white cloak taut against his slim body. Urival bestowed the second ring.
Sioned’s view of her old friend and teacher’s face cleared as he faced the Fire. She frowned. Urival’s stern features were set in flinty impassivity, all light gone from his golden-brown eyes. Duty and position compelled him to preside over this ritual; obedience to Andrade forced him to adhere to her choice for Lord of Goddess Keep. He was not happy with Andry’s departure from that ritual. Sioned wished she could reassure him as those around her tonight had reassured themselves. But of them all—including Andry who stood apart—Urival was the most alone.
Sioned heard Hollis catch her breath as Andry made his first change in the proceedings, one that no one had been warned about. As Air continued to spin around him, he upended a pouch of loose, dry soil onto the stones. From his belt he took a glass flask full of Water. He unstoppered it and tossed it high into the air. A few glistening droplets escaped on its upward flight; as it fell it revolved and a stream of liquid raced the glass toward the ground.
Andry spread his arms wide. The spilled Earth was caught by a new whirlwind and rose in tightening spirals. Not a drop of Water reached the stones; the Air seized it, too. Shards of shattered glass glittered like small knives within the vortex as it narrowed. The bonfire swirled in wild patterns, and Earth, Air, and Water were consumed into its red-gold heart.
Andry had brought all Elements into play in a demonstration of power meant to dazzle. Or, Sioned thought, to warn.
He gestured at the flames and within them a conjuring appeared, a vision of Goddess Keep itself, sheathed in light. But it was not the golden glow of sunshine that danced over the walls and towers, nor the cool silvery gleam of the three moons. Icy white starfire frosted the conjured stones in sharp shadows and angles, making of the great castle a citadel of silent power.
Urival stepped forward, his face still expressionless, and slid the third ring onto Andry’s ringer. The young man allowed the conjuring to fade, and in his fine blue eyes was a sudden flare of anticipation.
Sunset light gilded the courtyard. Andry used it to weave a summons to the less-senior faradh’im waiting for his call. Dozens of them filed into the courtyard, bowing to Andry and nodding confirmation when Urival asked if they had felt his colors on the sunlight. The fourth ring was given.
At Stronghold, Sioned lifted her face from her Fire-conjuring to the last rays seeping over the western walls. As the fragile, rosy warmth touched her brow, she abruptly knew what Andry would do next, who he would speak to in proving his ability to ride the sunlight at great distances.
So. You’re watching.
How could I not? Sioned replied, not allowing Andry’s colors to drench hers in brilliant light. Goddess greeting to you, my lord.
And to you, my lady. I see Mother there, and Hollis, and Riyan.
It was a very odd thing to be seeing Andry’s face in the brazier Fire while hearing his voice at the same time in her thoughts. Yes. And Rohan, Ostvel, and your father. All very proud of you, Andry.
And very worried. Just look at Maarken’s face! Don’t be afraid of this, Sioned. I know what I’m doing. Andry hesitated. Is—is Alasen—
No. I’m sorry, Andry. She saw his face change slightly.
I should have expected it. Sioned, please help her to not be so afraid of what she is. She’ll never find any peace otherwise.
She chose her life, Sioned reminded him gently, and you chose yours.
Yes. Of course. A brief pause. A line furrowed his smooth forehead and something close to suspicion vibrated through his colors. Sioned—what is it about your colors tonight? I sense something, I can feel—
The sunlight fades here, my Lord, she replied. You’d best return.
You—dranath! Sioned, are you insane?
With a mannered fillip she disengaged from the contact and nudged him back down the weakening rays of light. She sensed his anger at her use of the drug, and a deeper resentment that she could rid herself of him so effortlessly. She caught a glimpse of Pol in his thoughts and the unguarded hope that the son would not be as powerful as the mother. With the drug singing in her blood she could have followed him while maintaining the Fire-conjure simultaneously. It was an intriguing thought, not the least bit frightening. But she had the