Tristan turned to look at the faraway mountain range. Even though he and Xanthus had survived the Borderlands, they seemed no closer to their goal.
“How can that be?” Tristan asked. “We still have so far to go!”
“As I said, Jin’Sai, with the Borderlands’ passing, magic has returned,” the Darkling answered. Xanthus raised an arm. “Behold.”
Tristan turned to see the azure pass forming. This time it stood on its own, without granite walls bordering its sides. Just like before, it seemed to shimmer with life. Tristan looked up to see that its upper limits stretched into infinity.
“So your Forestallment can summon the pass and also allow us safe entry?” he asked.
No,” Xanthus answered. “The pass was nearby all the time. We couldn’t see it in the Borderlands because magic was useless. In truth, our destination lies far beyond that mountain range. Mount your horse, Jin’Sai. The Heretics await us.”
Xanthus climbed into the saddle, and Tristan jumped up to sit behind him. The Darkling turned Shadow toward the azure wall. They entered, and then they were gone.
As they traveled through the pass, the same sensations as before flooded over the prince. Azure fog beckoned limitlessly. He could sense Xanthus sitting before him and Shadow moving beneath him, but little else registered. When he tried to speak his words were as useless as before. Also like before, time seemed to have no meaning. As the immeasurable journey continued, Tristan tired again. The last thing he would remember was trying to stay conscious and not fall from his saddle.
“AWAKEN, JIN’SAI,” A VOICE SAID. “YOU HAVE TRAVELED FARand suffered much to reach us. No otherJin’Sai orJin’Saiou has succeeded as you have. Awaken, and behold.”
Slowly opening his eyes, Tristan lifted his head. He looked around to become amazed beyond description. Then he saw the unfamiliar faces.
“Welcome, Jin’Sai, ” one said. “Welcome to Crysenium.”
CHAPTER XXIX
AS A HANDMAIDEN PULLED A TORTOISESHELL HAIRBRUSHthrough Serena’s dark ringlets, the queen of the Vagaries looked down at her dressing table. Her withered red rose lay before her. Raising her head to stare out her sitting room window, she saw that the dark sea was calm as its waves gently lapped against the rocky shore. The sky was clear, its endless stars twinkling brightly.
But she knew that this peacefulness would soon change. A war was coming-one that would finally end the Vigors for all time. Its stentorian call would come the day the Conclave sailed for the scroll. They had no choice but to try.
She smiled. The prize the Conclave sought was no longer on the Citadel’s shores. They would waste their efforts, their forces, and their Black Ships, giving Einar and Reznik more time to succeed in their orders. For now she would obey the Heretics’ orders and remain on the island to guard the Citadel and her lifeless child. Looking into the mirror, she reached up to touch the handmaiden’s wrist.
“That will be all,” she said. “You may retire.”
The servant placed the hairbrush atop the dressing table and bowed. “As you wish, mistress,” she said. Leaving the queen’s chambers, she closed the door behind her. Serena again looked out over the sea.
As she thought about Wulfgar, tears came. She had loved him more than life. Even though she was the Citadel’s undisputed ruler and she commanded many souls, she felt desperately alone. These chambers had provided her and her husband with many happy moments. Clarice had been conceived in these rooms. But now these chambers represented only loneliness. Instead of a family’s laughter, only silence reigned.
The fact that all those living on the island with her were mere servants only added to her isolation. They were needed to achieve her goals, but they meant nothing more to her than that-especially the crude Valrenkians. She looked forward to the day when the Heretics’ triumph would be complete, and she could kill the inferior partial adepts. There would be no room for half-breeds in the new order. But until then she needed them, so she would wait. Victory would also bring the Heretics’ total dominion over the known world, and they had promised that she would rule all the lands east of the Tolenkas. Eager for her prize, she relished the possibilities such an august position offered.
Even so, with Einar, Reznik, and all her envelopers gone, she had growing concerns about how her island was to be defended. The Heretics had told her that when the time was right, she would be informed. But it had been days since they last revealed themselves to her mind. Their continued silence increased her restlessness.
Thinking, she lovingly took up the dead rose. The Citadel’s defense would be explained to her soon, she knew. Until then she had to be patient, and trust in the Heretics’ infinite wisdom.
She detested this benign calmness before the storm, for it did nothing except accentuate her solitude. On Wulfgar’s death, at first her heart believed that what little they had shared would last a lifetime. Their love had been that strong, that deep, that rooted in common goals. At first, she had been right.
But as her life became taken up with honoring the Heretics’ wishes, other needs resurfaced. She soon missed more than Wulfgar’s leadership. She yearned for the commanding way that he had always taken her. Her psyche needed it, longed for it, and demanded it. But there was no one here worthy of granting such intimacies to a widowed queen.
Then she remembered the spell that Einar had told her about, just before leaving the Citadel. Because of its highly intimate nature, at first he hadn’t known whether to speak of it. After careful thought he’d decided that Wulfgar would want her to have it, to do with as she pleased. And so it was with no small measure of trepidation that he had visited the queen’s private chambers to discuss it.
At first Serena was shocked by Einar’s forthrightness. He went on to say that he had happened on the unique calculations among the thousands of other spells, during his perusal of the Vagaries scroll. As she heard him out, her objections gradually softened. In the end she finally accepted the small parchment bearing the elegant symbols and numbers.
Honoring Wulfgar’s memory, she had never read the parchment. Doing so would somehow be adulterous, disrespectful, she reasoned. But as another night passed with no one to comfort her, she found herself tempted. Perhaps she would only read the formula. Surely that could do no harm. She lay down the rose and opened her inlaid jewelry box. She called the craft, then levitated the wrinkled document within into the air. With a turn of her wrist she caused the paper to unfold itself.
Bathed in the candlelight, the Old Eutracian formula appeared to have been written by a female hand. As she sat reading the calculations, she marveled at the synchronicity of events that had delivered this wonder to her.
Who was she, Serena wondered-this woman from aeons ago who had decided to add such a unique formula to the scroll? Although they speak to me, there is still so much I do not know about the Heretics. But this brilliant lady from another place and time has somehow reached out across the ages to offer up this teasing nostrum in my hour of need. Did she ever use it? Had she tragically lost her lover, as I did? Does she somehow watch me from the Afterlife even now, as I consider this temptation?
Increasingly seduced by the intriguing calculations, the queen of the Vagaries took a deep breath. Standing, she grasped the parchment from the air, then looked to the sea again. Finally she decided. Forgive me, my love, she thought.
After memorizing the formula she placed the parchment back into the box, then walked to her bed to lie down. As its lace crinkled against the bedcovers, she was reminded that she still wore her black mourning gown. Taking a deep breath, she summoned the spell.
She watched as the room’s light started to change. Unafraid, she willingly embraced the violet hue washing over her. Music came to her ears, its melodious strains permeating her psyche. Her mind started drifting pleasantly, her need quickly strengthening while her guilt at having enacted the spell strangely faded away. Soon she was possessed by a hunger even more irresistible than before.
The unexpected stirring in her loins started slowly, warmly. She wanted to reach down, but then stopped herself as she realized that there was no need, for the magic washing over her grew more enticing by the
