“To abandon your duty and go beyond this world.”

Julissa gulped.

“Don’t worry,” Gishna said. “You’re not the first to feel it. You won’t be the last. Prepare yourself before collaborating with him. Remember, you are the master, and he is the tool. I want you to let him think you are his pupil. Understand the script he uses. Pilfer his notes, set your diviners to work on deciphering it. We have resources beyond Mornae lands.”

“Why doesn’t he just tell you?” Julissa asked.

“Like a matron, he keeps his secrets. Better than a matron, I think. They are of a different origin, daughter. Always remember that. Their power sits on a different axis… neither moon nor stars… something deeper and darker.”

“What power?”

Gishna felt a terrible craving. “Death. Death, my girl.”

The room chilled.

“And life,” Julissa said.

Gishna swallowed and nodded, trapped in a mental web.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “Life, too. They are masters of that as well.”

“We’ll redirect the project, mother. We’ll find another remedy for what ails us. We don’t need Vakayne. We didn’t before, did we?”

Gishna shook her head. Julissa was right.

“Quite right,” she said. “Our ancestors entered that valley alone, and it’s their blood flowing in those trees… not Savra’s.”

“Should we be giving away our land, mother? Even if we are getting valuable bloodlines for them?”

“Yes, the trades are a problem. A sign of my desperation. Happily, those recent properties have found their way back to Hosmyr houses.”

“We have three outstanding requests. Should we cancel them?”

Gishna considered for a moment. “No, proceed with the trades. We need more remedies at our disposal. And this contact has value.”

“You suspect the Naukvyrae are behind it?”

Gishna turned to her daughter, amazed at how easily she uttered the name.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”

“Then we proceed as before,” Julissa said. “There are two others the seer mentioned. I’ll arrange those as well. They will bear fruit in two or three years.”

Gishna nodded. Her daughter was becoming a matron before her blinded eyes. She peered out her left eye through a tiny speck of vision. Julissa will need to be enough. Even so, she prayed: Goddess above, give me one more day.

51

Days later, as his matron’s command burrowed into his every moment, Taul met Balniss at the tavern near the scriptorium, where his brother earned his keep as a notary.

There were only six public notaries in all Halkamas with goddess-light sigils, and only thirty in all Vaidolin. They commanded blue fire, a miniscule amount, to scorch parchment with their unique mark. They functioned as witnesses to important acts. While it may have seemed logical to form a guild, they’d not. Diviners knew the danger of organizing themselves. The high council could misconstrue it as an attack on the Fifth Accord. It had happened before.

It was a quiet tavern situated just off the east road near the Hall of Blossoms, the courtyard of Ilor’Hosmyr citadel. Scholars, scribes, seamstresses, tailors, and weavers from nearby shops filled its booths. It was a quiet place for quiet people.

They sat at the rear of the establishment, removed from the other patrons, and sipped hard apple cider laced with spices. Taul swished the liquid in his mouth before swallowing. The apples were from Lor’Sutaer’s orchard. It was near Zeldra, but young. He’d thought it healthy, but as the cider swirled in his mouth, he sensed it lacked something. The other patrons wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t the taste, it was fine in that regard, but Mornae didn’t drink merely for taste or the alcoholic effect. It was the goddess-power they sought. The alcohol just helped preserve the liquid. Sutaer’s orchard was rotting, its effect waning despite the cider’s bite. Taul motioned to the serving boy for something stouter.

“It will please you to know that Pemzen has no mental defect,” Balniss said. “I’d say he was far ahead for his age. He knows glyphs, even obscure ones, and numbers. He’ll be keeping your books by five.”

He chuckled at his own joke and downed the brandy as soon as the waiter set it down and asked for another round.

“That’s a relief,” Taul said softly. “With that strange look of his, I’ve not been able to sleep. Did the sleeping powders harm him in any way?”

“Not that I can tell. They should suppress his memories. But he’s reserved, so it’s hard to tell.”

“I noticed that. Solemn is the word Ryldia used. A sign of his bloodline?”

“What line is that?”

“Ryldia doesn’t give much credence to the Voravin line.”

Balniss shook his head, his three tattoos shining briefly in the sconce-light. He cradled the golden liquid in his hands. This blend came from Lor’Rylamar, from a middle-aged orchard of waning power. Still, Balniss didn’t seem to notice. He hesitated, starting one thought and changing to another.

“Few do,” he said. “Not really. All houses harbor a secret desire to have that blood in them, that it might solve all their problems.”

“It’s a legend only, then?” Taul asked.

“Vakayne makes no claim to it at all. That says much. I’ve not even heard Daushalan utter it.” Balniss’s gaze drifted off to nothing, that pensive look he got when too many ideas crowded his mind. “Those two lines seem strong. I suspect they will find a way to the heights again. In time, of course.”

Taul sniffed his glass. There was a staleness in the liquid. “What does that mean for the rest of us?” he asked. A sadness settled on him. What if all his efforts were for nought? What if, in the end, none of it mattered?

He couldn’t afford to think that way. His duty was to serve his matron and consort. The rest could all burn. The thought unsettled him, but it was the power of the binding speaking. Like a sharp beam of light piercing through to the orchard floor, duty was everything. Even if all else failed, his matron would not. The fierceness of the notion caused his neck and jaw to blush hot.

Balniss shook his head. “There are movements, currents beneath the everyday comings and goings. Profound change.”

Taul nodded. His brother often shifted to deep, foreboding thoughts when drinking. The truth was Taul had not noticed a thing since the troubles of his own house consumed him. The problems of his people had not even entered his mind. Balniss was always cryptic anyway, an alien even among his brother diviners.

He’d been pushing aside the thought that they weren’t blood brothers. Looking at him now, revulsion churned his being. So deep was house affinity in all Mornae. That was one reason for the secrecy around adoptions.

“The problem of Lor’Toshtolin is the problem of this age, brother,” Balniss said. “Surely you see it. Even Ilor’Hosmyr faces it. Zauhune for certain. Their godling will die someday in the arena, and the vultures will come for them as well. Though their situation has improved. New bloodlines have joined theirs. Wouldn’t it be a cruel joke if Zauhune somehow survived us all? Eh?”

Balniss chuckled, but Taul didn’t understand. He forced a laugh. Balniss was downing brandy like he needed courage.

“Do the best you can with the boy,” Taul said.

Balniss nodded. “He’ll not be a warrior. I can tell you that. Before the Fall, he would have been a sorcerer. But alas, he may have to settle for a merchant’s knowledge.”

They touched glasses and drank deeply. Taul rubbed the empty glass between his palms.

“What troubles you?” Balniss asked.