The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

XXX

Sacred Boons

In which a new Star Dragon is born

“Step forward, Edana, daughter of Min’da Nuriel,” Ziri intoned.

His voice reverberated off walls of rose quartz. Walls which enclosed a majestic ceremonial chamber inside the rotunda at Caelestis, the secret fortress of the Star Dragons.

Ziri waited for her on a dais in the center of the chamber. Two men flanked him, dressed identically to him in cream colored robes woven through with gold thread in patterns that intimated serpentine swirls. Chrysoprase amulets carved into golden eagles around their throats marked the other two men as venatori priests.

The tap tap tap of her sandals against the quartz floor punctuated Edana’s approach to the dais. Stopping before it, Edana acknowledged the venatori with a careful nod. Both men were strangers to her, a reminder she hadn’t even seen a tenth of Ziri’s Kyanopolis division. Yet.

“Do you agree to enter the Covenant of Phaënna?” Ziri asked her.

“I do.”

“Do you agree in the name of the Speaker to uphold our vows of honor, courage, and fidelity to the ways of Light over Shadow?”

They had discussed this next part beforehand; Edana was adamant about changing it. Part of her thought Ziri might not go along with it, but to her surprise, he relented. She therefore answered in keeping with her conscience.

“Subordinate only to the Sayings of the Speaker, I do. Let Him yield my soul to the Abyssal Serpent if I betray the way of Light and forsake my vows.”

“Come forward,” commanded the huntsman on the left.

Three steps separated her from the dais. On the first a strange sensation enveloped her body. On the second she felt as if she were submersed in a refreshing spring. The feeling persisted on the third step, but when she gained the dais she froze in place. Heat washed over her, then vanished as a cool breath raised the hairs on her neck.

Whispering in her ear was a voice, ancient and deep. «Let us meet, sister.»

Light, shimmering and golden, swirled over her. Light wedded to an overwhelming sense of peace and fellowship. Riding it was a presence—not the menacing one the sorcerers alluded to—but a presence all the same.

«Fear not, for you walk with the guardian of the Star Dragons. Phaënna, I am called, in the tongues of your race.»

Guardian spirit? Before she could ponder the matter, a slight tug at her own spirit transported her. Beneath her feet now were vibrant golden buttercups and snow white anemone, flowers she used to pluck as a child in the meadows of Falcon’s Hollow. White and gold, colors repeated in the lilies and gorse, meadowsweet and roses that made up the lush garden in which she now stood.

Inhaling deeply, Edana savored the sweet perfume the flowers exuded. How luxuriant this garden was!

Walls enclosed the garden. Enameled white bricks covered in rose vines, the walls were higher than she was tall. Doors punctuated the walls at regular intervals. Some stood wide open, others were open ajar, and a few were closed entirely. What lay beyond them?

To her delight, another childhood pleasure occupied the garden: violet butterflies flitted about. No—they circled her. Once, twice, three times, then off they went toward the center of the garden.

Venturing forward, she managed only a few steps before she halted. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight before her.

In the center of the garden a magnificent golden dragon rested on its haunches. Gleaming scales complemented a rich creamy belly and matching cream-colored wings. Sinuous, curving, the dragon’s spine arched back. As did its neck, for its head tilted up, facing an unseen sun that covered it in a glimmering halo.

Silent, cautious, Edana stared at the fabulous beast. In the back of her mind she was surprised she was still upright, for she’d always imagined she would faint on the spot if she saw a dragon, let alone stood in its presence. However, in this moment, in this place, she did not believe the dragon to be an existential threat. This dragon was something more … holy?

«Perceptive,» said a voice in her mind.

«Phaënna.» It was not a question. More of a confirmation of her hunch.

«I am she. Come closer.»

Confident now, Edana strode forward. Yet though she felt no terror, mild apprehension governed her mind. A mighty being such as this would have no light purpose in conversing with her. For the first time, it occurred to her that joining the Star Dragons was no mere formality. Phaënna herself might—ought to—care if a Star Dragon were worthy of the ranks she had created.

And if Edana were not worthy?

«An apt question. What would you do if I deem you unfit to join my order?»

Stopping a respectful distance from the dragon, Edana began to consider the question. Her ambitions in life did not include joining an order of arcana. The point of accepting Ziri’s invitation was to obtain the protection and benefits the Star Dragons could offer, for the cause of fighting the giants and their allies. When the threat was over, she intended to return to her life—if she lived.

