Claire entered the Council building, Gareth’s envoy token in the palm of her hand. They’d found a dirty but cheap inn to sleep in last night, and today, while Gareth searched for parchment and quill to send a message to Lord Maellwyn, Jemroth scouted for suitable horses to get them to the Rift and Lotte went to steal supplies, Claire had gone to find Marcus on the pretence of retrieving Gareth’s lost brooch. She was dressed in the plain dress and shawl she’d stolen yesterday, passing herself off as some lord’s servant. In the daylight, the crisp white painted walls and ceiling in the Council building dazzled, and the plush rugs felt deliciously warm as her boots sank in deep. Sunshine falling through enormous, elegant glass-paned windows filled the foyer with light. Stairways and corridors led from the foyer, but no doubt the tall guard pacing the space was meant to prevent just anybody heading further into the building, for all that he looked relaxed. There was a wooden counter to her left, behind which sat an elderly man wearing pea-sized spectacles. He looked up. “Yes?” he wheezed.

She passed him the token. He held it up to the light like he thought she’d forged it. “My master dropped a brooch last night at the reception, Sir. He was taken on a tour of the Council Gallery to look at some paintings and he remembers his cloak catching against a colonnade on the way out. He believes it’s there.”

“And who is your master?” he said, his customer service smile vanishing now that he knew she was a servitor.

“Councillor Pilla Brent, Sir,” Claire lied, picking the first name she remembered from the reception.

The man said nothing, merely picking up a ledger and consulting it for what felt like agonising minutes. Claire was sure he’d hear her beating heart. Any second, he’d tell her she wasn’t a real servant or deny her entry. Sweat prickled her back and she was about to turn tail and flee when at last, the man looked up.

“All is in order,” he said. “You may go.”

Claire turned away and took a step, but then stopped and turned to face the counter again.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get on with you,” the man said sharply.

“I … I don’t remember the way,” Claire stammered.

“Walk down that corridor,” he said, pointing, “and take your third left and then a second right and take the stairs to the top floor, third room on the right.” He glared at her, adding sarcastically, “Can you remember that, or should I write the instructions on your hand in ink?”

“No, I can remember,” Claire said.

As she hurried through the corridor the man had indicated, Claire shivered. Men and women dressed in sentry uniform marched past in twos and threes, but all looked bored rather than confrontational. Claire doubted they’d spare more than a glance for a servant girl, yet still she was afraid. Lotte’s fear in the street last night had been contagious.

And then there was the doubt growing in the back of her mind. Someone had betrayed them to Eidan. Was it Bron and Alaya as she so badly wanted to believe, no matter how horrible their underhandedness, or was it Lotte after all? As Claire had lain awake with the rats scurrying about, she’d remembered Liz and how kind she’d been until she’d turned on her. Was Lotte the same?

To make matters worse, overnight Claire had dreamt of the Beast as her dream-self floated paralysed. The corruption of its flesh had spread since she’d last seen it. Spools of spit dripped onto her cheek, yet her limbs wouldn’t obey to wipe the smears away. Its stench overpowered, making her stomach roil, even in the dream.

The Beast’s rotting, tattered flesh reached out, picking her up with incorporeal hands and tossing her into the wide, empty cavern of its mouth. It had laughed, then cried ‘Betrayer,’ the sound rattling through her entire body until she felt she couldn’t bear it a second longer and she’d woken up.

As Claire took the third right and the second left, a wide stairwell greeting her at the end of the corridor, she prayed to the Saura Gwenivere was right about the Beast. Surely, he’s simply sending the dreams to mess with me, she told herself. She puffed up the stairs, glancing from side to side in case Marcus passed her by. She hoped she found him soon. She didn’t want to get lost inside this enormous building trying to find him. She made herself push her problems aside. She needed her wits about her.

She paused for a moment at the top landing, leaning against the railing, waiting for her heart rate to slow, then made herself walk sedately to her right, counting rooms as she crept along the corridor. Within minutes she’d found the Council Gallery, its doorway ajar, painted white and overlaid with silver gilt. She pressed against the door, hoping it wouldn’t screech. To her relief, it appeared well-oiled and she was able to slip inside silently, suppressing an awed gasp.

The floor was squeaky clean and polished within an inch of its life. The ceiling was so high, she didn’t know how anyone had managed to get to the roof to paint the plaster gold. The walls were covered in a deep red brocade, floral patterns embossed onto the fabric. Paintings hung in rows everywhere she looked. She recognised a few of Marcus’s right away.

The centre of the gallery featured long rectangular divans, on which a group of men and women sat as they drew on sheets of paper with intense concentration. If any of them had heard her enter, they didn’t acknowledge it. A young man walked slowly from person to person, looking over their shoulders at the art produced and stopping to make quiet comments. Though his face was partially in shadow, Claire recognised him immediately. Marcus, teaching his regular painting class just as Bron had said.

As though he felt her stare, he looked up, eyes meeting Claire’s with shocked recognition. She had to get in quickly before he blurted out that she was his sister.

