The noise continued unabated as the Light-blessed and other Aristarzians, in small groups, checked on their wayward deity and made certain he had not harmed himself by foolishly participating in their party. Qira greeted every one with a smile and thanks despite the obvious pain, but being there, being seen, meant more to him than rest.

Vantra expected Zibwa to protest more vigorously, or for his friends to guilt him into retiring for the night, but they did not, so she assumed that, while still needing care, he had healed enough to say goodbye.

Or, at least, healed to the point Resa and Joila could prop him up in the Darkness chair while he clasped hands and chatted.

Her eyes flicked to Katta and Zibwa, who spoke in hushed tones while they ate. She could sense the touch of healing power coating Qira, and it did not take a genius to figure out who fed him energy. Why did the Healer allow him this moment? He really should be in bed, drinking heavy potions that would send him into slumber. Was this farewell that important?

Sensing the relief rushing through the tavern as those who knew him saw him, feeling a bleak heaviness lift that she had not realized weighed them down, she supposed it was.

Rayva hefted herself into the seat Kjaelle had vacated and whined before flumping her front legs and head onto Katta’s lap. He pushed back from the table to give her room, ruffled her fur, then grabbed his plate and held it to his chest while he continued his meal, pausing every so often to smooth the top of her head. The Aristarzian were not the only ones in need of comfort.

Where was Kjaelle, anyway? She glanced around but did not see the elfine. She and Vesh had disappeared with the other mini-Joyful acolytes, and they had yet to return. A part of her wished they had invited her along. She sat by herself, lonely among the myriad of people laughing and enjoying the going-away party . . .

None of them were there for her. The Sun followers were there for Yut-ta, the Light-blessed for Qira and Katta, the nomads for Kenosera, the pirates for a good time . . .

Dedari and Lesanova slipped to the table, staring at Qira with shock, before scooting to their seats. Both had applied rich tropical blue shadow to their eyes and foreheads, making their brown eyes pop. Oranges gleamed against their bronze cheeks, nose, and breastbones. In keeping with the traditional look, they wrapped bright orange, filmy cloth around their torsos and wore darker skirts split on the side and tied at the waist—common festive attire in the desert from which they hailed.

Vantra was certain they had dressed for Kenosera’s attention.

She smoothed her shimmery indigo sundress; so had she, but without the eye-catching makeup. She had not developed the trick of manipulating her essence to that exacting extent, and her experience with physical shadows, liners, and prep powders and lotions focused on Sun ritual use rather than beauty.

Hands gripped her shoulders; she looked up. Kenosera met her eyes with a smile and chuckle as Tagra and Yut-ta found their seats next to the Sun adherents.

“The Light-blessed had bets,” he said.

“I’m sure they did.” Vantra fought not to set her hand on her tingling chest and beam at him.

“Is he up to sailing?”

“Probably not, but he’ll do it anyway.”

“This is good,” Dedari said, tapping at the red-sauced chunks of meat and rice, covering her mouth as she chewed. “I will miss this food.”

“Why?” Kenosera asked as he slid into his chair. “Katta said you’ll receive a Shade’s stipend, contingent on your rank. There’s no training fee, and there’s no boarding cost at the Light house, so what you earn is yours to keep.”

Vantra shoved her annoyance into the pit of her stomach at the mention of the building. How dare the owner call the place the Light house when it was not an actual lighthouse? It had a wondrous view of the Dryanflow over the city wall, but that did not make up for the lack of a spiral staircase and a rotating light on top.

And stripes. Lighthouses loved stripes. That rectangular structure had the typical half-timber, stucco look of Aristarzian architecture, which in no way resembled bright red and white stripes.

“Do you really think they’ll pay us?” Lesanova asked quietly, her fork pushing chunks of green vegetables around the white cream sauce. “After you leave, there’s no guarantee.”

“They’ll pay you.”

Vantra fought not to jump; she had forgotten Lorgan sat on her other side. His reservedness that night struck her as odd, considering he did not have difficulty mingling. He blended with the background but still seemed to have a good time. Or maybe she mistook his façade, and he buried his discomfort, like she did.

“Shade’s yearly stipend for trainees is a quarter sheath of Death coins,” he continued. “That’s plenty of cash to eat here when you want, since room and board are free.” He stuck the tip back in his mouth and sucked in a large mouthful of mist.

“But that seems so . . . overpaid.”