«Holy one, I am not seeking to join your order for any but a pragmatic reason: to do my part in this war. Any boons you may offer I will joyfully decline, if you deem me unfit for using them for the purposes for which I wish to use them. Before, I was useful to your people because I was anonymous. But I no longer bring this to the table. Nor any remarkable talents; all I possess are tested virtues: Perseverance, steadfastness, devotion. And I strive to be honorable. I am—»

Here she paused. The butterflies fluttered about the dragon’s head, as though crowning her. For a long moment Edana focused on them as she chose her words with care. Then she swallowed hard, and met the dragon’s eye. Dragons were said to be especially sharp of sight. And this star dragon, did she not see with sight beyond sight? Nothing could be hidden from her. Buoyed by this thought, Edana pressed on.

«Until recently I would have claimed to have courage. But I have learned better of myself. The courage to face a giant? That, I have. The courage to live my life, to risk heartbreak … that kind I lack. Lady Nensela showed me a vision of what might have been, had I possessed such valor: a husband and family of my own, a place I belong. O Mighty One, if I survive this war I will seek to live out that vision. Thus, I cannot offer to serve you until the end of my days. All I want is a chance to help others have days to live out … even if I cannot join them in that blessing.»

The golden orb that was Phaënna’s eye moved slowly, back and forth, up and down, as if examining her. Then, suddenly, light flashed, and there came a golden mist. Rooted to the spot more in bemusement than surprise, Edana was still frozen in place when the mist cleared.

Now before her stood a woman, tall and stately. In this form, Phaënna—for it could only be Phaënna—repeated her colors: luminous golden skin, and cream-colored hair in loose waves down her back. The short train on her glittering gown trailed behind her as she approached Edana.

“Are all dragons able to take human form?” Edana asked aloud. If so, what sort of dragon was Phaënna?

Phaënna cocked her head. “Only the sons of the Sea Lord can walk amongst you as men. But I am not made of flesh or blood: on a night many lifetimes ago I fell from the heavens, and here I have dwelt ever since.”

Jolted, Edana gaped at her. Star Dragon. Star. Well. She would never look at the stars in the expanse the same way ever again.

“Come,” Phaënna said, and surprised Edana by linking arms with her.

The warmth of the celestial’s proximity soothed Edana somehow, and her curiosity about the creature’s intentions eclipsed her apprehension.

Phaënna led her to the nearest gate, which stood wide open. Beyond it lay a courtyard paved with blue-green tile. An artesian well in the center arrested her attention.

Home. The courtyard had been in her true home, in Falcon’s Hollow. This, then, is what the gates represented: Memories. As Edana watched, Phaënna examined Edana’s memories of different phases of her life. The first few doors contained unalloyed joy, with vignettes from Edana’s childhood. Some memories the celestial examined, others she passed by.

Then they came to the door.

Massive bronze doors, fixed and unmovable. Unmovable by Edana’s will, for she knew what lay beyond them, what she did not want to see again.

«Open the doors,» Phaënna commanded.

The celestial’s arm was still locked with Edana’s. Could she perceive Edana’s pulse thundering in her veins? Or hear the galloping of her heart?

«Fear is not your mistress.»

Reluctantly, Edana relented. Phaënna was beginning to remind her of her mother—except with the power to visit strange and unfathomable punishments upon her.

The doors swung open. Arm in arm with Phaënna, Edana stepped through. Once more she saw Mama impaled, once more she shied away from Mama’s final fate. Quickly she shut her eyes, and turned her head for added measure. Phaënna held her too tightly for her to turn her back entirely on the scene. No matter what, she would not allow herself to witness what the gryphon had done to Mama. Always she would remember Mama as the loving and vibrant woman she had been.

However, the scent of blood, of viscera, of sweat and terror clogged her nostrils, and it was all she could do not to retch as she had on that cursed day. With her free hand Edana drew her sleeve across her nose.

Blessedly, Phaënna did not object to Edana clenching her eyes shut. Nevertheless, her next sally startled Edana so that she almost did open her eyes.

“In what you believed to be your final hours, you spent considerable time reviewing your what-ifs. Do you still believe you could have changed the outcome of events on this day in your life?”

“I am no fatalist,” Edana said. For once she did not attempt to conceal the tremor in her voice, or hide the tears pooling around her eyelashes. What point was there in hiding her feelings? Could not Phaënna see through her façade of strength?