There was nothing for it. She stepped forward. She could only hope Marcus would recognise the urgency and the need for secrecy in her eyes. “Greetings, Mr Marcus, Sir. Excuse me, but my master has sent me to fetch his brooch. He believes you found it?”

The people around Marcus looked up curiously, some staring at Claire in open enquiry.

His eyes glistened as he placed his artwork beside him, got to his feet and began to stretch his arms out. “She’s –”

“A servitor of Councillor Pilla,” Claire finished for him.

He frowned at Claire, but she frowned back, willing him to understand. Not here, Marcus. Please. Get the message.

He considered for a moment, then turned to the prospective artists surrounding him. “I must fetch the good councillor’s brooch. I’ll be back shortly to check over your work, never fear.”

“No rush, Master Marcus,” one man said cheerfully. “You’re not our slave. It’s near enough to lunch, anyway.”

“Keep going,” Marcus said shortly, “I’ll be back as fast as I can. It’s a small thing I can do to make up for … for …”

The man placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “You don’t have to keep working yourself into the ground to prove you’re not your grandfather,” he said. “We know you’re not like him. You’re one of us.”

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Claire turned away, lest someone see the pain in her eyes at the mention of Lord Dorran.

Soon, Marcus was in front of her, gesturing for her to follow him outside.

In the hallway, Claire resisted the urge to hug her brother. “Is there someplace we can talk where we won’t be overhead?”

He nodded tersely, grabbing her arm, and tugging her inside a tiny study four doors down from the Gallery. “What the hell’s going on? Why’re you here?” He pushed her into a wicker chair complete with plush purple cushion, then took the second chair behind the polished desk.

“I love you too,” Claire said sarcastically, even as her voice wobbled. She’d longed for this moment ever since Marcus had vanished. She’d missed him so much. Her eyes misted.

“Don’t cry, Sis,” he said uncomfortably. “I’m just surprised. I bet darling Grandpa dragged you to Kelnarium too?”

“Don’t speak of him like that. He’s dead. And yes. He summoned me because of the prophecy.”

“Stuff him and his prophecy. It’s a load of rubbish.” He waved his hand, dismissing it. “Never mind all that. How’s Mum and Dad? Did they miss me? Do they know where we are?”

“It was awful when you left. We were so miserable, but they knew you’d been summoned. I feel so bad for them waiting for us to return. That’s why I’m here. Unless you and I and some of the magical brethren close the Rift, all Kelnarium will be destroyed. We need to do that and then we can go home, so you see, you need to help us and—”

“Woah, slow down, Sis. Don’t tell me you believe those crazies threatening to create a second Rift? Still, if it’ll make you feel better, let’s go find Eidan and you can tell him your story.”

“What? No, Marcus, we mustn’t. I don’t know what lies Eidan’s fed you, but he’s known about me being in Kelnarium for weeks. He would have killed me inside Dorran Manor if he’d found me.”

“What on Earth are you on about?” Marcus said crossly. “There’s no way Eidan knew you were with Grandfather. He’d never hurt me or someone I’m close to. We’re friends and I’ve told him all about you.”

“I’m telling you; he knew about me and that I’m needed to close the Rift, and he didn’t want me to succeed. I ran for my life. I was so scared, Marcus. I thought he must have killed you or had you locked up.”

“This is all a stupid misunderstanding.” Marcus reached forward to clasp her hand where it rested against the desk. “Come with me and he’ll explain everything, you’ll see.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What exactly has Eidan told you? About the carnage at Dorran Manor? About the Dream Mages?”

“Why, the same as what he’s told everyone at the war council today,” Marcus said. “That there was a conspiracy to overthrow the government spearheaded by Grandfather. That the Dream Mages were working hand in glove with him.”

“That’s all wrong,” Claire insisted, frustration making her harsh. “Kelnarium dies unless we close the Rift, which means unless you come away with me, you and I die too.”

“Don’t tell me you believe that rubbish,” he scoffed. “I wouldn’t trust a word those Dorrans say. They aren’t nice people, Sis.”

“They told me you guys got off on the wrong foot and I get that your lack of magic didn’t help matters, but Grandfather summoned first you, and then me to Kelnarium, because this year the Rift will explode taking all Kelnarium with it. He believed it, but more importantly, so do I.”

“Look, I’m sure Grandfather filled your head with nonsense about Eidan and made out you were important with his learth magic and chosen-one prophecy guff, but it’s all absurd lies. I don’t blame you for falling for them. I can see why this would all be appealing to a little girl like you.”

Claire itched to slap her brother. Little girl? Who was he kidding? “Listen to me, will you? Eidan is the Big Bad, the Super Villain, the Mr Downright Evil, whatever you want to call it. He murdered Grandfather.”

“Killed him because he was a traitor,” Marcus explained patiently.

“No. Murdered him because Eidan’s up to no good.”

“Bullshit.”

“How can you be so cold? You’re related to Lord Dorran too!”

