“The Tablet of Rumelabar speaks of this balance,” Ead said, “but also what happens when the balance is unsettled.”
“Too much of one doth inflame the other, and in this is the extinction of the universe,” Kalyba recited. “A dire warning. Now, what—or who—is the extinction of the universe?”
Ead shook her head. She knew the answer well enough, but best to play the fool. It would keep the witch off her guard.
“Oh, Eadaz, you were doing so well. Still,” Kalyba said, “you are young. I must not be too hard a judge.”
She turned away. As she moved, her hand came to her right side. It was as smooth and unmarked as the rest of her, but her gait betrayed the pain in it.
“Are you hurt, Lady?” Ead asked.
Kalyba did not reply.
“Long ago, the cosmic duality was … upset,” was all she said. Ead thought she glimpsed something terrible in those eyes. A shadow of hatred. “Sterren grew too strong in the world and, in return, the fire beneath our feet forged an abomination. A miscreation of siden.”
The extinction of the universe.
“The Nameless One,” Ead said.
“And his followers. They are children of the imbalance. Of chaos.” Kalyba seated herself on a boulder. “Successive Prioresses have long seen the connection between the tree and the wyrms, but denied it to themselves and their daughters. Mages can even create Draconic flame during Ages of Fire, like this one … but of course, you are forbidden from using it.”
All sisters knew they had the potential to make wyrmfire, but it was not taught.
“Your illusions come from sterren,” Ead murmured, “so siden burns them away.”
“Siden and sterren can destroy each other in particular circumstances,” Kalyba conceded, “but they also attract one another. Both forms of magic are drawn to themselves most of all, but also to their opposites.” Her dark eyes were alight with interest. “Now, my puzzle-solver. If the orange tree is the natural channel of siden, what are the natural channels of sterren?”
Ead thought on it. “The dragons of the East, perhaps.”
From what little she knew about them, they were creatures of water. It was a guess, but Kalyba smiled.
“Very good. They were born of sterren. When the Long-Haired Star comes, they can give dreams and change their shapes and knit illusions.”
As if to demonstrate, the witch cast a hand down the length of her own body. All at once, she wore an Inysh gown of brown samite and a girdle studded with carnelians and pearls. Jewel lilies opened in her hair. Had the nakedness been the illusion, or was this?
“Long ago, I used my fire to reshape the star rot I had gathered.” Kalyba combed her fingers through her hair. “To create the most remarkable weapon ever made.”
“Ascalon.”
“A sword of sterren, forged with siden. A perfect union. It was when I beheld it—the sword I had made from the tears of a comet—that I knew I was not just a mage.” Her mouth flinched. “The Priory calls me witch for my gifts, but I prefer enchantress. It has a pretty ring to it.”
Ead had learned more than she had bargained for, but she had come to ask about the jewel.
“Lady,” she said, “your gifts are miraculous indeed. Did you ever forge anything else from sterren?”
“Never. I wanted Ascalon to be unlike anything in this world. A gift for the greatest knight of his time. Of course,” Kalyba said, “that is not to say that there are no other objects … but they were not cast by my hand. And if they exist, they are long since lost.”
It was tempting to tell her about the jewel, but it was best that Kalyba remained ignorant of it, or she would go out of her way to make it hers. “I would like nothing better than to lay eyes on the sword. All Inys talks of it,” Ead said. “Will you show it to me, Lady?”
Kalyba chuckled low. “If I had it, I would be happy indeed. I searched for Ascalon for centuries, but Galian hid it well.”
“He left no clue as to its whereabouts?”
“Only that he meant to leave it in the hands of those who would die to keep it from me.” Her smile faded. “The Queens of Inys have also sought it, given that it is sacred to them … but they will not find it. If I could not, then no one will.”
That Kalyba had forged Ascalon for Galian Berethnet was common knowledge in the Priory. It was part of the reason many sisters had distrusted her. The two of them had been born in the same era and had both lived in or around the village of Goldenbirch, but beyond those scant facts, no one understood the nature of their relationship.
