Chapter Text
There are certain sentences that should never be spoken aloud.
“This should be an easy trip,” is one of them.
“We’ll probably be home before anything interesting happens,” is another.
Ander Brightwood had said both of those things within the last three days.
I was beginning to suspect he had personally offended Aemarn.
“You know,” I said, staring across the table at him, “when something inevitably tries to kill us tonight, I want it officially recorded that this is your fault.”
Ander looked up from his food.
“It’s dinner.”
“That has never stopped anything from trying to kill me before.”
Beside me, Mara Stormwind nodded solemnly.
“She has a point.”
“You’re encouraging her.”
“I’ve been encouraging her for years.”
“That explains a lot.”
I kicked Mara lightly beneath the table.
She kicked me back.
Ander sighed.
The Eagle’s Eye Tavern was exactly the sort of place where three travelers could reasonably expect to spend one uneventful night.
Which, in hindsight, should have been my first warning.
It sat where several roads crossed, large enough to accommodate merchants, adventurers, scholars, pilgrims, soldiers, performers, and people who probably had extremely interesting reasons for not giving anyone their real names.
A carved eagle hung above the fireplace. Its wings stretched almost the entire width of the stone chimney, and its painted golden eyes seemed to follow people around the room.
The owner insisted this was artistic.
I thought it was creepy.
Mara thought I was being dramatic.
Ander had made the mistake of agreeing with Mara.
Our friendship had survived worse betrayals.
The tavern was crowded enough that evening that I had already moved my bow twice because somebody nearly stepped on it.
That alone had put me in a bad mood.
I liked my bow.
More importantly, my bow liked me.
At least, I assumed it did.
We had never discussed the matter.
Our trip was supposed to be painfully ordinary.
Mara needed magical supplies that apparently could not be purchased anywhere remotely convenient. Ander had business farther along the road involving his work as a blacksmith. I had come because they were my friends and because allowing the two of them to travel without me sounded suspiciously like volunteering to be bored.
That was it.
No prophecy.
No divine politics.
No ancient evil.
No mother-related emergency.
Just three friends, one road, and a tavern whose stew was significantly better than its decorating choices.
I should have appreciated it more.
Mara was halfway through explaining why the place we were traveling toward was absolutely worth an unnecessary amount of walking when my attention drifted toward the rest of the room.
I have always watched people.
It’s useful.
Sometimes you learn something interesting.
Sometimes you discover somebody is about to stab you.
Sometimes you realize a stranger has been staring at a wall for ten minutes because she thinks the wall is historically significant.
That last one was currently happening.
A Tabaxi sat alone at a small table near the eastern wall, black fur making her almost disappear against the dark wood of her chair. Her yellow eyes were fixed on a carved stone set into the tavern wall.
She had a notebook open.
Of course she did.
She leaned closer to the stone.
Then closer.
Then, after checking whether anyone was watching, she reached toward it.
I pointed.
“Mara.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“You were going to comment on the Tabaxi who looks like she’s considering stealing part of the building.”
Across the room, the Tabaxi withdrew her hand.
Slowly.
Mara raised an eyebrow at me.
“Fine,” I said. “Maybe.”
“She’s not stealing it,” Ander said.
The Tabaxi pulled a small tool from her bag.
I looked at him.
He looked at her.
“I withdraw my statement.”
At another table sat a high elf surrounded by more papers than I considered reasonable for dinner.
She had bronze skin, golden-blonde hair, and striking gold eyes that moved rapidly over a document covered in cramped writing.
There were three books beside her.
One was open.
One was marked with at least six ribbons.
The third looked old enough that touching it incorrectly might constitute a historical crime.
The high elf was taking notes while eating.
That seemed stressful.
Near the fireplace sat an Eladrin elf with a lute.
She had the kind of posture that suggested she was either a professional performer or simply expected every room to eventually become an audience.
The lute, however, was held with surprising care.
Not casually.
Not like an instrument carried because it happened to be useful.
Like something precious.
She caught me looking.
I immediately looked away.
Obviously.
At the far end of the room sat a woman in traveling armor with a bow within easy reach.