“I wish I wasn’t,” he said, raising his voice, half-getting up from his chair. He took a deep breath, starting again more calmly. “I woke up in Kelnarium without so much as a by your leave and then Grandfather’s stupid captain turned up to take me to the Manor and when I said I wasn’t coming and I didn’t believe a word of his crap about magic and Mum, he waved his sword around so I was forced to go with him. We rode past a camp and the bile I had to listen to … It would have made you sick! No wonder Mum got away from them and never looked back.”

“I don’t think it was like that.”

“And then,” Marcus went on hotly, like Claire hadn’t spoken, “I was berated day in and day out. I got told what a disappointment I was and to apply myself to magic. What was the point? When I reminded them they’d told me I had the only slightest of talents for it, they’d go on and on about how every learth soul was precious and I had a duty as a Dorran to learn what I could. I danced a jig when they finally sent me to Eidan. When he told me about Grandfather’s real plans for me, I felt sick to my stomach. I’d seen how they treated those poor exiles, but to use family in such a heinous way?”

“I hated how they treated the exiles too, but you’ve got things all wrong, Marcus. Our grandmother was from House Ushanan which uses air magic, and her blood runs in your veins. That’s probably why you weren’t great at fire magic. You’re meant to close the Rift with me using air learth. Now let’s go.”

He stared at her like she’d gone mad. “I don’t think so. That traitor, our grandfather, has brainwashed you. Come and see Eidan and he’ll set you straight.”

He got up to stand beside Claire, tugging at her arm, but she pulled out of his grasp, her chair screeching across the floor as she twisted out of reach.

“You silly idiot,” he hissed in her face.

“No, you’re the idiot,” Claire said. “By the salamanders, why won’t you listen?”

“Because you sound insane!”

“You’re blinded by your faith in Eidan. Why can’t you see it?”

“You’re blinded by your need to feel accepted. Can’t you see it?”

“I thought you’d be glad to meet me again,” Claire said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I am. Very. I just wish you hadn’t arrived spouting garbage,” Marcus said.

“I’m telling the truth,” she said defiantly. “Back home, my word would have been enough.”

“We’re not home, are we?” he said.

“Which is why we need to stick together. Eidan can’t get you back to Shale. But me and the surviving Dream Mages can.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, eyes shining. “Eidan has promised to get me back as soon as he’s dealt with the rag-tag magical army in the Riftlands.”

Claire’s stomach dropped. Surely Marcus could only be referring to one thing: Maen and Gwenivere and the rest of the magical brethren waiting for Claire. “What’re you talking about?” Her voice shook.

“They’re turning the countryside against the Council and now the farmers and villagers and even some townspeople are demanding answers from Eidan. If he doesn’t comply, it will be open war. He’s responding in kind with his own army. And then he’ll do a magical working with his spirit friend at the Rift to get me back to Shale. We leave tomorrow morning.”

“What spirit friend?” Claire could barely get the words out. She had a bad feeling she knew the answer.

“I don’t know,” Marcus said airily. “It comes to Eidan in dreams and helps him. That’s how he knew some people survived Dorran Manor. His spirit friend saw them and showed them to Eidan in a dream.”

Claire felt like Marcus had punched her in the gut. Eidan was allied with the Beast? Why? And as to Maen and Gwenivere, and the rest of their party, there was no time to lose. She had to get back to the inn and find a way to warn them of what was coming.

“As soon as Eidan deals with the renegades, I can go home. You’ve got the explosion stuff wrong. Eidan’s explained it. To get to Shale, there’ll be a big bang, but no one will get hurt. It’s all part of the magical working,” Marcus went on. “Seriously, we can go home together and if you know magic, maybe you could help Eidan defeat those idiots defying him. Think of how many soldiers lives you could save. Now, will you come?”

Claire was stunned. How could she experience so many emotions within a few minutes? Shock, joy, relief, and now, crushing disappointment and hurt. Marcus had everything so very wrong, but he was too sure of himself to listen to her. It was no use. She couldn’t waste any more time.

“I can’t, Marcus. I wish you’d understand. I’ve spent weeks trying to find you. All I’ve thought about is your rescue, and I get here and don’t know you anymore.”

“And I don’t know you. Believe me, Eidan cares about Kelnarium. He won’t let it be destroyed. If you won’t come meet him, what will you do? Go back to his enemies? To my enemies?”

“I don’t have a choice. Please, Marcus. Won’t you at least speak with them?”

“No,” he said coldly as he stood up. “You’ve picked the losing side and you’ll look like a fool when you come crawling back admitting it.”

His insults stung, but she couldn’t rise to his bait. She got to her feet, acutely aware of the danger she was now in. “Please, Marcus. Don’t tell Eidan that I visited you today. If you don’t do this for me, I’ll never ever forgive you.”

He stopped, undecided. After a short pause that seemed an eternity, he nodded. “If it means so much to you my lips are sealed.” After a moment of strained silence, he flung himself at Claire, hugging her warmly. “And it is good to see you, Sis. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

She hugged him tightly. “I feel just the same.”

He sighed. “You know where to find me if you change your mind about Eidan and decide to trust me.” He stepped back and held her hands. “Now go. Before someone comes.”