Page 69 of The Stolen Throne
Is he really so oblivious to the fact that it’s not just his face that makes him noticeable? He’s dressed as a Wanderer rather than in his usual black, and I’d still pick him out of a crowd from behind. A head taller than most, he walks like a predator among us. His sharp, intelligent, assessing gaze misses nothing. He might as well carry a painted sign that reads, “Be Wary.” But he’s so beautiful, anyone looking would want to pretend those things aren’t true just to get a little closer.
I’m case in point when it comes to that.
This man is a walking illustration of why we tell children the story of the Honey Witches, carnivorous creatures who disguise themselves as kindly women in our cities. They lure naive children away with sweets and then eat them. The children, not the sweets.
Another woman walks by and almost trips over her feet as she tries to get a closer look at him. Reven doesn’t hide his irritation fast enough. He saw. He gets it now. I give him a pointed look, and, just for a flicker of a second, I think he might huff a laugh.
He doesn’t. “I can’t exactly change my face, Meren.”
True. “Try this. Stoop over… No, not that much. Now lower your gaze. More. You have a hood for a reason.”
“But I can’t see.”
“So follow my feet.”
“This is ridiculous.” I catch his mumbled words at my back, and a check over my shoulder has me choking back a laugh. Whatever he’s doing is definitely worse. It looks like he’s putting on a farce.
“Goddess grant me patience. Forget the stooping.”
On a frustrated growl, he straightens, keeping his head down.
I guess that’s as good as we’re going to get. I hope the others, who are following in staggered pairs spaced out to avoid drawing attention, will have an easier time.
I glance around me as we continue on. Yolyn Zag is, for all intents and purposes, a mining town, thanks to the mountains it sits at the foot of, which makes it both richer and more working-class than the other cities of Aryd. It’s not as downtrodden as my home of Enora, or even the capitol.
Someone bumps into me only to shuffle away quickly at the look Reven bends on them.
“Quit that,” I mutter under my breath.
If I could have made a portal to get us to Tyndra, I would have—it would’ve been faster and safer—but I tried. Tried…and failed. All my efforts shattered, and my amulet remained unresponsive the entire time.
Cain insists I only have a confidence problem, but I’m now pretty sure my previous successes were because of her. Either the Goddess Aryd is not in the mood, or she can’t always help.
Why? Is she trapped? Sleeping? Being capricious, which was an Omma word for bitchy? The not knowing is the worst. Eidolon’s ghost very well could have lied to send me on a wild hare chase for reasons yet to be seen. Or maybe Aryd’s not really in there at all.
Either way, we’re using the portal in the temple in Yolyn Zag.
We enter the cool shade of the outer vestibule of the temple. At least we don’t need a priestess or acolyte to help us open the portal. Any Imperium only needs to turn on their power and picture their destination to work one. Only Vexillium, without powers, have to pay the temple keepers to use the portals.
No one stops us, and no one is using the portal when we reach it. The room is safely empty. The portal here is more basic than the one in Oaesys, smaller and simpler. One edge of the glass—blue glass here, different from the black in Oaesys and red in Enora—is rough and oddly shaped, as if it was chipped from a larger block. Propped up against the far wall, it’s held in place by two onyx slabs on either side.
The portals are the reason glass is forbidden in Nova, so no one can make their own. The only exceptions are small pieces of colored glass in the painted windows in some temples, and the glass walls of Aryd, because no way is anyone taking those down.
Reven pushes his hood back and takes up a position in the doorway, looking outward for anyone coming.
“Go,” he says.
The sunny glow from my hands spreads across the room. Picturing the portal chamber in Tyndra’s temple, one I’ve been in before, I wait. At first, the glass goes opaque, the colors behind it shifting to reflect the new destination rather than the sand-colored walls in this room. Then it goes crystal clear, showing us a different room on the other side.
We step between dominions like we’re stepping from one room into the next. Then the glass goes solid behind us as I turn off my power, and a small part of the tightness in my chest eases, though I’ll only be fully comfortable once everyone else is through safely, too.
As we both pull out our warmer clothes and put them on, I take a moment to glance around. I’ve been in this room before. I can’t say it’s any less striking this time.
The Tyndran portal is located in one of the twin temples. A high bridge connects the tower I’m standing in to a sister tower across the channel that divides the dominion into two pieces—the mainland and Little Tyndra, where we are now.
Every inch of the room itself is covered in glittering jewels. The walls, the floors, everything crusted in blue and white and black gems set in patterns that depict Tyndra. Mt. Ynferno, the Cliffs of Sacrifice, and even the ruins of the ancient watchtowers from when all six dominions, according to legend, still dared death in the maw of a Devourer to cross the oceans to get to one another. Before the portals.
The room is dazzling.
