The Perilous Sea (The Elemental Trilogy #2)

Whose confinement? Who gave birth on the night of the meteor storm?

He turned the page.



I caught Eirene reading from my diary.

It shocked me to no end.

I had always believed Eirene one of the most honorable mages I had ever met. But she refused to even give me a reason for her snooping.

My confidence is shattered. Am I so terrible at judging character? Am I surrounded by mages seeking to betray my trust?



He had checked the roster of his mother’s staff at the time of the diary entry, but had found no one by the name of Eirene.





27 March, YD 1016


This vision again.

Nothing new, except now I am convinced the man in the vision is a very young man, perhaps a boy still. I cannot say why I think so, but I do.





9 July, YD 1018


A wider view of the young man. As the phenomenon that staggers him unfolds, his hands grip the railing of the balcony, his knuckles stark white.



Titus remembered this, gripping the railing in stupefaction at Wintervale’s maelstrom.

And the term, “railing.” Could the marble balustrade that encircled the grand balcony outside his bedchamber in the castle be called a railing? And had his hands been anywhere near the balustrade when Fairfax’s lightning had come down?

He could not recall at all.

His heart pounded with dread.





13 April, YD 1021


The day after his mother learned that he, and not she, would be the next sovereign of the Domain, when she realized that her own death was imminent and that this particular vision, long thought of as insignificant, was actually anything but.



I have been waiting for this vision to return. Thankfully I did not have to wait too long.

Finally I see the young man’s face. I had suspected that it would be Titus, but now I know it is. He appears to be asleep at first, his hand over an old book—my copy of the Crucible, or something else? Now he rises, checks the time, fourteen minutes after two, and walks out to the balcony.

But what does this all mean? I feel as if I should know but I do not.





17 April, YD 1021


The very last entry. It would fill two entire pages, front and back, then snake around all the margins. Only the first few paragraphs would deal with the actual vision. The rest consisted of instructions to Titus, what he should do, what he must learn, and how he was to accomplish this impossible task that she had realized would be his.

He had come hoping to vindicate Fairfax’s place in his life. Now all he wanted was for there to be no more details that would tilt the balance in Wintervale’s favor. As long as nothing forced him to conclude that it must be Wintervale, he would go on believing that his destiny lay with Fairfax.



I wish so much of this vision was not from the back, for I love looking upon my son’s face in the moments before the elemental phenomenon shakes him. Yes, I know now that it will be an elemental phenomenon and I know now what a dreadful turning point it will be.

Has already been.

But until then, he smiles, my son, his face bright with joy and anticipation.



It was all Titus could do not to scream.

He had not smiled before Fairfax’s lightning had come down—had emerged from the Crucible aching and grim. But before Wintervale’s arrival, he had been dreaming of Fairfax.

And fool that he was, he had grinned from ear to ear in utter happiness, when everything was about Wintervale. And had always been.

He closed the diary and buried his face in his hands.

So quiet, almost unnoticeable, the sound of dreams splintering.





CHAPTER 9


The Sahara Desert

TITUS FELL ONTO THE JAGGED chunks of rock that littered the bottom of the tunnel. The contact drove flares of bone-scraping pain into his back. He clenched his teeth, hooked his boots with Fairfax’s, and yanked her back a few inches. “What is wrong?”

She panted as if she had been very nearly strangled. “I don’t know. When I moved forward a moment ago, it was as if . . . as if spikes were being pounded into my ears.”

The kind of levitation spell they used was not one that required constant attention. For it to suddenly fail usually implied that the mage who wielded the spell had lost consciousness. But she had not. He could only imagine what kind of actual agony had caused her mind to recoil like that.

“Are you better now?”

Her voice was unsteady, bewildered. “Much, much better, after you pulled me back. I feel—I feel almost fine.”

Not a timed curse, then, or a reaction to toxic substances in the air.

“Can you widen this tunnel enough for me to get past you? I want to see whether I come across the same thing.”

When she had done as he asked, he maneuvered himself to the spot where she began screaming, then past the spot. Nothing at all happened to him.

Thinking perhaps it was because he was feet-forward, he turned around and went head first. Still nothing.

“No?” she asked.

“No.”