Dareen shook her head. “Not here. While there are lava vents pretty much anywhere if you know where to look, this is being planned to come up from under Rohm. I think Vegre’s goal is to both destroy the prison and sacrifice a group of humans in a volcano. He wants something showy and totally unexpected to both Agathia and the overworld to show his power.”
“Were you able to discover a location or time, Mum?” Jason’s voice had changed into
cop
mode—flat, emotionless, and intelligent.
She released a slow breath. “The eve of the new year, I’m sorry to say. So we’ve little time to gain the ear of the kings. As for the location—” She shrugged helplessly. “The only thing I heard mentioned was
the palace.
But America doesn’t have palaces to my knowledge so perhaps it’s Buckingham or another place. I’m afraid I’m not much help.”
Mila’s breath had stilled as Dareen spoke. Finally, the last piece slipped into place. “The Palace Hotel,” she said quietly. “
That’s
what the name change was for.” She pulled the paper out of her pocket to show Dareen, who looked at it with wide eyes before handing it back. “David Pierce owns the Palace Hotel in downtown Denver.”
“And Sela told you the kings
let
Vegre out. What if they’ve done it more than once? What if he controls, or is in collusion with one or more of the kings, who are
encouraging
this attempt to invade the overworld?”
“’Twould explain why the O.P.A.’s out for your hide.” Jason was nodding while holding his mother’s hand tightly, either giving support, or getting it. “If you spotted a government official getting Vegre out … but why come through the wall? They could just let him out by the front.”
Mila shrugged. “Plausible deniability? Neither of them could really afford to be seen by their followers as courting the other. And invading the overworld would solve a bunch of problems down here. But I still can’t figure out how we can stop him. If he’s got a king in his pocket, and a group of delusional followers … what chance do we have?”
“If we can just unravel
one
part of the plan, he’ll be finished. It’s too intricate to hold up unless it all happens in order. If we can stop the volcano, and find some way to make it seem as if the Sacred Trees are responsible, he’ll lose the faith of his followers. Or, if we destroy the eggs he’s hoarding, he won’t have the power to raise the magma. Any one of them will dissolve
all
of them.”
“Just so, Talos.” Dareen was nodding. “And since there are only four of us that we can trust, we’ll have to split our efforts. Jason and I will visit King Mumbai to tell the tale and Mila—you will have to stay here to craft these eggs of yours to repair the Sacred Tree.”
She shook her head and frowned so deep she could feel her eyebrows touch her lashes. “I think that’s a bad idea. If I repair the Tree
now,
then won’t Vegre have
more
power available? How will that help?”
“‘Tis a tall tale we’ll be tellin’ the king, lass. If we’ve a hope of bein’ believed, it’s going to be because the Tree returns to life without Vegre’s aid. The kings are all tied to the Trees. He’ll feel the slightest change in the energy and with the Trees healthy once more, there’ll be four guilds of crafters, with magic a’plenty, to put him down.”
“But what if he’s in on it, too? Won’t that just be a signal to move the plan forward sooner?”
The other three shook their heads, and even Tal scoffed at the idea. “Mumbai’s the most outspoken of all the kings about keeping Agathia separated from the overworld and his mind is so strong I doubt even Vegre could gain access. He’s also immune to blackmail. His people are warriors. If someone were kidnaped in an attempt to gain his cooperation, he’d consider they deserved their fate for not holding off their attackers. He’s never bent … not in a thousand years.”
“His Tree is also the last one with power,” Jason added. “So his people will follow him to the end of the earth, believing it’s his honor and temperate nature that keeps the Tree strong. But I’ve no idea whether he’ll believe the bit about the … what did you call them? … dooshots?”
She shrugged. “Close enough. Frankly I’m not certain myself if I believe. I only have what Viktor’s scrolls said and what I saw at the Tree. I’ve only made one of them … by accident, so whether I can do any good is still up in the air. But—” She looked again at her watch and turned her arm for them to see that it was nearly seven o’clock. “If I have any hope of getting this done, I’ve got to get back to the house and get started.”
