Devoth leaned back, looking down at the field. “We have asked you many questions already,” he said. “You have answered well. Because of you, we trust the tale Calrach tells, we believe in the boy Allek. Because of you, we will embark on this journey. I thank you for that, but now is when your work begins. You will help us shape our plans. You will answer many more questions about your nation. Tell us the geography. Draw us maps. Tell us customs, name the powers, name the people we will meet. You will prepare us so that nothing—nothing—will surprise us. You will find the things that we have overlooked and you will tell us that as well.” He paused, tented his fingers before him, and turned to Rialus. “Am I right in saying that you will do these things?”

Rialus recognized that, no matter how plainly it was put to him—the ramifications of his answer were enormous knots upon knots upon knots, all of which should be untied before any answer was arrived at. He knew all that was true, but he also knew he could never untie all those knots. Better just to answer.

So he did.

C HAPTER
T HIRTY-SIX

Mór had not seen this vessel messenger before. That made her nervous, no matter how often she told herself it did not matter. It was not him she would be speaking to about the important matters. He was but the vessel, and of course vessels were interchangeable. Only the contents within mattered. But still, she had first to look into a stranger’s eyes and search for a loved one. This was not something she had ever grown accustomed to.

They sat across from each other on a hillock in the barren stretch between two walls. Once, the area had been a park, but that was long ago. Now it was abandoned and overgrown with briars, home to rats and other scurrying things. They were alone save for the few guards who stood at a distance, on the lookout for the unlikely patrol of the divine children. They had planned the meeting to avoid this.

“Hello, Mór Avenger,” the man said. “It honors me to meet you, as it honors me to carry an elder within and his message from the Free People.” He bowed his head as he spoke, showing her the short bristle of a few weeks’ hair growth across his crown, the skin visible beneath it and dotted with the heart-shaped imprints of the sky bear. Unusual, for the Fru Nithexek was not a numerous clan.

Mór answered him formally. “The honor is mine. May this vessel never crack.”

The man looked up. His wide-spaced eyes were large, brown, and intense. He smiled. “I have not cracked yet, Mór Avenger. I won’t today. You can rest assured of that. Before I begin, tell me, is it true? Do we hold a prince of the Akarans?”

Mór nodded.

“Could he be the Rhuin Fá?”