Unlike everyone else, she wasn’t relaxed.
She was eating, yes, but her eyes kept moving.
Door.
Window.
Stairs.
Kitchen entrance.
Door again.
She had light-brown hair, blue eyes, and the posture of someone who had spent enough time around danger that she no longer needed to make a show of being ready for it.
I recognized the habit.
Not the woman.
The habit.
Then there was the Triton.
She was impossible not to notice.
She sat near one of the windows with a stack of notes, occasionally glancing outside at the evening sky with the intense concentration of someone personally offended by clouds.
At one point, rain began tapping against the glass.
She stopped writing.
Looked up.
Watched the rain.
Wrote something down.
Watched the rain again.
Wrote more.
“What do you think she’s writing?” I asked.
Mara followed my gaze.
“Maybe weather observations?”
“It’s rain.”
“That might be exciting if you’re from somewhere that doesn’t have rain.”
Ander glanced toward the Triton.
“Doesn’t rain technically happen in the ocean?”
Mara and I stared at him.
He frowned.
“I regret asking.”
“I think she’s documenting the surface,” I said.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“She has the expression.”
“What expression?”
“The scholar expression.”
Mara looked toward the high elf buried in books.
Then toward the Tabaxi apparently trying to perform archaeology on the tavern.
Then toward the Triton taking notes about rain.
“This room has too many scholars.”
“One scholar is too many,” Ander said.
The high elf looked up sharply from across the room.
Ander froze.
I grinned.
“She heard you.”
“I noticed.”
“Run.”
“I’m not running from a scholar.”
The high elf continued staring.
Ander took another bite of dinner.
Very deliberately.
Mara leaned toward me.
“I give him thirty seconds.”
“Twenty.”
“I can hear you,” Ander muttered.
The front door opened.
Wind and rain swept inside.
Several people complained.
The innkeeper shouted something about closing the gods-damned door.
A merchant stumbled in with two assistants carrying a heavy wooden chest between them.
Nothing about them immediately seemed unusual.
Which was unfortunate.
Because I might have paid more attention otherwise.
The chest hit the floor.
Something inside it screamed.
Every conversation in the Eagle’s Eye stopped.
The merchant looked down.
One of his assistants said, very quietly, “That’s new.”
The chest exploded.
“Oh my gods!”
Wood burst outward.
I was moving before I realized I had stood.
A wave of dark magic ripped through the room.
It didn’t look like any spell I knew.
That bothered me.
Magic usually had a shape to it.
A rhythm.
Even wild magic followed rules, although sometimes those rules seemed to have been written by a drunk person with a personal grudge.
This was different.
Black lines raced across the floorboards like cracks spreading through ice.
The carved eagle above the fireplace opened its eyes.
Its actual eyes.
“Well,” I said.
The eagle screamed.
“ANDER!”
“I SEE IT!”
The wooden carving tore itself from the wall.
People scattered.
One wing struck a hanging lantern.
The lantern flew across the room.
Fire caught on a curtain.
At the same time, the black cracks reached three tables.
The shadows beneath them rose.
Not metaphorically.
Actual shadows peeled themselves off the floor and formed into vaguely human shapes.
The room became chaos.
Everyone shouted.
Somebody overturned a table.
A child screamed.
The innkeeper yelled something that I suspected involved Carta, several pieces of furniture, and a very specific opinion about travelers.
The armored woman moved first.
She was across the room before I had my bow fully in my hand.
One of the shadow-things lunged toward a family trapped beside the wall.
She stepped between them.
No hesitation.
No calculation.
Just movement.
Her shield caught the creature hard enough to send it staggering backward.
“Back!” she ordered the family. “Kitchen. Now.”
Military.
Definitely military.
The high elf stood.
She said one word.
The air cracked.
A burst of sound hit another shadow creature and threw it away from a group of merchants.
Every glass on a nearby table shattered.
The high elf stared at the broken glasses.
“I may have misjudged the resonance.”
“YOU THINK?” somebody shouted.
The Tabaxi vanished.
I blinked.
One second she was beside the wall.
The next she was simply gone.