But Mama’s cries of agony—rage stirred in Edana’s heart, at what her mother had suffered. And for nothing! For no reason she was ripped apart while she was alive. As though she were a beast. Allowed to be ripped apart, by a son-of-a-bitch who could have prevented it, were he not so depraved, so indifferent to the life of anyone other than himself.

With some asperity Edana added, “You know better than I the relationship of cause and effect. I believe I live in a world where actions have consequences, and I’ve seen nothing to say otherwise. But I am young. What say you?”

Fortunately, Phaënna seemed inclined to overlook her impertinence. Rather she looked past Edana’s words to her thoughts. “Façade, you say? As if strength lies in the abolition of emotion. If I did not know better I’d say you were stoic. But I know better: you are mistaken. Foolish. Emotions are not weakness. Being ruled by emotion is weakness. Guarding your heart from those whose character is unknown to you is wise. Building a fortress around your heart so that none can enter is folly. Cowardice. Be discriminate. You possess the intellect, the wisdom, and the discretion to do so; therefore, I command you to do so. I will brook no excuses. Return now to the question of control.”

Eyes still shut, Edana accepted the rebuke as she considered the question. “There are some things I could control,” she said finally. “My own behavior … which I regret was so petulant and uncharitable. If I had known those months were all I would ever have left with my parents …!” Her voice shook. After a moment she composed herself and continued, “But I couldn’t control what happened to Mama, or to Papa. Not the attack. None of what happened was in my power to prevent.”

“Do you covet such power?”

Now she saw the trap.

“People don’t covet what they think they possess,” Edana pointed out. “And until recently, I was arrogant enough to think I could control the fates of those I care for. I thought I could safeguard my loved ones by treating them as sheep, with me as their shepherdess to herd them to what I thought were safe places. But when shepherds fall, the sheep are left bare to the teeth of wolves. People are not sheep: They can be armed, and cooperate in their own defense. They can mount counterattacks; they can be guided by wise counsel. Had I not tried to ‘protect’ others from the knowledge of wolves at their door, I might have had their wise counsel on how best to fight those wolves.”

“Yet: if you could arrange things as you’d wish?” The tone in Phaënna’s voice was soft, deadly.

But Edana refused to be unnerved. How would it be to have the power to keep Mama from her awful fate? Mama, whose screams echoed so vividly in her ears just now. If she could keep Mama and Papa both from becoming food for beasts, what would it cost?

But in her heart of hearts she already knew. A tear slid down her cheek. Grief rolled over her, in wave after wave. And for the first time she let herself be carried by it, burying her face in Phaënna’s arm as her tears flowed. To her shock, the creature embraced her, enveloping her in warmth.

After a time—however much time Edana could only guess—she finally found her voice again. Wiping her tears away she asked, “Could I use this hypothetical power without subverting the will of my loved ones? No, I love them as they are, and I wouldn’t make them less than they are. All the same … I beg of you not to tempt me. In some desperate hour of despair I can’t swear I wouldn’t use this ‘fate-power’ if I thought it would protect Bessa, or Lady Nensela, or anyone else.”

At that moment an image came to Edana’s mind, of Lady Nensela in Fanuco’s. Might Edana’s own character, her own fears, be a trap in itself? A trap every bit as dangerous as the prophecy traps Lady Nensela navigated? Thus she added,

“There are forces at work here I don’t fully understand in this Aeternity War. Offer me not the means to cross the will of the Sower, I beseech you.”

The tug of her arm was the first indication that Phaënna was moving. In fact, she was turning. Away from the horrific scene; Edana kept step with her as they returned to the garden. Only when she felt the glorious light on her face did Edana open her eyes again.

Phaënna’s eyes were luminous in the sunlight. Warmth, compassion, these she allowed to show in her face as she regarded Edana. “No tempter am I, child. I place no stumbling blocks in the way of the blind, nor do I dangle bread out of reach of a starving man. What I give to you I give because you do understand the nature of your world, and you reverence its Maker. Thus take freely this boon.”

She extended her hand, touching her fingertips to Edana’s forehead. Skeins of light issued from her fingers, and wove itself around the crown of Edana’s head.

