Yaenke does not believe I am the Endowed. He denies his own denial, yet drills me to the bone and screams at me to find a reason to fight. A “core”, he calls it.

He does not understand. Why is a futile question; it can always be asked, even after an answer is given. Nor is it what he is truly asking. He wants to know what I fight for. This may seem a mere difference in semantics, but having faced the enemy, I know it to be more.

Perhaps even the key to defeating him.

-Arath Dralei, circa 2,899 Post Fall of Meridian

Standing in her quarters on Xilia, Ryla fingered the mask in her hands, staring out the window at the green poison drifting through the air outside. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to that view.

“You coming?”

Ryla jolted, cursing, whipping around. Naidi stood behind her, arms folded, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She was wearing a long, bright pink dress. Sighing, Ryla forced herself to relax.

“You could’ve knocked.”

“I could’ve. This was funnier.” Naidi waved to the hallway outside. “Are you coming?”

“Soon. Go on without me.”

“We both know that means you’re not coming.”

Ryla rolled her eyes. “Just go, please.” She turned away, though Naidi did not leave.

“Are you ok? You’ve been… off these last few days.”

“I’m fine.”

“If it has to do with the whole Void thing I…”

“I’m. Fine. Leave.” That came out almost as a shout, and it was Naidi’s turn to jump.

“Fine. I’ll go, then.” She stormed off, her skirt dragging behind her. Okron, the girl couldn’t go one day without dressing up, could she? Whatever. Ryla would be right behind Naidi, if only because Cyrla had finally agreed to meet at tonight’s Forum. However, Arrus had also messaged her — she still couldn’t figure out how, but he had — and he wanted to speak with her over holoscreen, “in private”. So, here she was, in as private a place as she could find. At least, private before Naidi had barged in.

That’s not why you’re mad, a part of her whispered. She was right. You’re still nervous about tomorrow’s training session.

She shivered, pushing the thought back. So what if she could hear her uncle’s moans constantly now, rather than just when she was focusing? She had her memory sense to work with. As long as she kept that on, she could avoid the screams. She wasn’t going insane. She couldn’t be.

Her holoscreen buzzed in her pocket. About time. She walked over to the door — which Naidi had left wide open — slammed it shut, then answered Arrus’ call. His face spread out in a hologram before her, though she couldn’t see his surroundings.

“Hey. You said you wanted to talk?”

Arrus glanced behind him, then back at Ryla. His face was covered in dust, and there was a gash on his cheek. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. What is this about?”

Arrus glanced behind him again. “Ithrey is going to kill me if she hears… ah well.” He met Ryla’s eyes. “We found the Endowed.”

It took a moment for Ryla to process what Arrus had said, but when she did, she snorted. “In the slave squads? Sure. What did you really call about?”

“I’m serious, Ryla. And she’s not in the slave squads. She’s trapped on Grahala.”

“The Endowed is a searing Grahalan? C’mon, I saw through the joke. Let’s move on, please?”

Except, as she met his eyes, she realized he was serious. She sucked in a breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’ve talked with her brother. She’s the real deal, Ryla.”

“You’ve never even met this person?” Ryla set the holoscreen down on the nearby windowsill, gripping her head with her hands. “Oh, Arrus. She’s not who you think she is.”

“Perelor wouldn’t lie.”

“Ah, yes, Perelor. Wasn’t he the filth who ran away after the Voidling attack? Practically foaming at the mouth?”

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

“So it was him? Thaus Arrus, I’ve told you that you can’t trust the man. Anyone who thinks their sister is the Endowed has probably lost their sanity, and I seriously doubt some man in the slave squadrons is the exception to that rule.”

“I’m not just trusting Perelor. Ithrey thinks the same thing and the two have never met. She’s a Seeker of the Light.”

“A what?”

“A Seeker of the Light. They fight against the Void.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Well… yes, she did. But she is one; I can tell.”

Ryla ran her hand down her cheek. Oh, Arrus. Poor, innocent Arrus. “What is it they want from you? They always want something for their lies.”

“They’re helping me escape.”

“Are they helping you escape or are you helping them?”

Arrus hesitated. “Both. I can’t do it without them, and they can’t without me.”

And they’ll backstab you the moment that’s not true, Ryla thought. “You know escape isn’t possible. Larsh would hunt you until Torment grows cold if you tried.”

“That might be sooner than I’d like to think about,” Arrus said. “And I know. I’m willing to take that risk.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Arrus shot another glance behind his back. “Quieter,” he hissed. “And yes, I might.”