Jason’s eyes went wide and he grabbed her wrist, turning his own arm over to compare. “Is that the time? Bleedin’ hell.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Well, I’m sorry to say we’re all stuck here, then. The library closed at six tonight, owin’ to the staff holiday party. They decided on an after-Christmas party this year because they couldn’t find a restaurant with a large enough room. It was why I was trying to get back early. You’re welcome to come with us to Shambala, though. I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to stay here overnight.”
“Stuck?” Her voice came out in a squeak. “We can’t be
stuck
. My car’s parked on the street. It’ll get towed, and I’ve got to feed the cat. Don’t you have a key to the library?”
He shook his head. “Only management has a key, and we wouldn’t be able to walk to the front door anyway. The security alarm would go off. We wouldn’t be much good at savin’ the world behind bars.”
Tal pursed his lips and tapped a finger on the table. “There has to be another gate here. The one in Mila’s house went
somewhere
, and I distinctly heard Vegre’s minion Cardon mention Vril.”
“Not one of mine, I’m afraid.” Jason did look apologetic, but he raised his hands helplessly. “I only crafted one gate topside. Not even magic was enough to make me craft more. I do have
some
integrity. The rest of the gates here go to the other provinces.”
“But I don’t have tools or dyes or even eggs here.” She hadn’t felt this frustrated in a long time. “I was supposed to have dinner with my family tonight. If I don’t show up, they’re going to know something’s wrong and call the police.”
Jason shrugged and stood up. “They might
call,
but the police won’t do anything for forty-eight hours. By then, we’ll be back.”
“And didn’t I see you putting out a large bowl of food and water for the cat before we left your house this morning? I’m sure one night won’t harm him.” What Tal said was true, if not terribly supportive.
Dareen hammered the last nail in the coffin when she likewise stood. “If it’s tools and eggs you’re needin’, I have both.” She tipped her head to amend, “That is, depending on how long such things last. I’ve kept them dark and cool as he requested, but—”
“He?” Jason asked the same question Mila was going to. “What
he
, and what tools?”
Dareen swept past them toward the staircase. “Never you mind, boyo. I’ll only say this: the Formorians once made friends with the Parask, and I wasn’t born married to your da.”
She swept down the stairs after a wink at Mila, which made her smile. But it made Jason scramble down the staircase after her, calling out an indignant,
“Mum!”
Minutes later, they were all packed tightly into a small cellar beneath the shop—the entrance to which was likewise hidden from view by magic. Dareen emptied potatoes out of a stone bin carved into the bedrock and then knelt down next to it to reach far back into the wall. It took a little tugging, but finally she extracted a box about the size of a loaf of bread. She held it out to Mila but raised a warning eyebrow Jason’s way. “Now, not a word of this to your da, hear me? He knew about Samuel, but not that I’ve been holdin’ his craftin’ tools all these years.” She let out a small, sad smile that made Mila realize the man hadn’t been just a
friend.
“I kept hopin’ he’d come back one day, just to pick them up … so I’d know he made it through. But ’twas the death time, and he was so dedicated to the ill. When he didn’t return, I—” She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Well, that was a long time ago. I love Patrick with all me heart, and if this can help you save the Trees, then have and be done with it. It will have been worth keepin’.”
It was too dark in the cellar to see much of what was inside the box, so Dareen led her back to the brightly lit kitchen. Tal and Jason followed more slowly and Mila could see they were talking, heads together while whispering and nodding. By the time they finally made it upstairs, Dareen grabbed for the green cloak Mila had worn around her, but made a face at the stains on it.
