The next surprise came only a moment later. Where she had felt the draft coming through the wall, there was now a massive opening, a gaping maw that ten people could have walked through shoulder-to-shoulder with plenty of room to spare. The opening—an archway—was surrounded by ornate carvings, mainly of dragons, but with some people and lettering also. The style was exotic and intriguing and unlike anything she had ever seen before.
A stone-flagged ramp led down to another level. Solène had to stop herself from rushing forward to investigate further. She was already stuck down here and, change of circumstances notwithstanding, she had yet to figure out a solution.
Still, with no easy way up, she decided she might as well continue on and see if there was another way out. She proceeded slowly, trying to take in the magnificence of the carvings while also considering what might have brought about the change. One moment she had been in a dark, dank room, little different from an old cellar, and the next she was in the ornately carved antechamber of what she presumed to be the Temple of the Enlightened. Were it not for the fact that the hole she had created was still there, she would have thought she had been transported to a different time or place. Something about her overwhelming interaction with the Fount must have done it, and she was both curious and afraid to find out what exactly had happened.
She peered through the arch, looking for any obvious danger. She was feeling fresher than she had before the Fount had bombarded her, and the hangover-like symptoms she had woken with were fading. Very slowly, and very carefully, she opened her mind to the Fount to see if she could spot anything untoward.
She braced herself for the expected flood of power, but what she felt couldn’t have been more different from a storm, more like a perfect summer’s day. Where before, the Fount had been like a raging torrent of primal energy, now it flowed around her evenly, with no terrifying confusion. It was peaceful. Calming, even. It felt as though her mind belonged there. She recalled the whispered words—in this place, we are one. Was this what it meant?
Her understanding of what an affinity with the Fount meant was too limited for her to be able to take any conjecture far. She had been born with it, as had some others she had met at the Priory, like dal Drezony. In Imperial times, children were trained to develop an affinity with the Fount, making them as potent as—if not more potent than—anyone born with one by the time they were adults. As the Prince Bishop had discovered to his chagrin, it was something that had to be cultivated from a young age—the older you got, the less bountiful an affinity you could develop. It was the reason he had wanted the Cup, and the reason he now wanted the temple.
The passage leading down was wide, and the roof was far higher than she expected. Large enough for a dragon, she thought. Everywhere she looked, dragons featured in the reliefs. She modified her light so that it would follow her, and started down. The reliefs along the passage were painted bright, vibrant hues. There were many different colours of dragon represented, and various shades of each. Their eyes were rendered with gemstones. To her inexpert eye, it looked as though there were rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, and there were others of various colours, the names of which she did not know. There was an unimaginable fortune on the walls. If she used her dagger to pry them from their sockets, she would have enough money to start a new life of luxury anywhere she chose. She didn’t feel the least compulsion to do so, however. She would rather start again with nothing than destroy the beautiful, incredible works of art lining the walls.
Finally she reached the bottom of the ramp, where there was another great archway, just as ornate as the first. The illumination of her light didn’t reach far beyond the arch, but even as she walked toward it, she realised that everything she had seen so far paled by comparison to what lay ahead.
Ysabeau stroked the horse’s muzzle with no affection. She had taken control of the animal as soon as she had realised what Solène was up to. She had considered hauling Solène up, but reckoned being stuck down there would motivate her to explore properly and find what Ysabeau’s father needed. Instead, it seemed the woman had decided to take a nap, leaving Ysabeau with a long, cold wait. Once Solène woke up and disappeared deeper into whatever lay beneath the ground, Ysabeau decided it was time for her to follow. She had a rope in her packs, but Solène’s was as good as any. She untied it from the horse’s saddle and secured it to a spike she had placed in the ground. She would have no problems hauling herself out of the hole. The redhead might surpass Ysabeau in magical ability, but in terms of physical ability, Ysabeau was confident she held the upper hand.
She checked that the line was secure, then slid down it with practised ease. She dropped to the floor without making a sound, then looked around. She would have whistled through her teeth in appreciation for her surroundings were the need for silence not absolute. They were magnificent, and quite unlike anything she’d ever seen before—and she’d seen quite a bit, from the seraglios of the Shandahari Khagans and the court of the Sultan of Darvaros to the palaces of the Moguls of Jahar.
She drew her rapier—a Telastrian blade she had liberated from the Count of Somerham, moments after she had cut the Humberlander’s throat. While she was aware of the value of blades like that, and how sought-after they were, her interest in it was entirely practical. Telastrian steel had an interesting relationship with magic. It was what had made these weapons so sought-after in Imperial times. The metal acted like a sponge, soaking up magical energy, rendering it, if not entirely harmless, then far less potent than it would have been otherwise. She hadn’t had much call to use that power, but she had kept the rapier, thinking it might come in handy in future. She reckoned that day had come, although it would be better for everyone if she was able to avoid an encounter with Solène completely. She didn’t see how that would work, but she was an eternal optimist.
She followed Solène’s light, being careful to stay far enough back to remain hidden in the darkness.
CHAPTER 46
Amaury’s hands were shaking as he approached the king’s private offices. The Priory had done some experimentation on pacifying people—making a rioting protestor see reason—in an effort to find a humane way of dealing with the civil strife Mirabay was known for. He hoped it would work for his predicament. There wasn’t time to test it now—he had no option but to trust that he had it down, and try it for the first time in anger.
Heart racing, he knocked on the door and waited for the king’s private secretary to open the door. With a forced smile on his face, Amaury said, “I had hoped to give the king an update on matters we discussed earlier.”
“Show him in,” the king commanded from behind the secretary, who then ushered the Prince Bishop into the office.
“What progress, First Minister?”
“Might I sit, Highness?” Amaury said.
“Of course.” The king gestured to a chair.
Amaury sat, took a moment to gather his thoughts, then sought to exercise the magical gifts he had tried to draw from the Cup, even as he spoke to the king.