“Where did—”
A shadow creature suddenly jerked backward.
The Tabaxi reappeared behind it.
“Found a structural weakness,” she announced.
“You found a what?”
She struck it again.
The creature collapsed.
“Excellent,” she said.
She looked delighted.
Of course she did.
A beam above us cracked.
“Ander!”
He had already seen it.
He threw himself forward as part of the ceiling came down.
The timber should have crushed the table beneath it.
Instead Ander caught enough of its weight against his shoulder and shield to slow it.
“MOVE!”
People scrambled out.
I grabbed a man by the back of his coat and pulled him clear.
Mara shoved two chairs out of the path with a burst of magic.
Ander let the beam fall.
It slammed into the floor.
Dust filled the air.
“You good?” I asked.
“Fantastic.”
“That sounded sarcastic.”
“It was.”
“Good.”
The wooden eagle dove.
I raised my bow.
There are moments when being the goddess of Archery is extremely useful.
This was one of them.
I drew.
Released.
The arrow struck the eagle through one glowing eye.
It spun sideways.
Unfortunately, that did not stop it.
“Oh, come on.”
It came at me again.
I reached for another arrow.
A voice rang across the room.
Not singing.
Not quite.
The sound was sharp enough that I felt it in my teeth.
The eagle jerked in midair.
The Eladrin elf stood beside the fireplace, one hand raised, the other still gripping her lute protectively against her side.
The magical creature slammed into a wall.
She winced.
“I hate using that indoors.”
The eagle recovered.
“So do I!” I shouted.
It lunged.
A column of water hit it.
The Triton stared at her own outstretched hand.
The eagle crashed onto a table.
For one very strange second, everyone paused.
The Triton looked around the tavern.
“You store fire inside your buildings.”
Nobody answered.
She pointed toward the burning curtain.
“Intentionally.”
“Yes?” I said.
She looked deeply concerned about surface civilization.
The fire spread upward.
“Marta!” Mara shouted.
“Right!”
The wooden eagle shook itself and tried to rise.
I fired again.
This arrow hit one wing.
The thing lurched sideways into a support post.
The armored woman used the opportunity to shove three frightened travelers toward the kitchen.
The high elf shouted another word.
The sound hit a shadow creature attempting to crawl across the wall.
The Eladrin elf drew a blade.
I didn’t see where it came from.
One moment she had a free hand.
The next she had a sword.
Interesting.
Concerning.
Definitely a later problem.
The Tabaxi slid beneath a table and reappeared on the other side of the creature.
They had never met.
They had apparently decided teamwork was optional.
Somehow it worked anyway.
The shadow dropped from the wall.
The Eladrin elf struck.
It recoiled.
The Tabaxi hit it from behind.
The high elf’s magic slammed into it from the side.
The creature dissolved into smoke.
I stared.
“Did they just accidentally coordinate?”
Mara sent a bolt of magic past my shoulder.
“Yes.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“For us?”
“We’ve known each other for years.”
A shadow lunged at her.
Mara ducked.
I shot it.
Ander slammed his shield into another.
“Maybe focus!” he shouted.
“That’s probably wise!”
The wooden eagle launched itself at the innkeeper.
I pivoted.
Draw.
Release.
The arrow punched through its chest.
The eagle dropped.
It hit the floor in three pieces.
The head rolled beneath a table.
Its remaining golden eye went dark.
I lowered my bow.
“I hated that thing before it tried to kill us.”
“That feels vindicating,” Mara said.
“It does.”
Another crack split across the floor.
Darkness rushed upward.
“Less celebrating!” Ander yelled.
“I had two seconds!”
The new shadow was larger.
Much larger.
It unfolded itself until its head nearly touched the ceiling.
The innkeeper made a noise of despair.
I sympathized.
The armored woman moved to intercept.
The thing hit her shield.
She slid backward several feet but stayed standing.
The muscles in her arms tightened.
The shadow pushed.
She pushed back.
And for one deeply unreasonable moment, neither moved.
Then the armored woman gritted her teeth and drove it backward.
I stared.
“Okay.”
Mara stared too.
“Yeah.”