“Queen Sabran dreamed of this Bower of Eternity,” Ead said. “While I was her lady-in-waiting, she told me so. Only you can weave dreams, Lady. Was it you who sent them to her?”
“That knowledge,” Kalyba said, “will require a higher price.”
With that, the witch slid from the boulder. Naked once more, she listed on to her side, and the rock beneath her transformed into a bed of flowers. They smelled of cream and honey.
“Come to me.” She smoothed a hand over her petals. “Come, lie with me in my Bower, and I will sing to you of dreaming.”
“Lady,” Ead said, “I desire nothing more than to please you, and to prove my loyalty, but my heart belongs to another.”
“The secret of dream-weaving must surely be worth the price of one night. It has been centuries since I felt the soft touch of a lover.” Kalyba drew a finger down her own abdomen, stopping just shy of where her thighs met. “But … I do admire loyalty. So I will accept another gift from you. In exchange for my knowledge of the stars, and their gifts.”
“Anything.”
“Twenty years they have kept me from the orange tree. Once a mage has tasted of the fire, she burns for it evermore. The hunger eats me from within. I would very much like my flame back.” Kalyba held her gaze. “Bring me the fruit, and you will be my heir. Swear it to me, Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra. Swear that you will bring me what I desire.”
“Lady,” Ead said, “I swear it by the Mother.”
“And she said nothing about the jewels,” the Prioress said. “Only that she did not make them.”
Ead stood in her sunroom, facing her.
“Yes, Prioress,” she said. “Ascalon is her only creation. I thought it best not to mention the jewels, for fear she would pursue them.”
“Good.”
Chassar was grim-faced. The Prioress placed her hands on the balustrade, and her ring glinted in the sun.
“Two strands of magic. I have never heard anything of the sort.” She breathed in. “I mislike this. The witch is a liar by nature. There is a reason they called her Rattletongue.”
“She might embellish the truth,” Chassar said, “but bloodthirsty and cold though she is, she never struck me as a liar. In her day in Inysca, there were brutal punishments for oath-breaking.”
“You forget, Chassar, that she lied about Zāla. She claimed she never poisoned her, but only an outsider would have murdered a sister.”
Chassar dropped his gaze.
“The jewels must be sterren,” Ead said. “Even if Kalyba did not make them. If they are not our kind of magic, they must be the other.” The Prioress nodded slowly. “I vowed to her that I would bring her the fruit. Is she like to pursue me when I do not?”
“I doubt she will squander her magic on a hunt. In any case, you are protected here.” The Prioress watched the sun descend. “Say nothing of this to your sisters. Our next line of enquiry is this … Neporo.”
“An Easterner,” Ead said quietly. “Surely that tells you that the Mother was interested in the world beyond the South.”
“I tire of this subject, Eadaz.”
Ead bit her tongue. Chassar shot her a cautionary look.
“If Neporo spoke true, then to defeat our enemy, we will need both Ascalon and the jewels.” The Prioress rubbed her temple. “Leave me, Eadaz. I must … consider our course.”
Ead inclined her head and left.
In her sunroom, Ead found Aralaq snoozing at the foot of her bed, weary from their journey. She sat on the bed beside him and stroked his silken ears. They twitched in his sleep.
Her mind was a crucible of stars and fire. The Nameless One would return, and the Priory had only one of the three instruments needed to destroy him. With every hour that passed, the danger grew in Virtudom, and Sabran was at greater risk. Meanwhile, Sigoso Vetalda was building his invasion fleet in Quarl Bay. A divided West would not be ready for the Flesh King.
Ead pressed close to Aralaq and closed her eyes. Somehow, she had to find a way to help her.
“Eadaz.”
She looked up.
A woman stood in the doorway. Tight curls wreathed her brown face and tumbled into tawny eyes.
“Nairuj,” Ead said, rising.
They had been rivals when they were children. Nairuj had always been vying with Jondu for the attention of the Prioress, which Ead, loving Jondu as her elder sister, had taken very much to heart. Now, however, Ead took Nairuj by the hands and kissed her on the cheek.