“You don’t seem to realize the consequences of that. Torment, Arrus. That’s the price if you’re wrong.”

“Torment is the price of living. I know what I’m getting into, Ryla. I’m not here to debate if this is a good idea. I’m here to ask for your help.”

“My help? What in the Three Heavens do you think I’m going to do?”

“You have a wormdrive.”

She paused, then snorted as she realized what he was insinuating. “So you want me to leave everything to get chased down and killed by Larsh, over a girl you haven’t even met?”

“If you don’t think it’s worth it, I understand. But if you could have just one conversation with Perelor or Ithrey…”

“No.”

“Ryla…”

“No. And that’s final. Listen, I hate your situation as much as you do, but if you leave it will just get us both killed.” She sighed. “I have plans in motion that should fix this. I just need a little more time…”

“Plans?” Arrus frowned.

“I…” Ryla waved her hand in frustration. “I can’t tell you, ok? It’s too fragile right now; I can’t risk anything getting out.”

Arrus’ frown deepened. “I see. You don’t trust me.”

“No! I do. But do you really want to be tortured? That’s what would happen, if they find out you know what I’m up to.”

Arrus paused for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t care about your schemes. I need help. It’s the searing Endowed, Ryla. This goes way beyond just us.”

“If you’re not being scammed.”

“I’m not. But you don’t trust me, so…” he shook his head. “Can I at least get your pass code?”

“You’re hacking into the database again? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to change that code because of you?”

Arrus cringed. “Something a little more dangerous this time. But I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“You don’t seem like you’re being very careful.”

“Neither do you, whatever it is you’re up to. Listen, I’ll trust you to handle your plans, if you trust me to handle mine.”

“This is lunacy.”

“Yeah, it is.” Arrus’ voice grew quiet suddenly. “But it’s the only chance we have. And I’m doing this whether or not you give the code.”

Ryla stiffened. If he did it without her help… well, the punishment for trying to escape like that would be death.

Will he actually try it, though?

Ryla studied his face for a moment. Did he really think he’d found the Endowed? It was impossible. People had searched and waited millennia for the prophesied hero. Whoever they ended up being, they weren’t going to be some backwater girl trapped in a siege.

Except, there was that grim tightness to Arrus’ face, which was so jovial normally. And that tired solemnity in his eyes…

Yes, he would try it. And Ryla couldn’t just let him die.

Thau you, Arrus. Why now, of all times?

“Fine. You can have my pass code. But after that, I can’t do anything for you. I’m going to be… busy, I think, over the next few weeks.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Arrus said coolly. “That’s all I need.”

“Good. I’ll send it over now. But I’m changing it in a few days, like usual.” Ryla opened a second screen on her device, sent it over, then closed it. “Are we done here? I’m already late to the Forum.”

“Yes.” Arrus looked uncharacteristically angry. Well, let him be. Ryla wouldn’t risk everything over a delusion. The pass code would keep him sated until he realized what was actually going on.

And by then, hopefully Larsh will be long dead.

“I don’t regret my decision to come to the slave squadrons,” Arrus said suddenly. “I’m not asking you this because I want to back out. I’m asking because it’s what must be done. I hope you learn to do what is right someday, instead of what’s just convenient.”

He shut off the holoscreen, leaving Ryla alone. She stared at the empty space for a moment, shocked, then growled. After everything she’d done, he said that? Torment, whoever this Ithrey was, she and Captain Perelor would regret deceiving her cousin.

But there was no time to worry about Arrus right now. Straightening, Ryla tucked her holoscreen into her pocket and marched off to go join Naidi at the Forum.

***

The Forum was the perfect symbol of Talar culture: simple and without fanfare. Though Ryla hated politics she could tolerate the tradition; here, there was no bureaucratic dancing about, only conviction and the lack of it. The way governments should be.

The entire system had been designed as a foil to the feasts of Artensian nobility — rather than meeting in a room with ornate tables and rare delicacies, the Talar nobles stood at plain wooden desks, no chairs, no decoration, in a room that was nothing more than a cement cube. Rather than trying to find time to talk between mouthfuls of gluttony, officials spoke to each other directly, only leaving the room to discuss classified information.

It was beautifully efficient. However, today it made Ryla anxious. Cyrla had insisted they meet here, but as far as she knew, there was nowhere private to gather.