“It’s compensation for the danger you’ll be in. You may not think it, but collecting information on this new threat isn’t going to be simple. Not only must you guard against the enemy’s return, expect officials left in Selaserat to bury embarrassing matters and their rivals to invent even more, hoping to win the leadership fights. Selaserat’s a rich port, and whoever controls it controls the money.”

Lesanova pushed out her lower lip. “Lots of fun, looking forward.”

“Yes, but tonight’s not the night to dwell on it.” The scholar glanced at Qira, then grinned. “Tonight is a Light-blessed party.”

“See, Sera?” Dedari asked, pointing her fork at him. “We’re getting paid. You need to stay, so you get paid, too.”

Kenosera did not reply, just shoved food into his mouth. Lesanova elbowed her; she rubbed at her side and returned to eating, eyes narrowed.

Vantra struggled to remain in her seat and not whisk away to hide in embarrassment. The Hallowed Collective paid Finders to complete Redemptions; since they tossed her out and rescinded her meager stipend, she had nothing to compensate anyone accompanying her on the journey. The syimlin were picking up the cost; she could only offer deadly enemies and killer environments.

And boredom. Lots of boredom, with spates of debilitating danger.

Katta finished his plate, arched over Rayva’s head to set it down, and glanced at the Sun contingent; Lokjac stood, gripped Yut-ta by the shoulder, and floated over to Vantra.

He wore a loose, sleeveless brown shirt and shorts, no shoes, with his white hair pulled back from his long face in a neat, five-strand braid. Multiple earrings jangled from his pointed ears, the gold winking as it caught the dim light.

He leaned over, holding his beard against his chest so it did not drape over the table. “Would you mind, having a word with me and Katta?” he asked.

Vantra looked at the syimlin, who had already risen, Rayva panting at his side. “Sure.”

Kenosera cast her a concerned look; she smiled, hoping to alleviate his worry, and followed Darkness and his vulf across the floor and to the hallway that led to the private meeting room spelled for security.

Unlike everyone else, a corridor parted for him, and the partiers closed the gap after she and Lokjac wafted past.

Cool pummeled them as Katta opened the door into the pitch-black room. The whizan sent a simple Light spell to the ceiling. Instead of illuminating a long golden table with the seating neatly lined up at its side, a smaller, round brown one sat in the middle, a cluster of worn chairs surrounding it that looked as if someone had left without pushing them back into place.

Vantra sat and studied the Dryanflow landscapes decorating the walls as Katta sank down next to her. Rayva pushed out a chair with her nose and hopped into it, and Lokjac took a seat opposite them. He folded his multi-ringed hands, laid them on the table, and regarded them, concern deep in his teal-ringed blue eyes.

“I know the Snake sent you to check on me, and he was right to worry, considering current events. After I settled in the new ruin, I wrote him. I’ve just gotten correspondence back from him, and we agree I should discuss this with you.” His seriousness pricked Vantra’s dread. “We haven’t heard from the other three Guardians in quite some time, and we’re concerned.”

“That’s unusual, for Guardians to contact one another.” Katta folded his arms and lounged down. “Even if the essences are linked, without a Redemption map, it’s difficult to discover their whereabouts.”

“We didn’t need a map; we had Machella,” Lokjac said with a faint smile as the bright light dimmed under the displeasure of Darkness. “I and the Snake already had a lively correspondence, and at some point, we realized we both agreed to guard an essence with a magic-activated letter from Death attached to it. The letter said our guardianship was necessary, but the charge dangerous. If we declined, the essence would return to Death’s Judgment. We accepted without understanding why she felt the need for caution. Soon after the revelation, I received a package that had five oracle cards.”

Rayva yipped and whuffled at Katta, who lidded his eyes and lifted his lip in a faint snarl.

“She enjoys her games,” the Darkness acolyte muttered.

He flipped his hand, jangling the multiple chain bracelets around his wrist. “True, but I still used them to seek the others because something strange had happened near the ruin where I safeguarded essences. I told the Snake, and he agreed we should find and inform them of my concerns.”

“So Machella knew where you lived.”

“But not who I was. The cards arrived at the Raining Sun Temple with a note to High Priestess Avarelle asking her to deliver them to the odd whizan.”

“That’s rude,” Vantra said, flabbergasted an oracle would describe a powerful elfine like that.

“Perhaps, but Avarelle knew who to hand them to.”

“Didn’t you find that peculiar?” Katta asked, frowning.

