Dross brightened. [Ha-HA! You see, I knew I had passed. I just wanted to pass harder. Did you hear that, Lindon? He appreciates me.]
Lindon’s heart was beating faster, and he was beginning to sweat. He cycled his pure madra to calm himself down.
What was Northstrider about to do?
[Ew, you’re all messy. Calm down. Would you tell him he has nothing to worry about, Master?]
Northstrider looked up to the ceiling as several spiritual perceptions locked onto him at once.
Lindon’s spirit shook like water in an earthquake.
This was the attention of Monarchs; he was certain of it. More than one. They had found Northstrider, and now some kind of communication was passing between them.
The very air of the hallway warped, and Lindon’s madra trembled as it was affected by a will not his own.
Then the sensation passed, and Northstrider scooped Dross up in his hand. “Come.”
He turned to the side, waving a hand. There was a brief flash of blue and a hole tore open in the air.
On the other side, Lindon saw a massive, elaborate hall decorated with jewels and shining chandeliers. A room he recognized.
He had seen it in Suriel’s vision, years before. This was the room where Sha Miara had been crowned.
Northstrider stepped into the portal…and Dross’ presence in Lindon’s mind immediately thinned.
It felt as though Dross was being pulled away, like Northstrider was stretching and stretching the connection between them. Soon, it would reach its limit and break.
Lindon seized that thread, focusing his entire being on it.
Not only was he not sure what would happen to his spirit or his mind, but…this was Dross.
Dross noticed what was going on as soon as they crossed the portal, spinning in Northstrider’s palm and turning back to Lindon.
[Hurry up, Lindon!]
Lindon dashed for the portal…but Northstrider glanced at him.
Invisible force pushed Lindon back, and the portal winked shut, cutting off Dross’ horrified shout.
The connection between them thinned further, fraying more with every passing second. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on. The thread melted in his grip.
When it broke, Dross would be gone.
Would he ever come back?
In the center of a hallway in the Ninecloud Court, Lindon set his feet. He clenched his jaw and cycled his spirit.
And he concentrated every ounce of his attention on the link between him and Dross.
Snatches of the spirit’s thoughts came through in pieces.
[Master…]
[…why…]
[…gone?]
Only recently, Lindon had struggled against Naian Blackflame for control of a Ruler technique, which had strained his mind and spirit. This felt much the same: like he was trying to hold back an avalanche.
And it was all just to hang on. How long would he have to keep this up?
Dross’ voice flickered in and out of his thoughts, an incomprehensible jumble.
Then the force pulling against him redoubled.
The connection almost snapped…but just as he was about to lose it, he saw it.
In his mind’s eye, he could see the link between himself and Dross as a silver thread stretching into the distance. It was the same way he visualized his madra, and it felt equally real.
Now that he could see the connection, he focused on it even more intently.
He squeezed his eyes shut so the thread became all he could see. He leveraged all the power of his spirit, his madra surging.
Excess pure madra gushed out of him, filling the hallway. Lighting scripts brightened to unusual levels, constructs in the walls overloading or activating in a squeal of sounds.
His spirit strained. He might suffer permanent spiritual injury from this, or from having Dross torn away from him. In the worst-case scenario, this might be the end of his life as a sacred artist.
He might lose.
But it wouldn’t be because he gave up.
Lindon’s full power trembled. Just as he resolved to die before he let go, Dross’ presence filled his mind again. The hair-thin connection between them flexed to a thick, braided cord.
His eyes snapped open to see that the portal had opened again. He now stood, panting and weak and red-faced, in front of Northstrider.
Lindon sagged in place, but thanks to his Underlord body, his knees didn’t buckle. “Gratitude,” he said to the Monarch. “Please allow me to accompany you.”
Dross gave a glad cry and floated over to Lindon, merging once again with his spirit. [You see? I knew he’d change his mind and bring you along. I never…ah, never doubted for an instant.]
Dross’ voice was shaky and unsure, and Lindon could feel his fear.
It was nothing next to Lindon’s.
While trying to keep Dross, he had intentionally ignored the reality of his situation. He had just openly defied a Monarch.
He glanced up to Northstrider’s eyes, terrified to see anger there.
Instead, he saw surprise. Perhaps consideration.
“Come, boy,” Northstrider said, and Lindon gladly followed.
[I’m telling you, I didn’t think he was going to open the portal again!] Dross babbled as Lindon walked through the gateway. [It didn’t look like he would. He had his back to it and everything. But he changed his mind, you see, and I told you he wasn’t an enemy. He’s a generous and brilliant person, he’s just a little…scary.]
The audience hall of the Ninecloud Court was just as Lindon remembered it, filled with brilliantly colored tiles and pillars scattered here and there around the room. A forest of jeweled chandeliers hung down from high, arched ceilings.
Each chandelier was a unique work of art, many spinning or flashing with living spirits, and other, equally colorful decorations hung on the walls.
But Lindon had very little time to consider the room when he realized the significance of where he was.
Every person in the room besides him was a Monarch.
He huddled behind Northstrider against one wall, but the other Monarchs of the Uncrowned King tournament were also in attendance.
Reigan Shen stood on an elaborate golden pedestal that held him high above the others, so that he looked down on the rest with hands crossed behind his back. Like Northstrider, he was a powerfully built man, and his fine hair and beard blended into a white-gold mane. The sacred lion paced on his platform, wearing a look of obvious discontent.
Lindon had only seen Emriss Silentborn in the form of a giant tree, but he recognized her immediately. Her skin was dark, like most of her competitors in the tournament, but hers had the consistency of bark. Her hair was made of luminous blue-green vines braided together, and she carried a staff with a blooming diamond flower at the tip.
She wore a look of great sadness, and Lindon couldn’t tell if something had happened or if this was how she always appeared.
Three members of the Eight-Man Empire muttered to one another, and Lindon reminded himself that he technically wasn’t the only one who hadn’t reached Monarch. The gold-armored figures were considered a Monarch collectively, but independently they were only Sages or Heralds.
Only.
The three spoke to one another, but they were focused on Northstrider and didn’t look happy.
Seshethkunaaz, King of Dragons, was in the form of a boy perhaps thirteen years old. He had sandy hair and bright gold eyes, and he sat on the floor, most of his body covered in a filthy brown cape.
He glared at Akura Malice, who wasn’t watching him in return. She lounged on a Forged throne of shadows, purple eyes locked on Lindon.
Mercy’s mother was a beauty out of paintings and legends. Her hair flowed out behind her like liquid shadow, reminding him of her son Fury, and she wore a silken dress of purple and silver. A network of silver chains hung in her hair, dangling a fat amethyst over her forehead. Her eyes were a deeper, richer shade of purple than her descendants, and they rippled with subtle light.