The glyphs on her arms and legs began to warm, but it wasn’t the heated pain that proximity to magic caused, and the heat, instead of scorching, soothed. It sank beneath her skin—maybe because she let it—and traveled down her limbs, settling at last in the ankle she could suddenly feel. She was used to thinking of this as “sight,” although she did it with her eyes closed. But she could sense the torn ligaments, the stretched muscles, and the bruising; she knew what parts of the ankle made walking painful, and she knew how to change the shape of those things, channeling warmth and heat and magic into the shape of what it would become with time and rest.
Rest. Hah.
She stepped, firmly, on the ankle. It held her weight without a twinge. Beyond that, she didn’t think; she began to move, and the Barrani followed in silence. If Serian had questions about her previous injury, she kept them to herself.
Gaedin’s light was steady; it illuminated the tunnel in front of Kaylin, and it didn’t bobble or waver as he ran. She came to two more junctions; she jogged right at the first and left at the second. It was arbitrary; she didn’t feel that one way was the right way, and one wrong. The dragon made the occasional noise, but settled into a more relaxed sprawl on her shoulders. It shouldn’t have brought comfort, but it did.
When they exited the tunnels, she’d expected to feel relief. And she did, but it lasted a handful of seconds. As tunnels sometimes did—at least in story—these ended in a large cavern. The height couldn’t be seen; the light that had served to make a run through the tunnels safe didn’t reach that far.
Serian touched her arm and drew her around. “You have never entered this maze,” she said, voice low, breath completely even. “This is where we must be, Lord Kaylin. You’ve done well.”
“It’s a cavern,” was her flat reply. She’d been jogging along the wall, heading right, and there was no sign of any other tunnels. It was like a giant dead end, unless there were stairs somewhere beyond the periphery of her vision.
Gaedin surprised Kaylin; he chuckled. “It is,” he told her, “and it is not. The walls will tell you nothing; it is now the center that we want.” He took the lead, drawing the light away and forcing Kaylin to follow; he moved quickly.
Kaylin, after the first stubbed toe, was grateful for his speed.
In the center of the cavern were two things that were immediately obvious. The first was the bottom end of a tree, or what Kaylin assumed was the bottom; there were roots. There were a
The second was a river. The tree was planted in the river, and the roots, anchored to stone on either side of its current. Water rushed over them, and it seemed to Kaylin, watching, that the river sloped down. She had no desire to jump in to see where it went. Instead, she glanced at her companions, and headed—with care—toward the widest part of the tree she could reach. Reaching involved a fair amount of climbing, but Kaylin was good at that, wide skirts and trailing sleeves notwithstanding.
The small dragon squawked. He batted her face with a wing. This time, Kaylin adjusted the angle of her face and looked through it. She saw a lot of bark. But the bark was faintly luminescent; Gaedin’s magical light had nothing to do with the uniform, silver glow. She continued to climb, letting her hands fall away from wing until she’d reached a stable slope; the dragon stretched his wing again when she came to a stop.
This time, she could see a more concentrated silver; it was to her left, and about six feet above where she was standing. The interweave of roots could just reach that light; it would certainly bring her close enough that she might be able to see its source. When she slid, Gaedin caught her and heaved her up, and she navigated footholds in the rough, but sloped root. There was dirt beneath her fingernails and in the creases of her palms; she didn’t even want to look at what was on the dress, but of the two—Kaylin or dress—she knew which was more important.
She didn’t even swear when she reached the source of the light and saw it was a ward. A door ward.
“I don’t have to bleed on this, do I?”
Silence. After a pause, Serian said, “on the tree?”
“On the ward.”
The glance that passed between the Barrani might as well have been a shout.
“You don’t see a ward here.” Kaylin’s voice was flat.
“No, Lord Kaylin. Do you recognize the rune?”
“Does it matter? It’s a ward.”
“In Elantra, the mortal view of wards has been adopted across the whole of your large and crowded city— but they are not the only use of wards, and indeed, not the first.”
Kaylin, who had lifted a palm in the usual hesitant way, lowered her hand. “What was the first use?”
“They were meant as containments,” Serian replied. “The wards served as warnings to those who might otherwise seek to use magic or to explore what lay beyond the ward itself. They sealed. They imprisoned.”
“You said this was where we needed to be.”
“Yes. But I also said that not everyone who enters the tunnels survives. These are old, Kaylin; it is beyond our ability to build what was built here. Only those who have encountered the traps and threats of the maze understand their dangers—but they have never emerged to share that knowledge. What do you see?”
“It’s a large ward. The center is where I assume my palm is supposed to go—but it’s larger than my hand.”
“Describe the rune, Chosen. Does it resemble the marks on your arms in any way?”
Did it? “I’m fairly certain it’s not one of the marks; it may be the same language. It’s more ornate than the door wards I’m used to; the ones I’m used to are very much like the wards in the Lord’s hall.”
“Yes, they would be.”
She reached for Lirienne and found—pain. She pulled back instantly. She reached for Nightshade and found darkness, movement, flitting impressions of hall and stone floor and sword.
She didn’t reach for Severn, because it wasn’t a word he would recognize, and she didn’t want to burden him with her fear. She was afraid.
Gaedin stepped around Kaylin with an ease that implied sloping, rounded trunks caused him no issue with balance. “Allow me, Lord Kaylin.”
Serian said nothing.
“You can’t even see it,” Kaylin said.
“No. But if it is activated by touch, and there is a risk associated with it, I am not wearing the blood of the green.” He raised an arm, and she knocked it aside. Serian caught her, because balance was an issue for Kaylin.
Gaedin lifted his arm again, and this time the small dragon launched himself at the Barrani man’s face.
“I don’t think he thinks it’s a good idea.” To no one’s surprise—or at least not Kaylin’s, the small dragon’s opinion was, of course, more relevant than hers. Gaedin lowered his arm.
His eyes narrowed, his perfect brow furrowed. He stared at the tree trunk as if he could force it, by dint of glaring, to surrender useful information. Kaylin’s arms were itching; she couldn’t see any visible magical effects, but he was using familiar magic. He bowed to her and stepped to one side. How he didn’t fall off, she didn’t know, and she tried not to resent it.
Kaylin raised her hand, grimaced, braced herself as she usually did when touching a door ward, and pressed her palm into the center of the ward.
The world exploded.
It was not the first time that Kaylin had stood at the center of a magical explosion. She had time to throw her arms over her face to protect her eyes as wood chips and bark flew.
None of them hit her arms. None of them hit her at all. She lowered her arms and looked immediately to her left; Gaedin was standing suspended in midair. The root upon which they’d found purchase was gone. So was
