The obvious answer was “power,” but there wasn’t much more power the Monarchs could give her. And what else could they grant her that she couldn’t earn on her own?
Malice put a hand to her lips in a show of surprise. “Are you now? Well, then, how can we waste time?”
She swirled her hand, and darkness swallowed everything but Yerin and Malice. They still stood on a solid surface, but the whole world was blacker than a nightmare.
Yerin found that she could understand what Malice was doing even though her spiritual perception was blacked out. They hadn’t physically moved anywhere; this was just a way of communicating over great distances, like some kind of Monarch-level messenger construct.
She supposed she was sensing Malice’s will through the working, which was a strange feeling. She needed to get used to that.
A call had gone out in many different directions, and while Yerin couldn’t trace most of them, she knew one at least had gone out to Reigan Shen and his faction.
She knew that because the Blood Sage appeared before them almost instantly, the image of a roaring white lion announcing his presence.
The Sage of Red Faith was a tall, skeletal man with white hair all the way down to his knees and red lines tracing down from the corners of his eyes so that it always looked like he was weeping bloody tears. He was hunched forward like a scarecrow about to fall off its post, scanning the darkness.
When he saw Yerin, his eyes lit with a feverish light. He lunged forward, reaching for her, though his image didn’t move through the darkness at all.
“My girl!” he whispered. “Dear, sweet, wise, wonderful girl. You did it, you did it, you did it! Truly, it is the master’s joy to see his apprentice surpass him, but I would have never—”
“You’re not my master,” Yerin said, but he didn’t pause for even an instant to listen.
“—thought that you would proceed from such a great state of instability. Give me your memory, let me see it, and that’s the end. Our work will be complete. You and I will be responsible for the greatest revolution in the sacred arts since Emriss—no, we will be beyond even her; she can help us spread the word, others must know! Give me the dream tablet, make me a tablet, I want to see your memory, I want to taste it.”
“I don’t recall inviting you, Red Faith.” Malice sounded amused rather than disgusted, as Yerin had imagined she would be. “I’m surprised to see Shen trusted you with the authority to speak on his behalf.”
“Shen? We don’t need Shen anymore, don’t you understand?” He was still fixated on Yerin. “You hate Redmoon Hall, I know you do. I’ll tear it down with my own hands. Not a rat will remain alive. I’ll give you their heads, or I’ll deliver them to you alive, or I’ll pay you, I can pay you—”
He kept ranting, waving his hands in demonstration, but he no longer made a sound.
Another woman sighed in relief, though Yerin hadn’t seen her arrive. “Thank you, Malice. Our meetings are never productive with him around.”
Her skin was a human shade of dark brown, but it had the texture of bark. A reminder of her original life as a tree, like her hair, which was made of glowing blue-green vines braided together. She tapped the invisible ground with her staff, which was topped with a diamond shaped like a blooming flower.
Emriss gave Yerin a kindly smile. “He is correct in one respect: there is much to be learned from your advancement. I hope you do indeed share your experiences, though…not necessarily with him.”
Red Faith was biting at his fingernails as though to chew away the restriction of silence.
Yerin dipped her head to Emriss. “Thanks, Monarch. I know he’s a cockroach walking like a man, but he did help me out of a tough spot.”
Red Faith nodded furiously, pointing to Yerin. An indescribable, invisible ripple broke the darkness, and he pushed through Malice’s command for silence.
“Don’t be close-minded! She could share with all of us! This is the way forward! This is—”
His voice vanished again.
“Now, where did he find the authority for that?” Malice asked.
Emriss shook her head. “He is very old, and craftier than he appears. Who can say for certain what tricks he has in his pockets?”
Yerin couldn’t signal the Sage of Red Faith. The two Monarchs could sense everything she did, even in a sealed space like this. Maybe especially here.
But she lingered on his eyes longer than she needed to, hoping he would notice.
He didn’t stop chewing on his fingers, but she thought she saw his intelligence shine through for a moment. He gave her a brief, barely perceptible nod.
That’s a start, she thought.
When the fight for Sacred Valley was over, she had a use for him. Long ago, Eithan had stolen one of this man’s dream tablets for her. He’d given it to Yerin, which had helped her cultivate her Blood Shadow.
He’d gotten it from the labyrinth.
Where he had once performed experiments on the Bleeding Phoenix.
The dream tablet hadn’t been thorough; it was more of a personal recollection on his understanding of Blood Shadows. She wasn’t clear whether he’d had the entire Phoenix down there, or just pieces of it, or if the labyrinth was just where you went to hide if you wanted to do Dreadgod research.
But it was a firm connection between the Bleeding Phoenix and the labyrinth her master had been exploring before he died.
Now that she was back in Sacred Valley, it was time to track down some answers.
Or almost time. Once the other Dreadgod was taken care of.
While Yerin got the Sage’s attention, another woman had appeared, beneath the shining image of a golden knight. She was dressed in intricate golden armor, but she had her helmet off, revealing messy blonde hair.
Larian of the Eight-Man Empire looked around the circle, stopping to glare at the Blood Sage. “Who invited Red Faith? I won’t speak anywhere he does.”
Red Faith shouted something, but it released no sound.
“…perfect,” Larian finished.
A red dragon head with golden eyes snapped at the darkness, and Northstrider strode out from beneath that emblem. His hair was still trimmed and neat, his facial hair short, and he wore clean clothes. Similar to how he had appeared in the finals of the Uncrowned King tournament.
Yerin had expected him to go back to his homeless wanderer look by now.
“Has the time come for the champion to name her wish?” Northstrider asked.
He gave Yerin a…she couldn’t call it a smile, but it was at least an approving look. “We should all be of one mind. Let her state her desire so that we may grant it in all haste. I, for one, do not wish to take my gaze from the Titan for longer than I must.”
Yerin didn’t know if they were waiting on anyone else—had the Arelius family even been invited? What about the Ninecloud Court?—but she knew an opening when she saw one.
“You’re cutting to the heart of it,” Yerin said. “I want you to keep the Wandering Titan away from where it’s going. Don’t have to try and kill it, just push it away until we can get people out.”
There was silence around the circle. Malice looked amused.
Northstrider folded black-scaled arms. “There are restrictions on what requests we fulfill and how we fulfill them. If there were not, the winner could wish for one of us as a slave, or for the death of an entire country. One of those restrictions is that we will not satisfy a request that endangers the life of a Monarch or the existence of their faction.”
“Fighting a Dreadgod counts,” Larian said.
“It’s headed into a formation that keeps it tied up tight,” Yerin insisted. “This might be your chance to bury it for good.”