She had spotted Naidi — in that pink dress of hers it was easy to pick her out — and they now stood at their own desk, waiting for someone to approach. Naidi seemed transfixed by the bustling crowd, eyes darting about, but Ryla just tapped her fingers impatiently against the gray-stained wood surface. Cyrla should’ve been here by now.

“Blast,” Naidi said. “I wish they had snacks.”

“Not having food is the whole point,” Ryla mumbled.

“What’s the point of the point then? Seems like snacks are more important than whatever this is.”

Ryla rolled her eyes. “You’re just hungry.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you the whole time.” She frowned. “You want to leave? No one’s come here anyway.”

“Not now.”

“Why?”

Ryla paused, unsure what to say. “Waiting for someone,” she said finally.

“Oh? Did you finally bring a date to one of these things?”

Ryla snorted. I wish it were that simple. “No. I have an actual meeting, unfortunately. You’re welcome to leave if you’d like.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Naidi hesitated, then shook her head. “Nah, I’ll stay.” She stared at Ryla with a concerned gaze. Ryla ignored her, instead continuing to tap her fingers against the desk, searching the crowd. They’d been going for almost an hour, and Ryla had been late even before that. When was the filthy woman going to show?

Suddenly, a man stepped up to the desk, tall and muscular, with long, curly black hair. Ryla tensed.

“Traegus.”

“Shal Magala,” he said, nodding respectfully. The slightest smirk crossed his face. “We have matters to discuss.”

Ryla pursed her lips, then nodded. “Yes, we do.”

“Follow me, then.”

Traegus turned and began walking away, and Ryla followed, winding through the bustle of nobles and generals gliding around the room, then letting out a relieved breath when they ducked through a doorway and out into an empty hallway. They wove through the corridors from there, until arriving at another door nearby. Traegus stopped at the entryway, pressed his finger against a scanner beside it, then stepped inside as the door slid open.

Inside was a conference room — one for minor officers, if Ryla had to guess. The space was dominated by a roundtable with a holoscreen in its center— likely for displaying a planetary map, but it was powered off right now, so Ryla couldn’t tell. Two dozen chairs waited around the table, one elevated and embellished with silver: a seat for the highest ranked official.

To Ryla’s surprise, Cyrla was not sitting in that chair; instead, she waited on the seat directly to the left of it. Traegus sat in the elevated seat, then gestured for Ryla to sit in the chair to his right. She hesitated, then did so, scanning the room to see if she recognized its other occupants.

They were all nobles, of course, and she knew many of them. Shal Tyrellith, a thin man with a lump in his nose, was a well-known general and head of one of the Six High Houses. Shal Irila, a portly woman with glittering jewels around her neck, had been appointed as Lady of Commerce just a few years ago. There were at least three of the seven High Councilors present. And several others Ryla did not recognize, though their fine clothing, often adorned with medals, showed they, too, were high-ranking politicians. An impressive showing.

Are they all in on this?

Traegus answered her question by clearing his throat, then speaking. “We are all in attendance now, are we not?”

“High Councilor Valorus wasn’t able to make it,” Shal Irila said. Her voice was high and nasal. “But otherwise, yes.”

“Good. You all understand the risks associated with this meeting?”

“A simple meeting is not a crime,” mumbled Shal Tyrellith.

“No,” Traegus conceded. “But I work closely with Jadis; hence the Forum, and not somewhere more private — if I stray too far, she’ll suspect me. I do not want anyone under the illusion that she would hesitate to slit our throats if she found out what we are planning. Are all willing to give their oath of secrecy?”

“Aye,” Tyrellith sighed.

“Aye,” said Irila. Her eyes were narrow, her expression hard, and her hands were balled up into fists. As Ryla took another look at the others, she saw similar looks on the others’ faces.

“Agreed,” said Cyrla. The slightest hint of a smile crossed her lips.

Eyes turned to Ryla suddenly, and she realized she hadn’t given her own oath. She paused.

Meeting in secret with politicians, a part of her whispered. Do you really think you can make it out without their filth on you?

But, it was better than touching that rancid taint on the Third Power. And certainly better than losing Kairus. “Aye,” she said.

Traegus stood, leaning against the table. “Then let us begin. You all know the objective. How are we going to do it?”

“Assassination is always a prudent option,” said Irila.

Cyrla laughed. “You think you can assassinate the most powerful burner in generations?”

Irila shrugged. “Even burners have to sleep.”

“Not Larsh,” Ryla said quietly. She immediately cringed. Was she even allowed to speak here?