“Yes, but I’m not as averse to Machella as some, and in this, I genuinely think she wanted to help.” He held up his index finger. “Just so you know, the five of us are not novices in essence care. We rode out the destruction of the Guardians by the Hallowed Collective and continued our charge with a more active eye to the odd. And that is why I accepted her aid, however foolish it seemed.”

“What happened that sparked your worry?” Katta asked.

“I discovered a lurking, malevolent, dark presence probing the interior of the ruin and leaving a foul aura behind—one that stunk of beghestern blood magic, rot, and a deep, unforgiving rage. I moved the essences I guarded to a safer haven within the Labyrinth and cast better protective spells, and I didn’t encounter it again.

“I never forgot the sense of it, however. While I was not at the citadel when the tower fell, from Yut-ta’s descriptions, I believe the same evil formed the portal.” He re-clasped his hands, one forefinger tapping against the back of his hand. “I returned to the ruin I just vacated,” he said abruptly. “In my haste, I had forgotten a few things I wished to retrieve. Lingering wisps of that presence filled every corner. I evacuated just in time.”

Vantra shuddered. After battling it in Greenglimmer, she did not want to deal with that dark power again—and her emotions plummeted, knowing that she must. “I’m glad you got out,” she said.

“I as well. And, considering what happened in Greenglimmer these past few semma, I worried the presence might have targeted Black-claw.”

“Black-claw?” Katta asked.

“He’s the Essence Guardian that we took Navosh to,” Vantra said. And the one who let a ghost languish to the point she nearly wished herself into the Void. Why did he care for so many essences if he could not sense when the Condemned who owned them needed immediate aid? She squirreled away her dislike; she had already mentioned her concerns to Katta when he asked why Rezenarza threw her across the rainforest, and he promised to speak with Death about the incident.

“He’s a self-proclaimed Labyrinth Guardian as well,” Lokjac said. “There’s something to that, but he’s reluctant to talk about it. I’ve had a few meetings with him, but he’s skittish when it comes to ghosts.”

A nice way, to explain his antipathy. “He and Navosh are friends.”

“Perhaps that friendship was why the presence attacked his abode, but I think being a Guardian was the cause.”

Attacked? Alarm shot through her, but he held up his hand in reassurance.

“Black-claw’s habitation is an ancient temple that has many eons-old spells embedded in its stone. Several are Labyrinth-centric, and while I’m not certain what, exactly, they do, they worked as intended, forcing the malevolent enemy to retreat before great harm befell them. The troubling part is, my return and his attack happened after the tower fell.”

Katta narrowed his eyes. “Do you suspect the presence was searching for Laken’s essence?”

“Yes. Once you leave, I have the feeling the attacks will stop, as the enemy will realize you have what you came to retrieve. They will turn their sights elsewhere, which is why I worry about the other Guardians.” He smoothed the top of his head and sighed, attesting to the strength of his magic; he could make his ghostly form breathe. “Machella’s cards led me to general locations, and I had to infer things about where to send correspondence. I can’t tell you their identities outside of essence care. After the Collective’s hunts, we Guardians use code-names for safety—except the Snake. You know how ancient beasts are.”

Rayva whine-barked, as if it were a trial she had suffered through many times, and Katta nodded sagely. Vantra mimicked him, and Lokjac smiled at her with a touch of humor. He reached into his shorts pocket and withdrew a palm-sized, rectangular package. He unwrapped it, revealing the back of a card; it had the outlines of twelve towering buildings lined up in neat rows, a thirteenth in the center, and a golden border formed from what looked like foreign letters.

He flipped the top over; a snake with a small body but large hood stared at them, their orange eyes matching the orange rock in the background. The reptile stood within a giant gate made from slabs of orangish-brown rock, in a style she recognized from the ruins surrounding the Snake’s temple.

The superficial resemblance to the gigantic reptile was obvious, but only because she had met him. Without that knowledge, she would have floundered in identifying him.

He set the card down; a brief burst of Sun magic raced from the bottom to the top and faded. Neither Katta nor Lokjac reacted, so Vantra decided the spell was a part of the design. “You’ve already visited the Den and the enemy knows you retrieved Laken’s torso, so I doubt he’ll suffer a visit.” He flipped the next card; a tiny cottage sat atop a cliff overlooking a broad cyan ocean, the trees bent over, their leaves lying on the ground. “Spinner hails from the Windtwists and was the first to cease responding to my letters. She had written of blood in the water and blackened sails previously, but I still don’t understand her references.