“We should probably meet her.”
“If we survive.”
“That would help.”
The giant shadow swung.
The armored woman ducked.
The blow shattered a table.
The innkeeper made another wounded sound.
Mara lifted both hands.
I knew that expression.
Unfortunately.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“We are inside.”
“I know!”
“Mara—”
Magic gathered between her palms.
“Mara.”
“Trust me.”
“I do. That is the problem.”
She smiled.
“Oh, this is going to be bad,” Ander said.
The blast erupted from her hands.
The shadow creature disappeared.
So did three chairs.
A table flipped over.
Several tankards launched themselves through the air.
Everyone nearby ducked.
The innkeeper stood completely still.
Mara lowered her hands.
There was silence for half a second.
Then—
“MY CHAIRS!”
Mara grimaced.
“Hemarya’s burnt eyebrows.”
I stared at her.
“That’s what you’re going with?”
“I panicked.”
“You destroyed furniture.”
“I destroyed the monster too.”
“You destroyed more furniture than monster.”
“That sounds like a matter of perspective.”
Ander pointed toward the center of the room.
“Can we have this argument after the evil object stops doing evil-object things?”
He was right.
Which was irritating.
The remains of the original chest sat at the center of the room.
Inside was a piece of black metal.
Not a weapon.
Not exactly.
It was about the length of my hand and shaped like part of something larger, its surface carved with symbols that glowed faintly beneath the soot.
Every shadow in the room seemed to stretch toward it.
The Tabaxi saw it.
So did the high elf.
“Oh,” both of them said.
Then they looked at each other.
The Tabaxi pointed.
“Do you recognize that script?”
The high elf looked offended.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
“Wonderful.”
“It is.”
They both moved toward the object.
I stepped in front of them.
“No.”
The Tabaxi stopped.
The high elf stopped.
Both looked at me.
I pointed at the evil-looking magical object currently responsible for animated furniture.
“You are not touching that.”
“I wasn’t going to touch it,” the Tabaxi said.
The high elf nodded.
“Neither was I.”
The Tabaxi was already wearing gloves.
The high elf had produced a cloth.
I looked between them.
“Scholars are terrifying.”
Ander, still helping civilians toward the back of the room, said, “I told you.”
“You insulted scholars five minutes ago.”
“And I have learned.”
The black metal pulsed.
The tavern shook.
“Oh, good,” Mara said.
“What?”
“It’s doing something.”
“Could you maybe sound less interested?”
“No.”
The final shadow creature climbed across the wall.
Because apparently floors were no longer sufficient.
The Eladrin elf stepped forward and raised her sword.
The creature twisted toward her.
The high elf spoke another resonant word.
The thing dropped from the wall.
The Triton raised both hands.
Water curled through the air from overturned cups, spilled pitchers, and the rain blowing through the open doorway.
For one second it hung there.
Then froze.
Ice wrapped around the creature.
It stopped moving.
I fired.
The arrow struck the dark shape inside the ice.
The creature shattered into smoke.
The room went still.
Almost.
The curtain was still on fire.
The Triton looked at it.
Water crashed over the flames.
The fire went out.
So did the fireplace.
The Triton looked satisfied.
The innkeeper looked devastated.
“I had that going all evening.”
“You were also losing the wall,” the Triton said.
The innkeeper stared.
“I suppose that is true.”
There was a moment where nobody seemed quite sure what to do.
The people who had hidden beneath tables slowly emerged.
Someone began checking the injured.
A merchant cautiously looked out from behind the bar.
One of the original men who had carried in the chest was sitting against the wall repeating, “I did not pack that.”
The armored woman lowered her shield.
“Is anyone seriously hurt?”
The innkeeper looked around.
“No. I don’t think so.”
The woman relaxed by approximately half an inch.
Good.
I liked her already.
Then the Tabaxi crouched beside the black object.
“Do not touch it,” I said.
“I’m not.”
“You are crouching suspiciously.”
“That is not illegal.”
“I feel like it should be.”
She glanced up at me.
“I’m Jade Distant Rain.”
“Marta Calabra.”
“Now we’re not strangers.”