“I’m sorry—” Mila blushed. It was one thing to borrow something offered by the owner, but—
She waved it off with a small laugh. “Don’t be silly, lass. I’d have beat his bottom red if he
hadn’t
offered it. No guest of mine goes cold … or hungry, for that matter. And I have another.” She re-hung the green cloak and reached up to snag a brilliant crimson cloak from a different peg. “I’ll be expectin’ you both to help yourselves to the pantry and icebox until we return. Eggs are there for the takin’ and they’re fresh. No more than a week old. I remember Sammy insistin’ on fresh eggs. I just hope you can abide the dyes better than me own poor nose. ’Tis just powder in there, so you’ll need vinegar. There’s a bottle in the pantry.” She spun on her heel and headed toward the freezer. “Come along, Jason. We must be off.”
Jason rolled his eyes with a smile and then winked at Mila. “
Mums.
What are ya to do?” Then he sobered and reached out to grasp her arm before leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you. Don’t know what I’d do without her in me life. I appreciate it more than you can know. We should be back before morning. Mum knows Queen Krystella, so we should get an audience easily. The guest rooms are across from the bath.” He glanced at Tal as he fastened the last hook at his neck. “Sorry you both have to stay over.”
She heard Tal mumble something and hoped it wasn’t what she
thought
she heard. But it made Jason laugh, so she feared it was. The sound of his dark chuckle reddened her cheeks as he turned and disappeared through the gate and she was left to hear the words echo in her ears.
“I’m not.”
T
he blush on Mila’s face made it fairly obvious he hadn’t spoken softly enough. It nearly made him smile until she fidgeted nervously and lowered her eyes to the floor. A knot formed in his stomach. Was her reaction an admission of mutual attraction, or fear of a pursuer she felt trapped with? He’d been ready to lay with her, and
publicly,
in a roomful of strangers. He had been the one to kiss her, and had constrained her tightly as she screamed out Dareen’s pain. Even now he wanted to gather her into his arms to carry her down the hallway to the nearest soft bed.
Am I missing something important in my lust to have her?
Yet it didn’t feel like mere lust. He’d known lust many times and while it could make him forget himself for a few moments, he’d always been able to set it aside to give attention back to what was important. It was why he’d never married, nor had any long-standing relationships. He never felt it was fair to shut the woman out the moment something more
important
occurred.
He shook his head while she stood there staring at the floor, sliding one finger over the edge of the old wood box. A tocking noise caught his attention and he realized she’d found a loose sliver and was flicking it with her thumb. Nervous … or trying to pull attention away from herself?
It would be a simple matter to just ask her. But would she lie if she feared him? He’d known far too many Guilders who would say anything—tell him anything they believed he wanted to hear—just to free themselves during an investigation.
Is that what I want from her?
No, it was time for her to make the next move, if there would be one. He could wait to see if she had any desire for him. “So what’s in the box? Is it what you need for your crafting?” She jumped as high as if a snake had bitten her, her eyes rising to his, wide and dilated. Whatever the cause, that reaction wasn’t one he ever wanted to see again.
She stared at the box for a long moment, as though she’d forgotten she was holding it. “Oh! I mean, yeah. I suppose we should look in it.” She put the box down on the table, pried open the latch with her fingernails, and looked inside. “Wow, it really
is
a pysanka kit, and a nice one. Come look.” The note of admiration in her voice, combined with the invitation, made him curious enough to move next to her at the table. She took each item out and looked to him for reaction, but they meant nothing to him so he could only shrug.
“The block is just beeswax, of course. Nothing special about it. But see, the dark dust in these glass jars is powdered farba—dye. All I have to do is add vinegar. It’ll liquify the powder and scar the eggshell enough for the dye to attach.” Next she held up a slender wooden stick with an odd metal funnel on the end. “Now this is a kistka. You gather beeswax in the big end and then heat the metal with a candle flame so it comes out as liquid through the point. They have electric kistkas now, but I prefer these old ones.” She must have noticed his blank look at the items, because her voice took on the tone of an instructor. “See, the whole process of making a pysanka is nothing more than painting wax on the egg, dyeing the egg, and then painting on more wax to hold in successively darker colors. The only trick is making it
pretty
.”
Tal touched the tip of the kistka and felt the wax, dark with soot. It made him wonder how she could see what she was doing. “But by the time you’ve dipped it several times, how can you see what parts you made which color?”
