In time, the carriage descended and stopped before a giant basalt wall: the Southern Gate of Chambermaine. A giant portion on the bottom was blown open, revealing collapsed spires, flailing seaweed, and the looming silhouette of the distant palace. Far away, a cacophony of sounds could be heard from a battle clock’s domain.

KP had been right. Although the sea floor was littered with bodies and wrecked instruments, there was no sign of active fighting.

The purple wisps in the water were gone, meaning that the carriage could not take them any further. Jeso took out his guitar, Hagen took out his shrieker snail, and the two of them propelled themselves into the inner city of the capital.

Outposts, barricades, magic residues, and the looming spires became a blur around them. Eventually, the only discernible thing was the flashing lights from the battle clocks.

They were going to the place Chan had been stationed seven months ago. No one had heard from him since. The general consensus was that he had simply deserted, as he was too powerful to be killed by ordinary Windoren soldiers, and as far as everyone knew, Greyshin’s lot was comfortably far from Chambermaine.

Jeso thought back to the last time he’d talked with Chan. It seemed like a lifetime ago. They had been discussing King Broms’ declining health and his choosing of Sinko Sunada as successor.

I don’t understand. Sinko’s younger than most of us.

Maybe that’s just what we need right now. Someone ambitious who doesn’t know enough about the world.

What we need right now is someone who knows how to lead an army. Not some kid.

And yet, as the war went on, that “kid” had maintained an impressive amount of control. Yes, the Greens were overpowering Starmaine, but Sunada never faltered, never made a truly bad decision.

But Jeso had to tell himself that a good wartime leader did not necessarily make a good leader.

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The two Princcairs slowed down as they entered a marketplace—an expansive ring of shops and stands that spiraled up from the sea floor. The entire complex was surprisingly intact, but the marble would shudder and debris would trickle every few seconds. Responses to larger spells being cast in the nearest battle domain.

“This looks like a good place for an ambush,” Hagen remarked.

“Don’t jinx it,” Jeso muttered.

“That’s not jinxing it,” Hagen said.

“Whatever. How fast is that battle clock going?” If it was going at a comfortable tempo, they could use it to slingshot themselves to their destination.

Hagen closed his eyes and tapped his middle finger against his thumb, counting every vibration, every pitch.

When he opened his eyes, they were wider than they had any right to be.

“What?” Jeso asked.

“30 BPM.”

Jeso blinked. “It must be double.” No one fought in such a slow domain; it was basically impossible.

Hagen shook his head. “It’s thirty.”

Jeso closed his eyes and began to count. One shudder, one low bass wave…

He faintly heard Hagen call his name, but he ignored it. Such a slow domain, and so little action… Does that mean the fighting’s over?

No, the sound waves are too strong.

“Jeso,” Hagen repeated.

Jeso opened one eye in annoyance. “There’s still fighting, but it seems like it’s coming to an end. We should hurry-”

“Shut up,” Hagen hissed.

Jeso doubled back. “Excuse me?”

Hagen cautiously tapped his own ear. Jeso frowned and dilated his senses.

Then he heard it. An almost inaudible noise, something rhythmic that wasn’t quite in line with the world clock. Something so jarring, so out of place that at first, Jeso wasn’t sure what it was.

Hagen was the one to realize.

“Battle clock!”

And the water around them erupted with purple energy.