“That does not make me more comfortable with you touching the evil object.”
“I’m still not touching it.”
“You put gloves on.”
“These are research gloves.”
The high elf made a sound that might have been a laugh.
Jade looked at her.
“You disagree?”
“I was admiring the terminology.”
The high elf carefully knelt on the other side of the object.
“Lady Annastriana Selevrun.”
Jade stared at her.
“Lady?”
“Yes.”
“As in House Selevrun?”
“Yes.”
Jade’s ears perked.
Annastriana visibly realized she had made a mistake.
“Oh no.”
“I have questions.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Lots of questions.”
“I gathered.”
The Eladrin elf approached, still carrying the lute.
“Chaedi Tiltathana.”
She gestured toward the wrecked tavern.
“I would normally say it is a pleasure to meet everyone, but I feel the circumstances have undermined the sentiment.”
“Mara Stormwind,” Mara said.
Ander nodded.
“Ander Brightwood.”
The armored woman joined us.
“Amara Cheyenne.”
The Triton walked over last, notebook somehow already back in hand.
“Shalryn Ahlorsath.”
She looked around.
Then wrote something.
I leaned sideways.
“What did you write?”
Shalryn covered the page.
“It is scholarly work.”
“You wrote something about us.”
“That remains unproven.”
“You wrote something about the fire.”
Shalryn looked away.
“Possibly.”
Before I could interrogate her further, Jade leaned closer to the black metal.
Her expression changed.
The humor disappeared.
“That symbol.”
Annastriana was already staring at the same mark.
“I know.”
The symbol was almost invisible.
A circle broken by three uneven lines.
Something about it made my skin crawl.
Jade opened her notebook and flipped rapidly through several pages.
“I’ve seen a version of this.”
“Where?” Annastriana asked.
“A ruin.”
“What ruin?”
“One that several extremely respected scholars told me was historically irrelevant.”
Annastriana’s expression sharpened.
“That usually means it was extremely historically relevant.”
“Exactly.”
Oh, good.
They had found each other.
Sarehn was doomed.
Chaedi had gone very still.
Her fingers tightened around the neck of her lute.
I noticed because she had been making jokes until that exact moment.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“Nothing.”
“That was a very dramatic nothing.”
“I am a former entertainer. All my nothings are dramatic.”
“Chaedi.”
Her smile faded.
“For the past several days, I have been following a warning.”
Amara’s head snapped toward her.
“What kind of warning?”
Chaedi hesitated.
“The kind that comes from something I do not particularly enjoy discussing with strangers.”
“Fair.”
“But it involved something old.”
Jade looked up.
“How old?”
Chaedi glanced at the black object.
“Forgotten.”
Nobody said anything for a moment.
Then Amara spoke.
“My guide warned me too.”
That got everyone’s attention.
She looked uncomfortable with that.
“He told me there was trouble among the gods. Then I lost contact with him.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
Shalryn closed her notebook.
“I am tracking a disturbance as well.”
Mara looked around.
“You too?”
Shalryn nodded.
“Water has been behaving incorrectly.”
I waited.
“That sounds concerning.”
“It is extremely concerning.”
“Water can behave incorrectly?”
“Frequently. Just usually not in ways that suggest two planes of existence are attempting to occupy the same space.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“That seems bad.”
“I have several pages explaining why.”
“Of course you do.”
Annastriana was staring at the symbol.
“I found references to something that should not exist.”
Jade’s ears twitched.
“So did I.”
They looked at each other again.
This time nobody joked.
And that was the moment I began to feel it.
Something was wrong.
Not tavern wrong.
Not cursed-artifact wrong.
Something larger.
Something I should have noticed earlier.
A pressure behind my ribs.
A silence.
I had lived with divinity long enough to recognize the difference between absence and quiet.
The gods were never truly quiet.
Even when I ignored them.
Especially when I ignored them.
Divine power leaves an impression on the world.
Like music from another room.
You may not hear the melody clearly, but you know it is there.
I reached for that familiar sense.
And found—
Nothing.
My breath caught.
“Marta?”
Mara knew me too well.