Withdrawing her hand Phaënna said, “Count this frontlet your battle headdress, when the darkness comes. Long ago my light shone down upon this world. Like others of my kin I would in my season descend to the abode of the dead, to dwell until the hour I arose with the dawn upon a new season. My light, a portion thereof, I give to you in this diadem. Wear it, when the time comes to see what cannot be seen with mortal eyes.”

Edana gingerly probed her head. Rather than a bejeweled ribbon, a triple strand of tiny gems strung like pearls about her head formed the diadem that crowned her now. But the central gem was larger than any pearl boasted of by the great queens of old, and its weight rested on her forehead. From the feel of it, the gem was set into a starburst, which warmed her skin. Before she could remove the headpiece to examine it, Phaënna spoke again.

In a stern tone the celestial added, “Be warned, O Pious One: unmake nothing that was made. There are forces and mysteries beyond your understanding, but your understanding is not required, only your acceptance. Only your faith.”

Edana bowed. “So let the Sower witness, so let it be.”

For a long moment Phaënna locked eyes with her, and stared, as if looking into her soul. To Edana’s surprise, she reached out her hand and smoothed out an errant strand of Edana’s hair. An oddly maternal gesture. “Remember what you learned of yourself. Remember—and move forward.”

Had not Lady Nensela told her similar, to dwell not on bitter things, only learn from them and move on?

Move forward. From now on, Edana vowed, she would plant her feet firmly on her ground, and not remain divided in two.

«Yes,» she replied.

Sunlight blinded her. When she opened her eyes again she felt renewed, as though awakening from a restful slumber. Ziri and the huntsmen were standing over her.

“Phaënna has accepted her,” said the huntsman on the right.

“Welcome to the Star Dragons,” Ziri declared, extending his hand. “A Keeper of the Secrets of our Cause, an Unveiler of the Secrets of Our Enemies.”

Edana clasped his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

Ziri eyed her headpiece, prompting her to remove it from her brow to examine it more carefully. What she had assumed were pearls on a string proved to be more lustrous, more bright than any pearl she’d ever laid eyes on. The electrum starburst provided the setting for a jewel that glittered like adamant, but with the radiance of starlight.

“To see what cannot be seen with mortal eyes,” Edana said by way of explanation.

“So she’s blessed you,” Ziri observed. “That’s better than I expected. The usual benefit of becoming an ally of Phaënna is freedom from compulsion, but in the battles to come we will need what our dragon of the stars has given to you.”

“I am pleasantly surprised,” Senet said. Laughter rang in his voice. “I didn’t expect you to choose this spot when you sent along your message.”

Lady Nensela turned, facing him. From a bluff at the edge of the acacia forest she had been staring down at the Gryphon’s Way, a sparkling patch of blue that wound its way through the green and auburn landscape. Now Senet presented himself to her, standing between two acacia trees so that their canopies shaded him. Of course, even if he stepped further out into the open, he would not need the shade. Though the sun’s rays were painfully bright, and the heat it brought oppressive, she and Senet were impervious to it.

Senet waved to her, and she waved back, but she made no move to come join him amidst the trees. Once, long ago, the forest was her refuge, the role it had served from the time she was a little girl. But a time came one day when she sought a quiet place for a vision. What she got instead was a strange boy tearing through the trees, and barging right into the small clearing she had considered her place of solititude: Senet, escaping an annoying elder brother.

On that day, they were all of ten years old.

When they were older, they valued the forest’s protection from prying eyes. Millennia separated those days from their current one, but the memories were so strong that Lady Nensela still dreamt of the forest.

Dreams of a simpler, innocent time, Lady Nensela noted. Did she want to go back to those days? When the roads and days unwound before her, with endless paths to walk? Yet in those days she did not know, did not understand some choices would close off roads as though they were never there…and other choices would overlay thorns and uproot bricks on what was once a smooth golden road.

Lady Nensela would have shuddered, were she still in her body.

Stop. She must stop this. Longing for the past was a whirlpool of destruction, one she could not afford to step into. For too long did she skirt the edge of that pool, and it was past time she pulled back.

Senet’s boots kicked up little puffs of sand as he stepped onto the bluff. His dark blue tunic flowed around him as he hurried to meet her.

Lady Nensela’s lips curved. He was showing off. They used to compete, in their youth, to see who could be the most exacting in the details of their Sendings. Who could do the best job of seeming to be flesh-and-blood even under intense scrutiny?

