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In Damon, he sees himself, a man who carries the world, and who has in that world, a lover who can make that load feel light. Lyr is dancing with Damon, moving around him elegantly, dressed in the alit of a kushir. Through the thin fabric, the marks on his skin glitter with the forest magic they have absorbed. Harok has never seen a man who looks like Lyr. He is from Klish, Suskara has told him, a distant heritage that gives him high cheekbones and an elegant bearing.

Kerik, who can do magic, is holding his devoted fae consort close. Lukas and Elric, still seem to have their blood high with lust, mouths locked together, hands on each other, as if both desperate to consume as much of the other’s bodies as possible.

Only Jemel, the youngest brother, is not dancing. He sits alone, watching, a solemn expression on his pale, beautiful face. His eyes glitter silver.

As the night goes on Harok pulls his kushir onto his lap, growing soft on mead. He is delighted to be here again. He had not realised how strange he had felt, away from this place. Life in Azuria, he thinks, is odd and savage.

Harok can still hear the Shard whispering faintly to him. He heard it grow louder in the temple. It knew Atticul. Knew Diazuul inside. And it knows Atticul is coming, drawing ever nearer, making the whispering inside him pound in his head like a war drum.

39

PERL

Perl sits at the feast in the Sacred Hall of Urynwud.

Again the centre of the event is the consumption of mortal food. He ignores it, glistening in the candlelight as Kerik sits beside him, eating greedily. Perl might not care for food himself but there is something quite intoxicating about the way Kerik eats. His endless appetites never seem satiated. .

Perl uses the time to reread the papers Elric wrote of Jemel’s translations.

Jemel, seated beside him, is as quiet as ever and has been since they left Attar. He was similar as a boy, Perl remembers, solemn and serious. Born to be the Scholar. The only time Perl ever heard him talk animatedly was when he was discussing his studies with Pershel the Moon Truth.

“Jemel,” Perl says, noticing Jemel has eaten almost as little as he, “Could you help me with this part? The words of the incantation.”

Jemel leans over looking at the papers, answering Perl’s queries in his soft voice. Although the truth is, Perl does not need any clarification. He has committed the ritual to heart on the journey. But he cares for this prince, and he looks so sweet and proud when he answers Perl’s questions.

Perl created Jemel. He created all of them for this. Now they are all men grown and he is preparing for battle with them. And for Jemel he positioned things exactly. The youngest Prince. The most complicated to ensure the siring of.

He knows his heart is heavy with the knowledge of how he came to be. And Perl wishes he could help. Perhaps he will be able to explain more when this is done. If it is ever done.

All they need to end this is Atticul.

They will need to capture him and he has plans with Kerik of how that will be done — a spell that will hold him. All he needs to do is find a way to get Kerik close enough to Atticul to cast it. For that they must succeed in the battle.

The night grows late. Damon comes over to sit with Perl and Jemel. The rest follow one by one from different activities and merriments all around the Sacred Hall of Urynwud. Damon had arranged this, Perl thinks. A last minute battle council.

Damon’s first question is to Perl, “What magic do we have?”

But it is Kerik, who replies, “All the magic you want.”

Damon looks surprised, but Perl knows he does not really understand the ways of magic. The limitations of magic in Attar, even in Ceruleum, do not apply here. This place has magic. Perl can feel it. But there are also complications Kerik does not yet appreciate. “We will be able to aid you in the battle with strong magic,” Perl says, “But it seeps into mortals and fae slowly. The longer Kerik and I are here, the greater our reserves of power will become.”

“You have one night,” Damon says bluntly.

“We will be able to do something. More than in the temple, but not much more.”

“You have a vessel,” says a clear, cool voice, speaking Ambolk. Perl looks to see who is addressing him and finds Yaelin, Harok’s mother. “I believe,” she continues, “it would be possible to extract a great deal of power from the forest and store it within Lyr.”

Perl nods. He knows little of the magic of the Verilissia, but he knows it is ancient and powerful. Possibly the strongest magic possessed by any mortals, wrought of years of life in the wild power of this forest.

Tobi translates her words for the rest of the group. And Damon says, “Ask her if it will hurt him.”

Tobi does so and Yaelin shakes her head. “It will involve a ritual. Not painful for the most part, but he will need to be chained to the sacrifice stone and I will place a small glyph on his chest with a blade.” Yaelin says it quite plainly. And she cannot know, of course, what Jareleezi did to Lyr.

When Tobi translates this, Damon says, without pause, “No.”

But Lyr, right beside him, touches his arm, “One night,” he says.

Perl looks at Yaelin. “You can fill the vessel?” he says in Ambolk.