I didn’t answer.
I reached farther.
Past the tavern.
Past the roads.
Past the ordinary magic humming through Farehn.
Toward something I had spent years pretending I did not automatically search for.
My mother.
Sarpha.
Creation.
The woman who could walk into a room and somehow make the entire room feel as though it had been constructed specifically for her entrance.
The goddess who had never once in her existence learned how to offer advice without making it sound like a royal decree.
The person I could love and want to strangle within the same conversation.
There should have been something.
A spark.
A pressure.
A sense of her existence.
There was nothing.
My stomach dropped.
Then the world stopped.
Not literally.
I think.
The tavern went silent.
Everyone froze.
Mara was halfway through turning toward me.
Ander’s hand hovered inches from my shoulder.
A drop of water hung in the air beside Shalryn.
Even the firelight stopped flickering.
A voice spoke behind me.
“Marta Calabra.”
I turned.
Nobody was there.
“Orathen?”
The God of Prophecy did not appear.
Of course he didn’t.
That would have been convenient.
His voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
“There is little time.”
“I hate when you start conversations like that.”
“The silence you feel is real.”
My humor vanished.
“Where is she?”
“Sarpha is gone.”
The words struck harder than any weapon.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“She has been taken beyond the roads of Sarehn.”
Taken.
Not left.
Not hidden.
Taken.
My hands went cold.
“By whom?”
“I cannot tell you yet.”
“Cannot or will not?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I hate prophecy gods.”
“I am aware.”
“Where is my mother?”
“The first answer lies with the wizard in the woods.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Mara Helder.”
“Go to her.”
“Orathen—”
“Do not mistake silence for death.”
My heart stopped trying to escape my chest quite so violently.
She was alive.
“Then tell me where she is.”
“I cannot see the whole road.”
“That is literally your job.”
“Prophecy is not omniscience.”
“You should put that on a sign.”
“Marta.”
His voice changed.
Only slightly.
It was enough.
I stopped.
“What?”
“What happened here is the beginning.”
I looked toward the black object.
The strange symbol.
The scholars.
The warnings.
The impossible water.
“What does that mean?”
But the tavern slammed back into motion.
The drop of water fell.
The fire shifted.
Someone coughed.
Ander’s hand landed on my shoulder.
“Marta?”
I sucked in a breath.
Mara was staring at me.
She knew.
Not what had happened.
But enough.
“What did you hear?” she asked quietly.
I looked at Ander.
Then Mara.
I didn’t want to say it.
Saying things makes them real.
I have always hated that about language.
“My mother is missing.”
Ander’s face changed immediately.
“Elara?”
I shook my head.
Mara went pale.
“Oh.”
Ander understood a second later.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Mara reached for my hand.
“Are you sure?”
“Orathen told me.”
“That is not what I asked.”
I swallowed.
I reached again.
For that presence.
For the divine pressure that had irritated me my entire life.
Nothing.
“Yes.”
The word came out smaller than I wanted.
“I’m sure.”
A voice behind me said, “Did you say Orathen?”
I slowly turned.
Jade, Annastriana, Chaedi, Shalryn, and Amara were all staring at us.
Wonderful.
I had known these people for approximately fifteen minutes.
One of them had attempted to steal a wall.
One had destroyed several glasses with her voice.
One had questioned the basic concept of indoor fire.
And apparently we were now sharing my family crisis.
“No,” I said.
Jade tilted her head.
“You definitely did.”
“I was hoping confidence would help.”
“It did not.”
Annastriana looked between me and the black fragment.
“The God of Prophecy spoke to you.”
“Yes.”
“Personally.”
“Unfortunately.”
Her golden eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“That is a complicated question.”
“I enjoy complicated questions.”
“I had noticed.”
Amara stepped forward.
“What did he say?”
I hesitated.
These people were strangers.
Competent strangers.
Extremely weird strangers.
But strangers.
Then I looked around the room.
At the ruined tavern.
At the black metal.
At five people who had each arrived here following some completely unrelated warning that suddenly did not look unrelated at all.
I exhaled.
“He told me to find Mara Helder.”
