But he had this to do first. This quest with the cousins and the Eye that had, through the mad old princess, turned into something much more. One great quest will fail, but one greater will light the way. Those words had been part of his father’s quest to find the Frostblade, uttered by some Sea-King hundreds of years ago, but perhaps it was apt now too. He did not know if they would see anything in the Eye, but that didn’t matter to him now. This quest might fail, but it had led him to another. One greater. It would lead him back to her.

He smiled as his feet touched down on the icy earth, crunching through a film of frost. The fires blew wildly within the braziers, as though mimicking the crazed spray of ocean waves in a storm, spitting smoke into the ice-white skies. The warmth was welcome, and necessary. There were times when Elyon feared his sword arm had frozen solid in flight, outstretched in the direction of travel, never to thaw again. Well, that wasn’t so, he was happy to find. With a film of ice breaking from his cloak and armour and hair, he lowered the Windblade and thrust it back into its sheath. He was shivering violently, his fingers fumbling to unstrap Walter from the harness.

“Let me help.” One of the three figures came forward, reaching out to work the straps free. Within the heavy hood of thick wolf fur, Elyon espied the friendly face of Prince Devrin, son of the king.

“Devrin,” Elyon said. “You made it.”

“As did you, Elyon. And right on time. There must be something more than coincidence in that.”

Elyon frowned. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh. About fifteen minutes. We’re just getting the horses unsaddled inside. I rode ahead with a half dozen others. My father is a little behind. I don’t suppose you saw him on your way?”

Elyon had seen shapes beneath him, a short while ago, but had put it down to rocks or boulders of which there were tens of thousands scattered across these bleak and windswept lands. “I was flying too fast to make anyone out clearly.”

“Well, no matter. They’ll be along shortly. An hour, perhaps two, I would hope. If not Father may have to spend another night on the ice.” He sounded unconcerned. This prince had a rare zest to him, there was no doubt. His fingers worked the last of the straps, setting Walter loose. “Come inside, my friends. I sent my man Geffray to light the fires in the small hall, and small it is. It should warm up quickly enough.”

Once they’d passed through the double doors, two guards pushed them closed, shutting off the howling wind. The entrance hall was thick stone, large and open, with stalls for the horses along one wall, stacks of weapons and armour and hooks for cloaks along the other. Firewood was piled high either side of the door, and sweepings of old hay were scattered across the paved stone floor. A half dozen Rasal thoroughbreds were in their stalls, their saddles and bridles being removed, hay laid out in troughs before them. My bastard of a bastard brother has one of those, Elyon thought. The beasts were rarely beautiful and graceful, capable of scaling cliffs like mountain goats and highly intelligent too. Most ran free up here in these wilds, and those that were taken to bond by a master were extremely particular about that choice.

“I hear only a fraction of them are ever saddled,” Elyon said.

“A small fraction, yes,” confirmed Devrin. “They are drawn to nobility, it’s said.”

Elyon grimaced as he thought of his brother. “How was the journey from Thalan? Your auntie had doubts as to whether you’d have made it by now. Or at all. She feared you dead.”

“My auntie? You saw her?”

“In the palace.” And that special room of hers, he thought, reflecting on her sorry tale. “We stopped there several hours ago.”

“Several hours. And now here you are. While for us it’s taken over a week.” He gave a laugh. “The journey was cold, Elyon. Very cold, very windy, very long. But not so bad as we’d feared once we got beyond the snow. I do not know if you noticed from the skies, but about a hundred and fifty miles north of Thalan, the entire Highplains are frozen over and hard as rock. That made the going much easier for the horses.”

They passed the stalls, moving toward a stair at the back that wound upward through the tower. “The small hall is on the floor above,” Prince Devrin told him. “Then above that we have two floors of bedchambers, with the royal rooms above those. Then it’s a way up to the top of the tower. It’s a rotunda, perhaps you saw? With an open front of thick glass that gazes northward toward the ocean, right where Rasalan rose up to present Thala with the Eye, so legend says.” He spoke with his usual energy. “Speaking of. I hope I don’t need to ask, but…”

“I have the Eye in my bag,” Elyon confirmed. “Along with Walter’s possessions.”