Irila raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

They invited you, Ryla reminded herself. You could kill them in a moment. Don’t be a coward.

“She can burn Purity, for one,” Ryla said. “She also uses a Purity Surge to keep awake.”

“That would require an absurdly powerful Surge, particularly if she uses it for other things,” Tyrellith said, frowning. “Are you sure?”

“She does,” Traegus confirmed. “She swaps them out, using the Surges in the Tower underneath Xilia. She hasn’t slept in over two years now.”

Tyrellith whistled softly. “She’s dedicated. More so than I realized.”

“Which is precisely why she must die,” Cyrla snapped. “Her policies are tearing this nation apart.”

“Too much has changed,” another noble agreed. One of the High Councilors, though Ryla didn’t know their name. “But I don’t think Tyrellith is debating the validity of our cause. Simply noting that Larsh is more dangerous than we previously believed.”

“Which is why we must be equally dedicated,” Cyrla said. She swept her eyes over the nobles, expression hawkish. “More so than simply attending a meeting and saying ‘aye’.”

Traegus raised a hand. “Peace, Cyrla. We are not here to bicker.” He turned back to the table. “Other ideas?”

Ryla shifted uncomfortably. They’re more divided than I thought. She had no idea how to navigate those divisions, it was all she could manage to see that they were there. Okron, why did politics have to be so complicated?

“Cyrla and I together might be able to take down Larsh,” she said. “I… I have a friend who might be able to help us, too.”

Cyrla frowned. “Naidi?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not,” Cyrla said. “The girl is frivolous at best.”

“She’s earnest,” Ryla said, heat rising in her cheeks. “There’s a difference.”

“Nevertheless,” Traegus said, raising his voice again, “I think it would be best to avoid entangling those we cannot fully trust.” Several nobles gave mumbles of agreement at that. “But you would still have to face her guards. Even if you outmatched Larsh, you would fall. I am no duelist, but I know that much.”

“He’s right,” Tyrellith said. “I remember a few years ago, three of Larsh’s burner slaves tried to kill her. They failed.”

“I know the burners in question,” Cyrla said. “They were untrained, and one of them could hardly be considered a burner at all. If we were to get Larsh alone, Ryla and I could best her. I’m sure of it.”

“There is one way to get her in the dueling ring,” said one of the nobles. Another High Council member. She grinned slyly. “I suspect that is why so many of my colleagues are here.”

Irila raised an eyebrow. “The right of challenge? That seems quite direct.”

“Direct transfer of power will be necessary,” Cyrla said. “The general public favors Larsh.” This earned several glares, but Cyrla snorted and continued. “You know I speak the truth. Some of the commoners even believe she is the Endowed. If we are to suppress a revolt, we cannot afford an outright coup.”

“The right of challenge is hardly different,” Tyrellith said.

“From a military perspective, perhaps,” Traegus said slowly. “From the perspective of most politicians, though, it will be legitimate. It is within the law, where a coup is not, even if they are the same in spirit. For the nobility, that is important.”

Ryla swallowed. She knew of the right of challenge; it had allowed Alai to duel her for her position just days before. By Talar law, any high-ranking official could be challenged for their position, as long as the High Council approved the challenge. It was how the Talar kept such a well-oiled war machine; everyone with experience had to hold their own in the dueling ring, or, if they couldn’t, they had to appoint a champion who could. Larsh had gained her seat as Cunning One because of the right of challenge, besting Cunning One Axus’ champion, then ordering the man to the whipping platform when she’d taken the throne.

Still… fighting Larsh… in the arena… well, there was a reason she had dismissed the idea before.

There’s no way we could win that duel.

“I don’t think challenging is a good idea,” Ryla said. “She’d retaliate if we tried it.”

“Of course she would, child,” Irila snorted. “Retaliation upon our failure is a given. Why did we involve the girl to this?”

Ryla felt red flush in her cheeks, but Cyrla spoke before anyone else could. “She is Larsh’s heir.”

Irila stiffened. “That is not official.”

“Since we are behind closed doors,” Traegus interrupted, “I can confirm what Cyrla says. It has not been announced, but the proper legislation has been passed. Larsh has no children and no living spouse, so she has elected to choose a successor. If she dies, Ryla Magala is next in line to the throne of Talar.”

Ryla frowned. “That’s done now?”

“Yes,” Traegus said. “She has not told you?”

“No,” Ryla said softly. Heir… finally… She’d been trying to secure that position for years now. Once Larsh was dead, it would enable her to end the war. To save Kairus. To get rid of Voidburners, once and for all.