She smiled brilliantly, her eyes filled with the same joy he got when he crafted hearth stones. “That’s the fun part. You
don’t
know until you melt off the wax. I always have an image in my head when I start, but it’s a surprise every time. I never know what I’ll end up with.”
He shook his head and wiped the wax on his slacks. “That would make me insane. I have to see the process as I go or I couldn’t do it. When I carve beads and hearth stones, I have to see the pattern emerging.”
She raised her brows when he mentioned carving, but then shrugged—in a way that told him she wasn’t offended by his opinion. “It’s not for everyone. I’m the only one in the family who enjoys it, other than Baba. And you
have
to enjoy it to put up with the process. I’m looking at a long, painful night of cramped muscles and headaches from sitting in one position for too long. Plus, this isn’t my regular kistka, so I’m probably going to wind up with blisters.” She took his hand and guided his touch to stripes of hardened skin on her fingers. “Feel the calluses here, and here? That’s where the kistka rides. But this one won’t fit those grooves, so it’s gonna be painful in a few hours.”
He ran his finger lightly over the indentation in her skin. “It’s very much like the calluses where the focus stones ride in our battle gloves.” He turned his hand over to show her the whitened skin in the center of his palm. She got a curious look and reached out to play her finger lightly over the callus. A shiver caught him unaware. It quickened his heart and he was suddenly very aware of her—the feeling of her hand, the scent of her perfume. He had to force himself not to catch her eye for fear of getting lost in her gaze again. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell if this was her wanting to be close to him, or just scientific curiosity.
“That’s interesting.” She continued to stroke his palm as she stared at his hand, until he was forced to either pull it away or wrap it around hers.
“What—” He had to cough to clear the sudden dryness of his throat as he lowered his hand back to the table. “What is?”
“This mark. Isn’t it just about the diameter of the opal? Are all the stones you guys use cut to the same size?”
He shook his head. “No, they’re all individual. We usually have to get a new glove when we advance to a stronger stone.’ But she was right. It
did
appear to be the same size. He pulled the opal from his pocket and laid it in the center of his palm. The edges fit perfectly, as though it had made the callus.”It
would
fit the glove I have now. That’s not very common.”
Mila pulled out a chair and sat down, then patted the chair next to her. “You said a
more advanced
stone. But isn’t a stone a stone? Does that mean a diamond is more powerful than, say,
granite
? I just don’t know anything about how your magic works. I’d like to, if it isn’t a secret.”
He didn’t mind, but there was already so little night left. “No, it’s not a secret—at least from other Guilders. But are you sure we have time?”
She looked down at the jars and other items on the table and uttered a small snort. “I don’t think we can risk not
taking
the time. This is for all the marbles, isn’t it? But I’m still so worked up from everything that’s happened today that I know I won’t be able to get into a decent state of mind right now. I normally put on some quiet music, have some fruit or chocolate and a glass of wine before I start, but I don’t think there’s time for all that. And, I think it would help me keep a
purpose
in mind when I’m making the pysanky.”
All of her points were good ones, and it made him think. “What purpose were you thinking of when you made the egg in your house?”
“See, that’s just it,” she replied while tapping on one of the glass jars with a fingernail and flipping that shiny black hair out of her eyes. “I thought about that all the way over to the library. But it’s not like remembering you had a ham sandwich for lunch last Tuesday. Anyone can do that. This is like dredging up what precise
thought
was going through your brain when you bit
into
the sandwich. I remember deciding to try a simple black-and-white egg so I could finish it quickly and go to bed. I was halfway through one egg, but was out of red dye. I couldn’t finish that one … but I wanted to do
something
because my fingers were all twitchy. They get like that after a rough day at work. But I can’t imagine something like
magic
would have popped into my head. I didn’t really believe in it until Vegre walked out of a glowing gate and dragged Sela through it. So, while I’m trying not to jinx the process of making the egg by thinking things I probably didn’t last time, I don’t want to overlook the possibility I
might
have had a random thought about healing or magic in a flash of inspiration.” She made a face, like she didn’t want to be thought crazy. “Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “Of course. Re-creating a particular intent consistently is the reason the guild academies were created in the first place. Teaching someone how to craft is no different than leading classes on writing the alphabet or adding numbers. It’s based on memorization, repetition, and recognition. You learn what intent creates what result, what word best associates the intent in your mind and then you practice the intent with the word—over and over until it’s second nature.”
