She found it between Liand and one of the spun shafts. While the Stonedownor studied the glitter of the chandelier in calm and enraptured delirium, the Harrow struck one heel of the Staff repeatedly on the rug where he stood. From that soft impact arose a silvery tintinnabulation like the urging of distant chimes.

Without Anele’s hand clutched in hers, Linden might have lost sight of the Insequent again; or forgotten him. But the effect of the old man’s skin against hers, the almost impalpable emanations of his inherited strength, elucidated her perceptions. Earthpower explained the Harrow. He was striving to invoke the fire of the Staff so that he could break free of the palace’s ensorcelment.

Linden watched him with nothing more than the surface of her mind; felt only a detached curiosity. After a few moments, she might have lost interest and looked away, in spite of Anele’s indirect adjuration. But as she considered the Harrow, he appeared to burst into flame. He and the Staff and his determination to claim Jeremiah became a pillar of conflagration as he began to move, striding toward an ornate stairway beyond the fountain.

Bewildered by magicks, he had forgotten his oath to take Linden with him; or perhaps his need to escape the seductions of water compelled him to neglect her.

As he left her behind, something buried within Linden stirred. Still clinging to Anele’s hand, she also began to move.

Earthpower. That was it. She needed Earthpower: more than she could glean from the old man. His legacy was too deeply hidden within him, defended by layers of madness. She required a more direct source—

She needed her health-sense.

Walking as Anele had spoken, as if each step demanded an arduous and precise effort, she stepped toward Liand, drawing the old man with her.

None of her companions gave any sign that they could see her; that they knew who she was. No one else could help her.

In the same way that Anele had confronted her, she intruded on the Stonedownor’s gaze.

He was her first real friend since she had lost her son. He had enabled her flight from Mithil Stonedown and the Masters with Anele when she had no other aid or guide. He trusted her in spite of all that she had done: he believed in her. Surely he would recognize her now? Surely he would hear her and respond?

He greeted her with a brief frown. Then he stared past or through her as though she had grown too spectral to disturb him.

“Liand.” Only her grip on Anele’s hand enabled her to speak. “Listen.” The Harrow was ascending the stairs. He rose as if he were borne by flame. “I need orcrest.”

The young man did not react. The palace held him in thrall. His slight awareness of her presence had faded.