here

HERE

come see

they are everywhere

hurry

Before the Prophet could stop her, Eliana held her breath, shut her eyes, and stepped through the fissure into what lay beyond.

Her feet hit solid ground. She opened her eyes and saw gray clouds moving fast across a violet sky. The hills were shallow and rolling, furred in downy green grass, and there was not another living thing in sight. No animals, no people. There was not even wind. Only a quiet that felt unnatural. An eerie, pale light suffused it all, like a dusk tinged with storms. Black clouds edged every horizon, and below her feet, past the green of the grass, shifted a vast darkness, as if the meadow and hills were only a thin veil cloaking something terrible and lightless.

Then a bird called out, and when Eliana looked up to find it, she saw far above her the shifting faint shape of an enormous winged beast. It fluttered past, sending darkness rippling across the sky, and was gone, but another followed in its wake, and then another, and three more, slithering and serpentine, each of them a behemoth.

Eliana stepped back, staring in horror. What she had thought were gray clouds were in fact the shadows of these creatures, swarming from horizon to horizon.

A sickening heat blossomed at her breastbone and flooded her fingers. She ducked low, searching in vain for something to hide beneath. But the unnatural quiet remained, and when Eliana looked back at the sky, she saw that it looked just the same as before. The monstrous shapes were no nearer to her. It was as if she and this strange green world existed within a bubble beyond which writhed gargantuan beasts—but whether they were far away or very near, she could not guess. At least, it seemed, they could not reach her.

She slowly straightened, forcing her breathing to calm. Cold sweat prickled the back of her neck.

Then, a glottal cry split the air, puncturing the eerie quiet. On the horizon, something long and dark and twisting dropped out of the clouds and began to fly. This was no distant gray shape. This was clear and sharp, long-tailed with broad black wings, and approaching fast.

Eliana spun around and ran for the thin vertical slice of lush green marking her path back to Corien’s palace. Long minutes passed before she managed to push through it, for a great force was shoving back against her.

But with a last controlled burst of power, she managed it, tumbling out into the garden courtyard. She whirled to grab the seam’s edges. Her fingers tingled as if she had plunged them into water hot enough to burn. The seam sucked at her; that place, whatever it was, wanted her back. But she fought its force, wrenched the sizzling edges back together, and used her power to seal shut the fissure. Only a faint glimmer remained in the air, and then it was gone.

Breathless in the dirt, clammy with sweat, Eliana reached for the Prophet. What was that place? What did I see?

The Prophet’s voice was breathless with relief and wonder.

You saw the cruciata, they replied. And you were in the Deep.

24

   Rielle

“The home the Kammerat have built is astounding—a thriving city of dragons and dragon-speakers, constructed in high mountain caves and canyons. Below, a lush green valley provides them with food and warmth. They say the saints helped create this haven after the Angelic Wars ended, and that they have lived undisturbed ever since. Until now. It has been difficult, convincing the Kammerat to fly to the Northern Reach and rescue their kindred. Their isolation is sacred to them, even at the expense of their own captured people. They say they will do nothing more in this war beyond that, and I don’t blame them. Leevi, however, still thinks he can persuade them. He’ll have to persuade me too, I confess. Why leave this sanctuary for a hopeless war? But Leevi is determined, and so beautiful in his hope for victory that it takes my breath away.”

—Journal of Ilmaire Lysleva, dated February, Year 1000 of the Second Age

Rielle woke in the Northern Reach.

As soon as she opened her eyes, she recognized the bedroom she had shared with Corien. Its black stone walls, the thick white furs draped across their bed, the wide wall of windows framing glaciers and a sky of dimming sunlight. Mountains and sea, industry and fire.

Everything that had happened sat at the edge of her mind, a vivid portrait of her own design, and she shivered to look at it. The bitter taste of ash still coated her tongue. In her ears echoed the crash of a dark sea.

Corien sat at her bedside, watching her quietly. He was in his everyday black—vest of brocade, tunic buttoned at his wrists with obsidian, high square collar, cloak fastened at his shoulders with ebony pins.