A light seemed to click on in her brain. “So, if you shouted the word ‘fire,’ and had the right intent, fire would appear?”
He smiled, because it was very much the question an apprentice would ask. “In a manner of speaking. But it would be very much like shouting just the word, ‘five,’ with equal intent, and expecting five apples to appear in your hands. Without training, I might see a drawing of the number five appear in the air, or perhaps five apples—buried in a nearby dumpster. Or … I might find five elephants crashing down through the roof. The devil’s in the details. Five what? Apples. Where? In my hands. But you don’t have time to say all that in a crisis, so your brain has to simply
know.
See?”
Mila mulled for a moment, chewing on her lower lip in a very cute manner before squinting her eyes a bit. “Okay, that makes sense. But if I called out, for example, ‘candle flame,’ then I
might
get that? Is that specific enough?”
Interesting. She’d transferred the question from what
he
did to whether
she
could. He pursed his lips. “Try it.”
She leaned back in her chair, surprise clear on her face. “What?”
He pulled the opal from his pocket and set it on the table. “You’ve mage in your blood, and there’s probably enough magic left in the focus for a small candle flame.” He pointed to the wall. “There’s a candle. Think on it for a moment, point the focus, and call your spell. No need to shout, though. It’s quiet enough in here.”
“Really? You think I might be able to do
magic?
God, I feel like Harry Potter.”
Tal couldn’t help but laugh. He hadn’t heard of the popular overworld books until Jason brought them to his attention after he started working undercover at the library. They were certainly entertaining, if not entirely accurate. But the classroom scenes were very evocative of several of his harsher instructors. “Yes, but Harry already
knew
he was a crafter. Whether you are is yet to be seen.”
She touched the opal gingerly, as though it might bite her, then clutched it in her palm tightly. “Just pick it up and point?”
She held it out before her, nearly pointed at the ceiling. He reached out and eased her arm down with a small laugh, since the candle in question was only about shoulder level, seated. “Like an arrow, darling, not a club.”
The look that came over her face … pleased, yet amazed, made him wonder what he’d just said. He didn’t remember anything unusual—he’d just told her to lower the stone. Once again heat rose to her face, but she didn’t pull back her arm, so he continued. “Look at the candle. Concentrate on the thought of what a candle flame looks like—what color, what height, what width. Then say your words and mentally
push
the magic from the focus to the candle.”
Once, twice, and then a third time Mila tried to light the candle, but he felt no taste of magic. “Do you think maybe the stone is out of magic?”
She raised her brows hopefully, even as he sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” He didn’t even need to take the stone from her for this. A flick of his finger was about all it took. He barely needed the word, but he wanted her to watch a proper crafting. “
Switlo
.” A perfect yellow flame appeared around the wick just as Mila gave a little jump and looked down at the stone.
“Hey, I
felt
something when you did that. Was that magic?”
Hmm. Perhaps she had a bit of talent after all. He quickly pushed the hand holding the opal toward her lips. “Open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and close your eyes. Quickly now. Can you taste the magic residue? Breathe in through your mouth and tell me what you taste.”
She hurried to comply and stuck her perfect pink tongue out, nearly touching the stone. It took only a few seconds and then she opened her eyes before smiling broadly. “I could taste something! It was like powdered sugar—or maybe cotton candy on my tongue. Really sweet.”
He nodded, pleased. Perhaps it wasn’t strong, but with more power available, and some training, she might be able to someday do minor crafting. “Very good. Fire magic tastes sweet. Earth magic is salty—like fresh potato crisps, water is sour and air is spicy.”