Dearest Nolyn and Sephryn,

I’m sorry, my friends, for waiting so long, but you will both outlive me by centuries, so I hope, despite the odds, that perhaps time itself will allow these words to reach you. I’m sorry I disappeared, sorry I never sent word. Back then, after Suri’s death, it was dangerous to go near Percepliquis. Now as a result, I have so much to tell you, but I know I won’t have the chance. I fear my life on Elan is quickly coming to a close, but I must tell you this . . .

I have been to Avempartha. I have stood on the balcony from which Brin fell, and I believe I’ve solved the mystery of the murderer on the balcony. I know who killed Brin. What’s more . . . I have met him.

I am writing this to you from a chamber within Borappathin, a ruined fortress on the west coast of the Green Sea that is older than Alon Rhist, older than Drumindor, or anything in the elven realms. I am told it was built for the First War—the only such structure on this side of the sea—and it is part of the long-lost ancient world our people once fled from in terror. I’ve been told this stronghold was commanded by a riva, which—if I understand correctly—were the generals of Uberlin’s army who became the first raow. The very stone of this place is stained black, saturated in evil. It is a toenail of the ancient world caught on the tip of the new—an infection point where evil seeps into a virgin world. And it is here that I now believe I will die. Falkirk remains optimistic, but Dibben no longer trusts him, and now, even I have begun to wonder if something evil has taken hold of my old friend.

So while I would love to tell you of all my travels and accomplishments since I fled Percepliquis, I know I don’t have the time. Dibben has enacted defenses on this chamber, but even his power is not likely to protect us. Certainly not here. I doubt Suri herself could. So forgive me for skipping decades of my life and getting to the point at hand.

Aunt Seph noted that Brin wrote feverishly in the week between her return from Phyre and her death, yet none of the pages that my mother found in the wagon was new. The Book of Brin ended with the victory at Grandford. I’ve always wondered what became of the rest. Sephryn, do you remember how your father said the Fhrey who pushed Brin over the rail was holding a pack? And that neither Tekchin nor Rain found it when they went to the balcony to look? The question has always been whether the killer sent it over the rail with Brin or kept it. Persephone said Brin went to the balcony that day to record the events of the challenge as they happened. I always believed that the missing writing of Brin was in that pack and contained the rest of the story—the important parts—the history of the war’s end and her trip through Phyre; what she, alone, found in Alysin and the Sacred Garden, and why she was killed.

I now know that the pack survived the encounter, and that inside it was The Second Book of Brin.

I am kicking myself for not writing down the stories we were told as kids. I asked my mother to, but she always refused, saying she wasn’t a writer. I think she felt that adding to Brin’s book was a betrayal of her friend’s memory—that, somehow, she would be stealing Brin’s accomplishment. I should have done it, but it wasn’t important to me until after Mom and Dad’s deaths, and, you know how it is. We heard the stories as kids, the highlights, but not the timeline, not what came first and what followed what. Not the in-betweens, and not the things inappropriate for children. I always felt that if I could find The Second Book of Brin, it would solve everything. But now, I am out of time, and it’s too late to write what I know.

If any of us get out of here, and by the will of Mari or Elan, or the hand of Malcolm, this letter manages to reach either of you, I pray you will take up this burden to find the lost Book of Brin, or at the very least write down what you remember of the stories. But if you do hunt the missing book, be careful, for it is guarded. This is what I didn’t understand, didn’t expect, but should have. The one who killed Brin still walks the face of Elan. I won’t say ‘still lives,’ as I don’t believe he is alive—not in the sense we understand. Also, be warned that Mawyndulë—the Fhrey Miralyith that Nyphron spared in the Great Challenge—is with him, and I am certain he plots revenge against the emperor and plans to obtain the Horn of Gylindora.”