The leather of his trousers looked convincing, and well made, even accounting for their being the garb of the barbarians of the Far North. They flattered his long legs. Was he ‘wearing’ them for her benefit?

She held out her ‘hand’ to him, and a pang of regret went through her that it was not truly so that he was taking her hand in his. Senet kissed her hand, then held it to his cheek for a moment.

“Until we can meet again,” he murmured.

Lady Nensela waited until he let her go before replying. “It won’t be any time soon,” she said, her breath catching.

This caught his attention, and his smile faded. She allowed her fears to show plainly on her face.

“Tell me where you are and I will come to you. Or you come to me—”

She put a finger to his lips, stilling him. “Senet, I invited you to meet me because—because I need something from you. Even our people marvel at the longevity of our bond. My rock through wind and tide, and many times you spoke the same of me. Many times you said I never let you down.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you planning to change course?”

Lady Nensela smiled in spite of herself. But in the wink of an eye her muslin sheath dress glimmered, as though she were wearing shimmersilk. Her Sending reasserted itself, but not quickly enough to keep Senet from noticing her control had slipped.

Senet clasped her close. Another pang went through her.

“You’ve had a vision,” he said after a while.

“Yes,” she admitted. She was glad she didn’t have to look at him. Speaking into his chest seemed safer somehow. She could get the words out.

How could she explain this?

Haltingly, she reminded him of the last night they, along with Justinia, Umberto, and Remei, had heard from the Seeker.

“But She said something more to me: that in time the nature of the enemy would become clear, and from that day I would hear a voice other than Hers. The voice would tell me more of our enemies…and I must heed it, if I would do Her will.”

Senet’s grip tightened as he held her still closer. “You heard this voice.”

Lady Nensela slowly exhaled. “It gave me the prophecy I gave to a cutthroat named Gallo: he would die if he took Edana. And he took her. And so it came to pass.” She stepped back and looked Senet directly in his eyes.

His gaze was steady, but she knew if he were in his body she would feel his heart thundering beneath her palm.

“Is that not the test?” Lady Nensela asked. “The test of a prophet, or a prophecy: did the prophecy come to pass? It has. It has begun.”

“Then why does it not comfort you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say. But the Seeker had bound her, and even if Lady Nensela wished to she could not go back on her word.

Everything depended upon it.

She stared long at him. Why couldn’t they walk this path together? She had never feared to face anything when he was by her side.

At last she forced herself to say, “There is one thing only I need from you.”

“It’s yours,” he rasped. “Whatever I can do. Just tell me.”

Lady Nensela turned around, and with a sweep of her arm she presented Senet with a large sandstone table. A game board was inlaid into the table top.

In their childhood they played a board game with three squares across, ten squares down, inlaid with squares of ivory and abalone.

But their childhood was over and done.

From the time of their very first mission for the Seeker, they used an expanded board that allowed the arrangement of pieces in military formations. The formations moved on squares of dragon’s blood resin interspersed with squares of polished dragon bone.

Without a word, Lady Nensela took her place at one end of the table, and Senet stood opposite. Pieces appeared on the board. At her end, grotesque figures cavorted. These sported talons lacquered in black blood, a mouthful of fangs, and razor-spiked carapaces. In their midst moved the giants.

On Senet’s side, figures stood on their guard. Lady Nensela had placed a mountain to their left. A strange group of people made up the left flank, closest to the mountain. Senet spotted himself amongst that group, and cocked an eyebrow.

Ziri and the Star Dragons were mounted on gryphons outside the right flank. The right flank itself included Halie, a company of sea dragons, dryads, khrestai, and naiads. Halie stood out, in her golden sea-silk dress and her crown of pearls and claw-length fingernails. Senet eyed her, openly curious.

“The Sea Lord’s daughter,” Lady Nensela said.

“Ah,” came his sole reply.

In the center of the formation stood Edana, her Huntress blades unsheathed. Senet nodded his recognition of her. Lady Nensela had placed Bessa beside her, and together the pair formed the vanguard.

“This formation you’re using, I recognize it,” Senet said. “The mountain shows you’re taking advantage of what’s available on the ground, something that bars the enemy from attacking from that directon. Useful formation when you’re outnumbered—is this how you perceive us? Outnumbered?”

We’re besieged. In the living world, and by the shadow world, we are besieged.

So said Bessa, and Lady Nensela echoed her words in response to Senet’s question.

“Besieged. Yet we have powerful allies to our right flank.”