Mara Stormwind grimaced.
“Oh, good.”
Jade looked at her.
“You know Mara Helder?”
“There are two Maras,” Ander said.
Jade blinked.
“Why?”
“I have been asking that for years,” I said.
Mara elbowed me.
Annastriana rose.
“If this attack is connected to the divine anomalies I have been researching, I need to see what Mara Helder knows.”
Jade stood too.
“So do I.”
Chaedi looked annoyed.
Not at us.
At something I couldn’t see.
Then she muttered, “I know.”
I frowned.
“Who are you talking to?”
“No one.”
“That was not convincing.”
“It was not intended to be.”
She sighed.
“I’m coming.”
Shalryn lifted her notebook.
“If this concerns planar instability involving water, I am also coming.”
Amara nodded once.
“My warning concerned the gods. Until Valandrus answers me again, this is the strongest lead I have.”
I stared at all five of them.
“No.”
Everyone stared back.
Mara turned toward me.
“No?”
“I met these people fifteen minutes ago.”
Jade raised a hand.
“Technically, you introduced yourself to me approximately eight minutes ago.”
“That is worse.”
“I thought accuracy mattered.”
“To you, apparently.”
“It does.”
“I can tell.”
Ander folded his arms.
“They did just help us save everyone in this tavern.”
“That doesn’t mean we should immediately form an adventuring party.”
Chaedi smiled.
“That is an extremely specific thing to deny.”
“We are not forming an adventuring party.”
Shalryn began writing.
“Do not write that down.”
“I am documenting a hypothesis.”
“No.”
Annastriana glanced at the black artifact.
“We are all investigating something that appears to overlap.”
“Yes.”
“And a god has directed you toward a powerful scholar.”
“Yes.”
“And each of us possesses information or abilities potentially relevant to whatever is happening.”
“Yes.”
“And therefore—”
“No.”
Mara put a hand on my shoulder.
“Marta.”
I looked at her.
She gave me the expression.
The one that meant I was being unreasonable and she was going to let me discover that on my own.
I hated the expression.
Ander was wearing a similar one.
Traitors.
I looked at the strangers again.
Jade had already begun sketching the artifact.
Annastriana was reading over her shoulder.
Shalryn was documenting something about the room.
Chaedi stood with the lute tucked carefully against her side, pretending she wasn’t listening to something only she could hear.
Amara was checking on injured civilians again because apparently standing still for more than ten seconds was against her personal philosophy.
I rubbed my face.
“For the love of the gods.”
Mara smiled.
“That sounds like a yes.”
“It sounds like suffering.”
“Same thing.”
I looked toward the broken remains of the Eagle’s Eye.
That morning, my greatest concern had been whether Mara would make us walk three extra miles because she had heard about better magical supplies.
By dinner, I had met five strangers, fought enchanted furniture, discovered several unrelated magical mysteries were probably not unrelated, and learned that someone had kidnapped my mother.
My divine mother.
The ruler of the gods.
Creation herself.
Which raised several questions.
The first was how.
The second was why.
The third was who in all of Sarehn was insane enough to try.
And the fourth—
probably most importantly—
was how I was going to get her back.
I picked up my bow.
“Fine.”
Jade looked up.
“Fine?”
“We leave for Mara Helder in the morning.”
Annastriana nodded.
Amara did too.
Shalryn wrote something.
Chaedi smiled.
Mara leaned toward Ander.
“I give it three days before she starts calling them her friends.”
“I can hear you.”
“Two days,” Ander said.
“You are both terrible.”
“Love you too,” Mara said.
I looked at the black artifact lying in the middle of the ruined floor.
The symbol on its surface had stopped glowing.
For some reason, that bothered me more than when it had been alive with magic.
Something had started.
Orathen had said so.
I didn’t know who had taken Sarpha.
I didn’t know where she was.
I didn’t know why five complete strangers had all been led toward the same tavern at exactly the wrong moment.
But I knew one thing.
Someone had taken my mother.
My complicated, controlling, infuriating mother.
And whoever had done it was about to become my problem.
I sighed.
“Oh my gods.”
So much for an easy trip.