Okron, if she got rid of Larsh and took the throne… this might work.

“Well, it will be official soon,” Traegus said. “So, to answer your question, Shal Irila, in addition to her abilities, that is why we have involved a teenager in this. When all is done, you may very well be kneeling before her.”

Ryla’s head swam. Mother is going to have a fit when she hears…

Irila leaned back. “You can’t possibly think we’ll be appointing her with the right of challenge?”

Traegus shrugged. “Who else could win such a contest? Surely none of you want to go into the arena with a burner.” That sent a hush over the room. “Besides, killing Larsh will create a power vacuum. As much as you may not like it, Shal Irila, the easiest solution would be to use a pre-established successor.”

“I’ve accomplished far more than any of you,” Irila snapped. “If I’m cooperating in this, I want the throne. Or I’m backing out.”

Traegus turned white, but Cyrla grinned, leaning forward, and for the first time Ryla noticed she was glowing with red Void. “How far do you want to go with your insults, Irila? Surely you don’t think threatening us is actually a good idea.”

Irila met her with an icy stare. “And surely you don’t overstep your bounds enough to challenge me.”

“Enough,” one of the High Council members snapped. “Traegus and I have spoken of this already. The High Council will support your ousting of Larsh, but not a full coup. Ryla is heir. If you kill Larsh, she will take the throne.”

Traegus turned to Ryla. “What say you?”

Ryla hesitated, then nodded. “I will become Cunning One.” She met Irila’s eyes. “And things will be different. That I promise you.”

Irila met Ryla’s gaze, staring at her critically, then gave the slightest nod, turning away.

She wanted me to speak up, Ryla realized. She doesn’t actually want the throne. She just doesn’t want it to go to someone weak. Sure enough, as she read Irila’s echoes, she found that very thought buzzing around in the woman’s head. I’ll have to keep that in mind.

She should use her powers to read the others, too, she realized. It was an edge she could not afford to ignore.

Traegus turned back to the table. “Any other objections?” No one spoke up. “It’s settled, then. Ryla leads when this is over. Now. Back to the matter at hand. We can best Larsh in a duel, but how do we get her into the ring to begin with? The right of challenge requires a unanimous vote from the High Council.”

“The vote will not be an issue,” said the female High Councilor from earlier. “We simply need enough of a reason to appease the public. To prevent a more… bloody sort of mutiny.”

“We can’t make her raise taxes,” Irila muttered. “And that seems to be all the public cares about.”

“No,” Traegus said. “To both points. We can’t make her raise taxes, but there is something else the public cares about. Victory.”

Tyrellith scoffed. “Good luck getting Larsh to lose a battle. That woman is a better tactician than anyone I’ve known.”

For hating Larsh, Ryla thought bitterly, Tyrellith does seem to praise her a lot.

“We cannot control Larsh,” Cyrla cut in, “but we can outsmart her.”

“How?” Tyrellith asked. “Sabotaging our own army?”

“Precisely,” Cyrla said, grinning. Ryla shivered. The woman was still glowing with Void. Couldn’t she let the Third Power go for one moment?

Tyrellith’s eyes bulged. “That’s treason,” he hissed.

Just for show, Ryla noted. She shivered. That man’s thoughts… he couldn’t have cared less about his men.

“This entire meeting is treason,” Traegus reminded him. “I must admit, Cyrla and I have already begun work on this phase of the plan. Larsh is brilliant, but she’s stretched thin, both in troop numbers and mentally. I do not think it will be hard to trick her into a blunder.”

“You suggest working with foreign authorities to ensure a defeat?” Irila asked. Unlike Tyrellith — who wore his false disgust visibly — she seemed curious.

“I don’t like this plan,” Ryla interjected. “We’d be killing our own soldiers.”

“Change costs blood,” Cyrla said. Okron, how could she say that with so little emotion? “Besides, if we don’t interfere, how many more will die in Larsh’s campaigns? She may be brilliant, but she’s mad if she thinks we can conquer the entire galaxy. Eventually, she will fall. We’re simply accelerating the process, so that something of Talar remains when she is gone.”

The others nodded, faces growing grim. “I don’t like this,” Tyrellith said slowly. “But, I know logic when I see it. What have you set in motion?”

“We’ve fed information on Larsh’s plan of attack for Iral City to the Grahalan military,” Cyrla said. “We have also prevented information on Grahalan troop whereabouts from reaching Larsh.”

