He waited until he could hear himself breathing in the stillness, then summoned the magic. He began with a low humming, a sound that mirrored a wind’s whisper as it passed through the branches of the trees, soft and silky. He brought it out of its resting place and let it fill him with warmth. The cold of the room lessened and then disappeared. His concentration was so complete that the people around him disappeared as well. He was alone, lost in himself and in his magic.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw only the basin in front of him. He reached out with his hands and let them hover just above the deep green waters, so close he could almost feel the strange ripples that disturbed the otherwise placid surface. He moved his hands slowly, taking his time, not rushing the flow of the magic from his body. He watched the waters respond as he let the first tendrils stroke their surface. He felt them shudder at the intrusion.

He worked more swiftly then, enveloping the scrye waters in a broad swath intended to detect any obvious sign of Grianne or Pen. The former’s presence would reveal itself immediately, so strong was the connection between them. Shadea had been right about that; their shared use of magic was a powerful link. But nothing showed itself; no sign of his sister surfaced. He kept searching, sending the wishsong’s magic deep into the scrye waters, into the gridwork of the lines of power that crisscrossed the Four Lands, sifting and probing. He moved his hands in a slow, circular motion that took him in all directions, toward all of the possible places she might have gone.

Still nothing.

He was beginning to think that his efforts were a waste of time, a result he did not like to contemplate, when abruptly he touched on something. The surface of the scrye waters rippled in response, and he moved his focus away immediately so Shadea would not see. He continued his search in other areas, taking his time, trying to give an appearance of thoroughness. He must seem to be working hard at making the magic connect; he must not appear duplicitous. But it was harder now, because his instincts were to return to the place on the gridwork where he had found what he was looking for.

Time slipped away. Nothing further revealed itself. He let his hands sweep back to the point of connection, a testing of his previous discovery. Once again, the scrye waters rippled, and he felt the presence of wishsong magic. Moving his hands away, he marked the place in his mind, knowing now where to go and what to look for.

Then, preoccupied with his discovery and ready to break this off, he let his hands settle over the place on the gridwork that marked Paranor’s solitary spires.