“That, we do not know for certain. The author of the texts gave us an account of what had come to pass, not the future beyond their words. Nothing else exists from that time. It is as if the record of these dark days was deliberately purged. Perhaps more scrolls are hidden within Shadowhelm, but we have not been made aware of them, and our access is limited by the ruler at the time and their desire for knowledge of our ancestors.”
But twelve hundred years ago… “This tale of yours does not ring true. We have had casters escape to Islor during that time, and none have ever breathed a word of this history.” My voice drips with skepticism. “Even Wendeline, for all her duplicity, would have enlightened us.”
“It is not discussed in Mordain, Your Highness. It has not been taught. There are those in the guild who would prefer that scripture showing the glaring failings of our creators not be dwelled upon. Some have called for their destruction. The scribes have protected the knowledge thus far. But very few are aware, and I can assure you Wendeline is not one of them.”
“How is it that you, an elemental caster who has been locked up within Argon’s towers for years, are aware?”
She smiles. “Before Argon, I spent my life running through those dark corridors beneath Mordain’s great hall, hiding from instructors and falling asleep with my face in dusty books. I was far more interested in hearing stories than wielding my affinities. The scribes could not keep me out, so eventually they stopped trying and chose to teach me instead. I value their knowledge like nothing else.”
She has an answer for everything. Either she’s telling the truth, or she has prepared her lies well. “Hopefully, you also value candor, because I will not tolerate another priestess misleading me for her own gain.”
She dips her head. “I can appreciate that. Especially after all you have faced thus far.”
The scenario she has painted so far is grim. “And what of the Nulling? Would it be open to Malachi again?”
“I would suspect so, yes. The Nulling is a space that exists between time and place, where the fates relegate creatures of various dimensions without need for their deaths, as transition to Azo’dem or Za’hala requires. If the ancient scripture from Shadowhelm is any indication, they use it to build a waiting army that will unleash when anyone dares tamper with the nymphaeum.”
“Successful or not.”
“Precisely.”
Something pricks my memory. “Romeria thinks the husband of the caster who sent her is trapped in there. This woman—Sofie—her whole purpose is to free him.”
“Into this world?”
“Possibly.”
She frowns as she considers this. “What are you up to, Malachi?”
Nothing good. “If all this speculation is true, it could mean we would not only face Malachi as a ruthless ruler, but whatever crawls out of the Nulling and the wrath of the fates.”
“And the chaos the nymphs can stir up. Yes. All that to put an end to the blood curse. If the nymphs could be compelled to do your bidding.”
“What would compel them? Have the scribes ever speculated on that?”
“Based on what the seers have seen”—she meets my gaze—“they barter in lives.”
A sour taste fills my mouth. “Whose?”
“It is difficult to say whose would suffice. Yours. Romeria’s. Both.”
“‘At the tied hands of the Ybarisan daughter of Aoife and the Islorian son of Malachi.’ Can you truly not predict?”
“Perhaps. Would you not sacrifice yourself to bring peace to your lands?”
“A hundred times over. But what you have described does not sound like peace. It sounds very much like war and suffering.” Which we are heading toward, regardless. My gaze drifts toward the tent flap. Beyond it, surrounded by bruised and battered warriors, Romeria sits quietly, none the wiser about how formidable she is. “Could Romeria defeat a fate who is in mortal form?”
“Some say yes, she would be powerful enough. And others say that opening the door will destroy her as the attempt did Farren.”
My heart clenches. “She would be sacrificing herself for Islor, and it may not make a difference in the end.”
Gesine sits silently while I pace around her, my mind desperately searching for the right path forward. Walking into this camp today, counting the remaining legionaries, the sense of defeat was a dark shadow trailing me. Nineteen of them against Atticus and an entire army has no chance of surviving.
But could a key caster change our odds?
Would it not behoove me to find out?
“The more we speak, the more I am certain the door should remain closed. Romeria’s immense power should be used for means beneficial to Islor without the added risk.”