“Walter. Of course.” Devrin turned to him. “Apologies for my lack of courtesy, Walter. I’m rather excited and weary at the same time.” He smiled and took the man’s arm, shaking. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, Your Highness.” Walter performed one of his functional bows. “These bedchambers you mentioned. Will I be getting one of my own?”

“Of course. You’ll be our honoured guest. Most of the men will sleep in the hall. My father has another dozen still with him, guards mostly, but he brought his steward too, and his horsemaster, and a cook. The cook came ahead with me to get a start on dinner. Oh, we won’t want for good food, Walter, never fear. Hemmet does wonders even with basic ingredients. The miracles he can conjure with spices…ahhh. But come, let me give you a quick tour.”

The prince seemed to know the tower well. He took them first to the small hall, where the man Geffray was lighting the fires, then up to the next level to show Walter his bedchamber. It was modest, but pleasant, with a window that looked west, providing views out to sea and down the frozen coast, a double bed warmly furnished in fur blankets, a thick rug on the floor, and a writing desk. Walter seemed happy to see that. “I like to write,” he declared. “Perhaps Elyon told you?”

“He did mention that, yes.”

Elyon removed his bag and handed Walter his things, his great tome of sketches and scribbles included, with fresh rolls of parchment, quills, ink pots, and clothes. There were few of those, because Walter was wearing most of his wardrobe. The scribe took his book with great affection and laid it on the table, positioning it neatly. “I’d love to take your portrait, if you’ll allow it, good prince,” he said. “You and your father. Perhaps both of you at once might be nice?”

“I’m sure he’ll be agreeable. There is a small hearth as well, as you can see. I shall have Geffray light a fire for you.” Devrin turned to Elyon. “I presume you will be staying the night before you leave?”

Elyon was about to keel over. He nodded.

Devrin laughed. “A foolish question. We’ll have a room prepared for you. Feel free to stay longer if you wish.”

“My thanks. One night will serve.”

The tour took them next to the royal chambers, which occupied the entire fourth floor, comprising bedchamber, large solar, library, audience chamber, and privy. The library was of great interest to Walter Selleck. “What a trove,” he said, looking around at the shelves. “I wonder what wonders are in here?”

Prince Devrin chuckled at the use of words. “It is said my great uncle Godrin read every book in here three times over during his reign.”

Elyon looked across the high shelves and stacks, the thick leatherbound books and ten-tome volumes, the scripts on philosophy and history and culture and art. There must have been several thousand books in here, and frankly, that sounded like a tall tale to Elyon Daecar. No man reads thousands of books, he thought, let alone three times over. “He must have come here often,” he only said.

“Oh he did. All monarchs would retreat to his sanctuary from time to time, to better connect with Great Rasalan. I understand my great uncle did most of his best work here.”

“You mean his visions?”

Devrin’s eyes wrinkled with excitement. “My father and I spent the week scouring his pages of the Book of Thala, Elyon, and those translations you provided us. Each night in our tent, we sat together for hours and read them. Fascinating stuff, truly. Though there is a page missing, did you know? In the book.”

Elyon knew. “A man named Ranulf Shackton stole it.” That was what Archibald Benton had said, anyway. Apparently Janilah Lukar had been most wroth about that and had sent a Bloody Trader captain called the Surgeon after him. But that was all a long time ago now.

Prince Devrin was smiling. “Ranulf Shackton is a famous name,” he said. “A great adventurer of our people. And a friend of my great uncle if I’m not mistaken. Why do you imagine he would steal a page?”

“I suspect because it contained an important secret that he did not want to fall into the wrong hands.” Elyon had an idea what that secret was, and had a mind to try to find Shackton himself. He wondered if he might find the man with Saska. She had always spoken very highly of him, he remembered, and Ranulf had been the one to put the first piece of the puzzle of her identity into place, when he found out she was the secret child of Leila Nemati.

I wonder if he knew the rest? Or knows it now? Most likely he did. Elyon did not delude himself into thinking that he was the only one. Just the latest, he thought. Saska’s grandmother had long been part of this scheme, Elyon knew that from the letter, so if nothing else he would fly to Aram and see if Saska was still with her.

