Chapter 8
The Ninecloud Court looked as though it had been ripped from a dream.
Rather than a city, it looked like a jeweled palace so vast that Lindon couldn't see the end. Shimmering glass bridges connected one ruby tower to another, and shining castles floated on white clouds that sparkled every color. Blue birds with wingspans that looked a mile wide trailed rain from their tails, leaving rainbows falling behind them.
The iridescent structures built on one another, leading up to one tower in particular: a rose-tinted diamond spire encircled by a solid rainbow that reminded Lindon of Samara's Ring back home.
Lindon reached into his pocket, clenching Suriel's marble. Somewhere in that complex—maybe at the top of that tower—was where heaven's messenger had taken him to see Luminous Queen Sha Miara. Years ago, Suriel had assured him that he couldn’t make it with the power he had at the time.
And now here he was.
Without warning, rainbow light shimmered around the cloudship. Lindon began cycling Blackflame, but none of the Akura Lords or Ladies looked concerned. A moment later, a woman's gentle voice poured in from everywhere.
“Good morning, honored guests! I am the Ninecloud Soul, voice of the Court, and we welcome you to the eighteenth Uncrowned King tournament! The first round will begin in two weeks. In the meantime, we will guide you to your rooms.”
He couldn’t see the source of the voice. The rainbow light hovered around their ship, which began to drift toward a nearby amethyst tower.
[It’s interesting how humans decide whether or not to panic by watching others,] Dross noted. [What if all of you are wrong together?]
Charity and Fury are aboard. If they’re wrong about what’s safe, then I guess we’re all going to die.
Other cloudships were being pulled into other neighboring towers at the same time. In fact, the air might have been more crowded than the streets. Maybe the Blackflame Empire team was somewhere among them.
He sent a thread of pure madra into the voice transmission construct he held in his hand.
[That poor construct. Worked to death. You’re a cruel man.]
Yerin’s voice came through in a whisper, and Lindon pressed the device to his ear. But he couldn’t make anything out; her words split and cracked like dry leaves. He poured more pure madra into it, but finally the faceted surface of the construct cracked as well. He felt the binding inside warp, deforming past usefulness.
He lowered it, sighing. It had been wonderful being able to speak with Yerin even every other day, but he had pushed the construct past its original lifespan. It wasn’t meant to last half a year, he was sure.
[There are sects that would have considered that a legendary treasure, handing it down to their descendants to call for help in times of dire need,] Dross said. [I just thought you ought to feel guiltier.]
The Sage can afford it, Lindon responded, but he was disappointed that the construct had finally broken. Now he wouldn’t know when to expect Yerin. Maybe she was finally here. Would he be allowed to see her before the tournament?
As the ship drifted closer to the shimmering jeweled tower, another cloudship joined them, pulled by the same rainbow madra toward a dock next to theirs. This ship was made of pale wood and drifted on a white cloud, but it was much smaller than the Akura clan’s. On the deck were a scattered handful of blue-robed sacred artists.
Their ship had clearly suffered some damage. Scorch marks dotted the hull, and sprays of cloud madra hissed from the bottom.
One woman onboard spotted them and walked over to the edge. Just when Lindon thought she would leap over, she vanished mid-step, appearing on the deck of the Akura cloudship. She dragged a gust of icy air with her.
The new arrival looked young, perhaps midway through her twenties, with sun-browned skin and long, flowing white hair. She wore sky-blue sacred artist’s robes decorated with snowflakes like white flowers. Along the outside of her forearms ran a frozen line of ice down her skin. A straight-bladed sword hung in a blue sheath on her back.
Charity did not appear surprised to see her, instead giving a shallow bow. “Min Shuei. It seems you ran into some trouble on the way.”
Lindon, watching intently, startled when Mercy rushed up behind him and grabbed his arm in excitement.
“That’s the Winter Sage! I haven’t seen her since I was a girl!” She leaned forward, staring at the newcomer. “She’s taller than I remembered.”
The Winter Sage’s expression crumpled as she stared at Charity, as though she were about to cry. “Charity! Where were you?”
“I was not aware you were in trouble,” the Heart Sage said stiffly. “Why did you not contact us? I would have sent my father to your side in a moment.”
“It was Xorrus,” the white-haired woman said, and now her speech was tinged with hatred. “By the time I sensed her strike, she was already flying away. She drew the blood she wanted.”
Akura Charity was still cold as usual. “Your team?”
“She killed one of my boys,” Min Shuei said, full of sorrow. “He was only twenty-six, and so full of talent. His mother hasn’t eaten in weeks. His father swore to mount a dragon’s head on his wall for every year of his son’s life.”
“But only one?” Charity clarified. “You still have two competitors left?”
The tanned woman turned horrified eyes to the Sage of the Silver Heart. “Hundreds died, among them one of the most talented students I’ve ever had. He cannot simply be replaced!”
“And yet he must be,” Charity said. “I am not insensitive to your grief, but this competition is our best chance to strike back. Have you selected a replacement yet?”
The Winter Sage bristled with rage, and icy madra spread to every corner of the ship.
Lindon shivered, his skin prickling as sword-aura stung him in response to this woman’s anger.
Charity did not muster her madra in response, but nor did she seem moved by the other Sage’s hostility. They faced one another in silence as the other Akura members scurried away, evacuating the deck.
Then a door slammed open, breaking the quiet. Akura Fury strode out, his black hair rippling like a flame and his chest bare as always. For the first time that Lindon had seen, his expression was totally serious.
“I smell Xorrus,” the Herald said.
The Winter Sage gestured back to her cloudship, which by that time had settled at the end of a dock sticking out of the emerald tower. The Akura cloudship shuddered as it, too, was drawn into a dock.
Servants in rainbow robes waited for them, bowing, but no one left the ships yet.
Fury drifted up on a cushion of wind aura, using his soulfire to float. He moved as naturally as if he were on a wind Path, effortlessly flying over to the white cloudship, hovering next to the burn-scarred hull.
“Amazing,” Lindon said.
“That’s a Herald for you.” Mercy chewed on one of her black-gloved thumbs for a moment before saying, “…you should know that there’s been a feud between my family and the gold dragons for generations. Uncle Fury especially. He’s considered just behind Northstrider and the Beast King as a great enemy of dragon-kind.”
[Third place isn’t bad,] Dross said.
Fury ran his hand along the scorched wood of the Frozen Blade cloudship. “This can’t have been more than a week ago. She was alone?”
The Sage of the Frozen Blade closed her eyes and took a deep breath, bringing her madra under control. “A wing of lesser dragons burned down an ancestral grove as we traveled. I stopped to deal with them, but they were only bait so that Xorrus could strike against my Underlords.”
Fury’s red eyes burned. “You were lucky not to lose everyone. But now we have greater concerns.” He turned to Charity. “Xorrus is only the Dragon King’s left hand.”
Before he’d even finished speaking, the Heart Sage’s voice echoed throughout the cloudship. “Be on alert. We have two remaining vassal teams that have not yet arrived: the Temple of Rising Earth and the Blackflame Empire. We have every reason to believe that one or both have suffered an attack.”