“Lucky for me, Spinner knew Roseen and informed her of my search. My correspondence to her went through an intermediary in Evening named Usha. I believe, based on the species of tree, that Roseen lives in the swamps of the Quiet.” He flipped the next card; a marina rested to the side of dark trees with hanging branches, a two-story, yellow-colored craft standing out among the white and metallic colors of other boats. “Both disappeared at the same time.” He showed the fourth. A wide expanse of snow surrounded a tall stone tower in the distance. “Nava’s from the Sunderlands. Her last correspondence was cryptic, and said Machella sought to save us from the returning evil.”

“Again with the games,” Katta said, his voice dropping in intense dislike.

“She has played them for centuries, but I think it all has a purpose,” Lokjac said.

“The Recompense?” Katta lifted his lip. Rayva nudged his arm with the tip of her nose, and he glanced at her, annoyed.

“Yes. She cradled that oracle—and still does.”

“It sundered.”

“That is what she wished us to think.”

The syimlin regarded the priest with enough fiery intensity his right eyebrow twitched. “And what do you think?”

“I think it’s proceeding as she saw, not as she portrayed, to protect those most in need of it.”

Katta leaned his head back and rubbed vigorously at his face. “Qira’s going to set fire to the Void, when he hears this.”

“Death said the oracle hadn’t sundered,” Vantra reminded him quietly.

“Yes, because Machella told her that. It doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth, however much some wish to believe her.”

Lokjac flipped the last card; the front façade of the Raining Sun Temple shimmered with golden light. “Perhaps.” He shuffled them into a neat pile. “All this to say, the essences may not be where Lorgan’s research leads. He found their general locations over a millennia, and while his discoveries correspond to the places I sent letters, neither takes current events into account.” He retrieved a piece of paper with three names and addresses written in neat script from the bottom of the package and set it on top of the cards.

“Do you think the enemy already found Laken’s other essences?” Vantra asked, the sudden thought sending emotional shock slamming through her. Nolaris stole his heart, and if they had more than that—

“I don’t know, but you need to consider it a possibility. You might want to look into local disappearances or strange occurrences that sent ghosts to the Void.” Lokjac closed his eyes, his expression turning bleak. “I know those of us who accepted the charge are strong and motivated, but as we’ve seen in Greenglimmer, this evil overpowers. What it left behind at the ruin, well, I’m going to have to cleanse it because it will warp the remaining spells and the surrounding land, and we’ve seen what happens when plants partake of that.”

“You need to tell Navosh,” Vantra said, unable to contain her alarmed worry. “The enemy might have targeted more ruins across Greenglimmer, and he’ll know where they are.”

“True enough. He’s still at the camp near Two Rivers, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Katta said as he settled his hand on her back, warmth radiating from the palm. She calmed, steadied, though the thought of the enemy possessing Laken’s essences sent streaks of panic careening through her. “And so is Erse and Verryn. You must tell them as well.” He blew a hard breath that puffed out his lips. “Even if she already knows.”

“I will.” Lokjac leaned back, rubbing his fingers together. “I’m not certain if anyone has mentioned it, but the remaining Sun acolytes have elected me as their interim leader. As such, I ordered Rudarig held for the Shade’s mercy. He is terrified of the Fields and claims he was trying to convince Hrivasine to fund a planned expansion of the temple, and knows nothing about Kjiven, the Wiiv, the flood, the citadel, or our high priestess’s disappearance. I doubt his sincerity.”

“As do I,” Katta muttered with dark sarcasm.

“His power is in slyness, not magic, and I can see him attempting to take advantage of a situation then whining when his plots break. I will also forward any other information I discover. Most of the temple-bound Sun acolytes were sent to the Void, but their personal effects remain untouched.” He pressed his hand to his breast. “And I would offer mine and Xafane’s services to the Shades. I trust few within the temple, but his is a pristine soul.”

“Both of you are welcome.” The syimlin smiled. “You’ve already proven your intent to make things right. And if you need help with Rudarig, ask Kasoris. Her use of Sonkowtrow is unparalleled, except by Ga Son. She will sing the truth out of him and any other acolyte you suspect.”

Lokjac laughed, and it took Vantra a moment to realize he found her expression amusing, rather than the proclamation. Katta nudged her, unable to squelch his grin, and rose.

She sped through the door, leaving them to their amusement. It was true, her mother could sing the truth out of the acolytes, just as she sung the truth out of her when she fibbed as a youngster. She did not envy those she targeted, even if they deserved it.