At last, he thought ruefully. To Aram at last. He had told himself he’d go a hundred times, and now it had become his top priority. Well, one of them, anyway, he thought. One high peak among many. He still must return to his father, and his war in the west. He still yearned to find his missing sister. And Rustbridge. He had been gone from there for far too long and now Borrus was back as well. And what of the other blades? He had told Ilith he would help find them, and bring them to him, as he’d told his father the same. Jonik was out there now, working for Ilith as well, and Elyon still did not know what to make of that. A part of him did not trust the Shadowknight, as a part still didn’t trust himself. He is tainted, as I am. He knows what it is to have a god in his head.

He put that aside. In the end it did not matter who gathered the blades, only that they were gathered and brought to the refuge for Ilith to hammer back together. And soon, Elyon knew. Soon. Time is short. At least now he knew who would wield the Heart Remade. Gods, can it be true? She is so young, untrained, so new to godsteel. And a woman. Gifted, yes, but she would need to be trained. No doubt the King’s Wall had been seeing to that, and others as well, but none of them knew what it was to bear a Blade of Vandar. I do. I know, and I must show her, teach her, help her. We cannot hammer the blades back together and expect her to wield them at once.

His thoughts were spiralling. When he withdrew from them he found that Devrin and Walter had moved off, as the prince showed the scruffy scribe around the library, pointing out this book and that. “Ah, here’s one of interest to you,” Devrin was saying. He pulled out a dusty leather tome, the surface cracked and frayed, and laid it on a table with a thud. “Oddities and Anomalies,” he said. “Unique Powers from Across the World. I daresay you would fit in here yourself, Walter, with this luck of yours.”

Selleck gave a chuckle. “It’ll make fine night-time reading, good prince. Might I pick a few books out, to take to my bedchamber?”

“By all means. There is one on Vandar’s Tomb somewhere, I think, listing all the official and successful journeys there. You could be in that one too.” Devrin smiled and returned to Elyon. “Well, shall I show you the rotunda? It’s just up the stairs.”

They left Walter to pick through the library; the man would have ample time to explore every nook and cranny of the tower in the coming days, and the rotunda in particular would become like a second home to him. For now it was only the two princes who wound about the spiral stair, moving up the worn stone steps, smoothed by time, level by level as the tower narrowed and thinned toward the top. Devrin carried a flaming torch before him to show the way, stopping to light the candles sitting in small niches along the outer wall. When they reached the top of the stair it straightened out, leading right up into the domed rotunda at the tower’s summit, a large half-orb empty of all furnishings but for the plinth set at its hearth, a stone pillar tessellated in squares of gold and blue. The walls were thick stone, painted in veins of gold, windowless but for the great glass aperture that looked straight out over the endless sea. On the floor was a wondrously detailed mosaic depicting the day Rasalan rose from the frothing ocean to gift his sight to Thala. The tower did not exist then, so the demigoddess stood only on the clifftop, looking over the raging waters as the ocean god came up from his halls.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” Devrin said. “I’ve always wanted to see it.”

Elyon frowned. “You’ve never been here?”

“Up here? No. This is the preserve of kings and queens. I have come to the tower before, long ago, but was only permitted into the guest quarters.” He looked about the walls; there were more candles in niches, and a few torches in sconces too. “Let’s see how it looks when given more light.” The prince moved about the circumference, firing the torches and the candles, filling the dome with warmth and radiance. “Ah…the detail. I could stand here all day admiring it.”

Elyon had rarely seen such a fine work of art. It felt almost wrong to be walking on it, but he supposed so few people ever came up here that the mosaic would not be unduly damaged by their footfall. All the same, he went about more carefully than he normally would, worried the weight of his plate might crack or tarnish a tile. After a full slow circuit, he found his way to the window that gazed out over the frozen sea. It was broadly oval in shape, somewhat like a pupil. “It’s like a giant eye,” Elyon said.

“That was the intention,” Devrin agreed. “When the Eye of Rasalan is placed on the plinth, its power is amplified, it is said. The weaker monarchs would only glimpse through the pupil here, in the tower. There is one rather similar to it, back in Thalan. The Tower of the Eye it is called.”

Where Hadrin was taken, Elyon thought. Amilia had pointed it out when they first flew to Thalan.