And he felt a pool of pure blue-white power, just like his own.
“I didn’t pick you up because of your impeccable fashion sense,” Eithan said, touching two fingers to the corner of his blood-stuck eye. “Hm. I think this is swelling. Anyway, a pure core is one of two ways in which we are similar, so I thought I might be able to provide you with some unique guidance. And that you might help me as well, in the long run.”
Lindon was sure he was supposed to ask, but he played his role anyway. “What’s the second way?”
“You left it back in the Trials after you advanced to Gold,” Eithan said. “It happens. Advancement can play havoc with the memory, especially when the process is traumatic. It should be lying in the dirt, but it followed you. Now it’s in your right pocket.”
Lindon reached into his pocket, knowing what he would find, and withdrew Suriel’s marble. The ball of pure glass sat on his palm, its sapphire flame steady, casting blue light over him.
“Do you know what this is?” Lindon asked, and he wasn’t sure if he was afraid or excited.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” Eithan said, reaching into his own pocket. “Not everything that blocks my senses is from the heavens.” He pulled out his own glass marble the size of a thumbnail. “And yours looks somewhat different from mine.”
Inside the hollow shell was a ball of perfectly round darkness. It looked endlessly deep, like a bottomless hole suspended in glass.
Eithan held it up to one eye, inspecting it. “Maybe they’re like coins,” he mused. “This could be the celestial equivalent of tossing a scale to a servant.”
Lindon had so many questions that they all tried to exit his mouth at once. They came out together, so they sounded like, “Bluh.”
Eithan nodded as though that was exactly the question he’d expected. “Yes. Precisely. Well, let’s trade stories while we’re not surrounded by hostile strangers.” He slipped his black marble into his pocket and pulled something else out: a gold plate slightly bigger than his palm, set with white, dark blue, and a black crescent in the center.
“This is the authority of the Arelius clan’s Patriarch,” he said, tossing it to Lindon. “You’ll need that to run a quick errand for me.”
Lindon cradled the ornate emblem in both hands. “It would be an honor,” he said, still trying to catch up to the rest of the conversation.
“Above us, you’ll find the homes of the Jai family. One of the homes has a decorative tower on the grounds, a tree with pink leaves, and the statue of a crane and a dragon locked in combat. Break into that house and search for a girl named Jai Chen.”
“Should I bring her back here?”
Eithan’s grin widened. “That’s Jai Long’s sister, held captive by the Underlord to ensure his cooperation. In all the confusion, I’m afraid she’s been left alone.”
“Really,” Lindon said, and Blackflame surged in him.
Eithan snapped and pointed to him. “That! When you are stopped by Jai clan members, show them the emblem, look them straight in the eyes, and do that. If they don’t listen to you then, I’ll come kill them.”
“I’m…sorry, look them in the eye and do what?” Lindon asked. He’d done nothing but cycle.
“You don’t need a Remnant to have a Goldsign,” Eithan said, then lifted the Sylvan Riverseed on his palm. She hopped back over to Lindon, who settled her on his shoulder. “Now, go. Go!”
When Orthos felt that Lindon had changed direction, his spirit surged with irritation, and he reluctantly turned to follow.
***
Jai Chen was trapped in a room nicer than any she’d seen since she was a child. The Patriarch had locked her here, but he hadn’t bothered to tie her—there was no need. She lay in bed as though a great weight pressed down on her limbs, focusing the full force of her spirit just to breathe. As always.
She’d considered killing herself. Jai Daishou had to be using her against her brother, or she wouldn’t be here, and killing herself would burn one of the cards in his hand.
But it wouldn’t change anything. Jai Daishou was an Underlord; he would get what he wanted with or without a hostage.
Instead, she focused on cycling. Some of the medical experts who had examined her over the years had suggested that she might eventually regain partial function in her spirit if she diligently exercised, so she spent most of her day attempting to cycle. It was like jogging on broken legs, but she persevered, shoving madra through shattered channels.
If the cracked madra paths were the only problems, she would have been thankful. But her power squirmed away from her direction, fighting every cycling technique, slithering against her will. The same power that brought her brother’s techniques to life polluted her spirit, keeping her core out of her control.
She tried anyway.
A wave of heat washed against her face, and her eyes snapped open in time to catch the door to her room dissolving.
Jai Chen pulled sheets up to her chin as though they could protect her from enemies, rooting under her pillow with a half-asleep hand. She only found the knife when she cut her finger on its edge.
She held out the weapon with both hands as dark fire consumed her door. It dissolved the painted wood like black acid, sending a cloud of dust and ash billowing over her.
A massive black shadow blackened the area past the door, its eyes burning circles of red. She let out a squeak, arms trembling as she held out the knife.
The shadow passed, moving away from her door, and she almost let out a breath of relief.
But it had left someone behind.
A man stood in her room, and he had eyes like a death Remnant. They were black all around, with rings of blood red shining in the center. With those eyes, he could be nothing but a monster, come to kill her…and black fire still played around his fingers.
Her arms were too heavy to keep holding in the air, and it was taking all her focus to gasp in enough air to breathe. All she could see were his eyes.
The man bowed at the waist. “Forgiveness, please, I thought you were deeper in the house.”
The fire faded from his hands, and the darkness from his eyes bled away like paint in water. They were perfectly normal eyes now, staring at her intently.
Now that he didn’t have the gaze of a soul-eating monster, she got a look at the rest of him. He was a tall young man, about her age, broad-shouldered and wearing a bulky pack that must weigh more than she did. His outer robe was smudged and stained with mud, ash, and probably blood, until she couldn’t make out its original color. A jade medallion hung on his chest from a dark silk ribbon, etched with the image of a hammer.
He seemed like a perfectly normal sacred artist, though he stared at her like he never intended to blink. With his other eyes, the look would have given her nightmares.