“And thus we may act, those of us in the middle,” Lady Nensela agreed.

At that, Senet’s focus turned to the center lines of battle she had drawn. Quickly enough, he noticed her.

One figure stood alone on the board, between their faction and the arsh’atûm.

“Selana,” Senet said, recognizing her from their visions.

Lady Nensela’s eyes dropped. She focused on Selana. “It will seem a small thing I ask right now,” she began. “For right now it is an easy thing. But no matter how things look in the future, no matter what, know I put my trust in the Seeker. And for my sake, you must do the same. For all of our sakes, you must do the same. Have faith in my love for you. Have faith in every vow I ever made to you. And keep all vows you have made to the Seeker. No matter what. That is what I ask of you.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. Senet stared across the table at her, his jaw working, as if to ask a question he could not dare speak out loud. If only…if only he could truly take her in his arms and let her feel his heart beating in rhythm with her own.

“Where are you, in this battle?” Senet demanded. “I see now what is not right with this setup: you are neither leading the vanguard, nor standing beside me.”

“I am always with you!” she cried.

With a snap of her fingers, a figure of herself appeared on the board. The miniature Lady Nensela occupied a red square, right behind Selana on her white square. The Nensela-figure had her arms spread out, as if she were about to fling them around her daughter.

“I am with you every step of the way. That will never change, I will always be with you,” she said. She took a deep breath and added, “Senet. I saw a thing happen that I would fear were it not for the fact that I have you with me in this. Because we are fighting this Shadow War together I will have no fear. I just need you to trust the Seeker, and trust me. Do you promise?”

“Why do you even question this?”

Lady Nensela closed her eyes. He would force her to admit it, though she knew he was not trying to hurt her.

“I spent too long angry at the Seeker. I thought I was done with Her, and I wanted Her to be done with me, but She’s not.”

Lady Nensela let her words hang there, and Senet made no attempt to fill the silence. It was just as well. She had to say it.

She stepped away from her game of blood and bones, and turned to faced the river. The sun glittered so brightly on its crystalline surface that she would have been blinded if she were viewing it in her body.

“It’s funny. I avoided a prophecy trap with my friends by counting on them to be themselves. I believe the Seeker has done the same to me. She put a little orphan girl, Edana, in my path and trusted me to stay true to myself. All along I have been maneuvered as much as I maneuver others.”

Senet carefully asked, “Is that a warning? Or regret?”

Lady Nensela turned back and gestured to the board.

“The Seeker is not done with me. I have done my best to ignore Her all this time, because I would not do Her bidding if She would not tell me of Selana. And yet I see now that I still served Her purposes.”

The figures on the board dimmed, so that only Lady Nensela and Edana remained brightly lit.

“It is not an accident Edana crossed my path,” Lady Nensela said. “She believes wholeheartedly in her Sower, even after all that has happened to her. Before she returned to Silura, I talked to her about the risks she was taking. But she did not regard her own safety; she said it was her duty to go, because she knew what the giants were going to do. To know, and to do nothing, would be counted an evil by her Sower, and by herself as well. And her saying this pierced my conscience.”

“But you have also warned people. You brought in the Star Dragons. You did nothing wrong,” Senet reminded her.

“Oh? It was not wrong to send a girl who cared for and trusted me into the heart of danger, on the word of the Seeker whom I myself refused to trust? You don’t think I owed Edana more than that? Or you? And Justinia, and Umberto, and Remei? I split up the five of us so that if one should fall the Seeker’s bidding could still be done. I asked all of you to take risks, but I myself was not willing to risk trusting the Seeker. Edana never let her grief stand between herself and her Sower, but I was not fully committing to the Seeker’s mission because of my grief.”

The other figures on the board brightened again. Edana and Bessa and their allies began a slow advance, as the giants and fellshades began to march. Only Selana and Lady Nensela remained motionless on the board.

Lady Nensela again gestured to the board. “There is too much at stake for half measures, and Senet, you know I do nothing halfway. I am committed now. I am committed entirely. I will trust in the Seeker or I will fail you all. And that I will not, cannot do.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You will. But promise me, Senet. Promise me that you will not lose faith in me. Promise that you will not lose faith in the Seeker. You are a man who keeps his word, and I need that of you now more than ever.”

She came from around the board to stand next to him. He took her face in his hands, caressing her fervently.

“I promise you, Nensela. I promise.”