“They’re planning to flank her when she attacks the capital,” Traegus said. “Frankly, they were already doing a good job without us.”

“We just gave them an extra edge,” Cyrla agreed. “When Larsh launches her attack there — which will only take a week or two more — she will fall right into their trap. Into our trap.”

“And once she does,” the female High Councilor said quietly, “we challenge her, then kill her.”

“Precisely,” said Traegus. He paused, letting silence fall over the room. Ryla shifted uncomfortably.

She didn’t like the plan. Killing their own men? Challenging Larsh? It all seemed far too underhanded — and far too likely to fail. Cyrla was powerful, and so was Ryla, but Larsh… well, Larsh was in a class of her own. And, if Ryla remembered the law correctly, Larsh would get to add in a second champion on her side for the duel. It just didn’t add up.

Yet, as she saw the eyes of everyone else in the room, she realized she was not in a position to negotiate. So, though she sat up a little straighter, she did not protest.

“A good plan,” Tyrellith said after a moment. “Not plasma proof, but good. And no plan is plasma proof.” He sighed. “I think our discussion is over, then?”

“Yes,” Cyrla said. “Unless you have more objections.”

“It will work,” Irila said. She shrugged. “At least, if anything can work.”

“It shall be done,” the female High Councilor said. She rose, as did the other High Councilors. “When you have created your disaster, consult us again, and your challenge will not be denied.” She turned to Ryla. “And you.” She frowned. “Be ready, child.”

They left the room in an orderly line. A moment later, Irila rose, sighing, and exited, too. Tyrellith gave them a nod, then also left.

“Secrecy,” Traegus said as they did. “Remember the oath.” The nobles replied with nods and frowns.

As the others left, Ryla sucked in a breath and rose herself. “I think I should go, too.”

“Not yet,” Traegus said. His voice was suddenly cold. “Cyrla has something to give you.”

Ryla frowned, but wasn’t able to speak before Cyrla rose, sliding aside the folds of her cloak to reveal a long, jagged knife waiting at her hip. A jewel had been inlaid into the hilt, and it glowed with soft purple light.

Purple. Ryla had never seen that color in a Surge. She shivered, a soft voice suddenly whispering in her head.

“What is that?” she hissed.

Cyrla smiled. “You can sense it. I was curious about that; I’ve never brought this near a memory burner.” She drew the dagger, gazing fondly at it with glowing red eyes. “They call it Desolation. A fitting name, I think.”

“Enough show,” Traegus sighed. “Tell her what it’s for, and be done with it.”

Cyrla shot him a glare, but turned to Ryla, holding out the dagger. “If Larsh, or any memory burner, is cut with this, their powers will vanish until the Desolation in the cut runs out. It’s how I intend to kill her.”

“I don’t want that,” Ryla said. Was it just her, or was the air around the dagger warping? Warping into… faces…

Sighing, Cyrla pushed it farther toward Ryla. “You don’t have to use it until the duel. In fact, I recommend you don’t; Desolation Surges are incredibly scarce, and they require great care to wield. But you agreed to help us, and this is part of the cost.”

Ryla hesitated, glancing at Cyrla, then at Traegus. Both of their faces were grim. Swallowing, she took hold of the dagger’s cold metal hilt, then immediately stuffed it onto her belt, where she couldn’t see it. Closing her eyes, she blocked out those strange, whispering voices.

“What is that?”

“It’s Desolation,” Cyrla said. “I told you.”

“Yes, but what is Desolation? Larsh never told me a purple Surge was possible.”

“It’s Ever infused with the pure essence of Oblivion,” Traegus said. “Incredibly rare, as Cyrla noted. But not impossible to acquire, if you know the right people. No one knows how it works, exactly, but it suppresses burner powers more surely than drugging ever could.” He straightened. “Our business here is done. We should get back to the Forum, Cyrla.”

“I have other matters to attend to,” she said. “But you can go back to the games if you wish.” Still glowing red, she stepped halfway out the door, then turned back to Ryla.

“Remember the oath, Ryla. You have committed now. Don’t back down. You can’t.”

She shut the door behind her, leaving Ryla alone with Traegus, who, after straightening his robes, gestured for Ryla to follow him. She did, numbly walking back through the halls and into the crowd of the Forum, that dagger still whispering on her hip, her thoughts screaming that she had made the wrong decision.

Yet, with Traegus’ hulking figure at her side, she knew Cyrla’s words were true. It was too late to back down.