The next day's morning light splinters in through colored, fragmented glass, and all around Allayria are the strangely ordinary sounds of sleepy-eyed people waking up over cups of coffee. Chieftainess Aren Dost's nose is practically in hers while Hai Sofo quietly snoozes into his; the High King of Solveig, Rastirel Feuilles, strikes a more dignified pose but glowers over the rim of his cup. Neither Qui Wren, nor Lei, nor Allayria touch theirs, while Ruben sips merrily, displaying an obscene amount of alertness and optimism.

No one is exactly thrilled with Ruben this morning.

Allayria spares the Skill master a quick side glance but avoids meeting his gaze. His words from the previous morning seem to hang like a cloak around her, locking her in.

We can't let him win.

She wants to disappear; even more than she had on that long ride up to Quersido's tower. She wants time.

But there is none to be had, and when Beinsho drains his cup, setting it down with a curt snap on the glass table, he stands, calling for attention. Allayria's gaze slides over to the Dynast at this point, but he seems unperturbed by his second-in-command taking the lead. Quite the contrary: he tinkers with some small gadget in his hands, barely glancing up as Beinsho goes on about supply lines and provisions.

"With that out of the way, let us turn to another important matter," the commander transitions, his crisp voice breaking a long, lulling reverie that had settled around Allayria as he sets his papers down on the table. "Ruben, can you bring in the rescued prisoner?"

All heads turn as Ruben rises and exits the room.

"The one retrieved from the Jarles?" Feuilles asks sharply, alert now and glancing over at Allayria as the rest of the council seems to awaken all at once.

"Yes," Beinsho confirms. "He has agreed to be interviewed by the council."

"Is he safe?" Sofo inquires warily, his fingers quavering feebly around the steam rising out of his cup.

"We checked him over. There is no sign he has gone through the process outlined in the book," Beinsho answers and Feuilles snorts.

Wey is the color of parchment paper when Ruben brings him in. The Skill master guides the teen to a chair where he collapses, arms jittering at his sides as his gaze flits across the room, jumping from one powerful ruler to the next. He looks like he could pass out, and Ruben places a warm hand on his shoulder, leaning over and murmuring what must be comforting words into his ear.

"Ah," Beinsho shuffles the papers in front of him, brows furrowing as he squints down at a scrawl across one. "Wey, is it?"

"Y-yes, sir," the Nature-caller answers, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The council has asked you here to testify to your experiences as a captive of the Jarles," Beinsho says, his hard eyes flitting up and latching onto the boy. "Any information on what you saw could be useful in rescuing the thousands of people still imprisoned by the Imperator."

Wey nods, the sweat across his forehead shining in the sunlight.

"How many others did you see at your base?" Feuilles asks, a hand tapping on the edge of the table as he watches the boy. "Could you tell what nationalities they were?"

"Hundreds, Your Honor—Your Grace," Wey's cheeks flush bright red. "I-I couldn't say where they was from, Your Grace, when you're naked and afraid things like that don't matter anymore."

"You said there were Smith-callers, Nature-callers, and Beast-callers," Beinsho interjects, glancing down at his notes. "No non-Skillers, correct?"

"Aye, sir. Commander, sir," Wey confirms, nodding vigorously. "They killed the non-Skillers, sir."

"When they selected prisoners," Chieftainess Dost interjects, "did you ever see any of them after that? Even at a distance?"

"N-no, milady—Your Grace," Wey answers. "They took them to the black rooms and we never saw what happened after that."

"And did you ever see inside these black rooms?" Dost presses. "Even a glance—think."

"I-I—" his brow knits. "I once thought I saw something shiny in there, like the sheen of metal when a bit of light hits it, but it's not uncommon there." He turns, glancing Lei and Allayria's way, as if requesting backup. "The whole place was made out of metal, Your Grace."

"And did you ever see a Jarles woman there?" Beinsho demands. "A woman with no hair and metal rings up the back of her head?"

Allayria sees Lei tense in the seat next to her as Wey blanches and his hands begin to shake.

"Aye, sir," he whispers. "I have seen that woman, sir."

"What can you tell us of her?" Feuilles asks.

"You don't want her to look at you, Your Grace," Wey stammers. "You don't want her noticing you. She has these soldiers that follow her, sir, and there's something wrong with them."

"Wrong?" Dost interjects, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I—" the boy shrugs almost helplessly. "They wear these masks, Your Grace, and they move... they move unnaturally. I don't know how to explain it, m'am, they just shuffle behind her until they don't..."

He glances at Allayria and Lei again, and she knows exactly what he's trying to put into words.

"She comes every six months or so," he continues. "You see her walking around, looking at everyone. People... people said she could read minds."

"But that was just talk," he adds quickly. "I-I couldn't really say if she could, she just has this uncanny way of knowing things, Your Grace. Like knowing if you was planning on doing something you shouldn't. She's not like the rest of them—not like the Jarles you are used to. She doesn't do what you think she's going to do."

"Did you ever hear her or any other Jarles official talk about plans, bases, operations, anything?" Beinsho presses. "Even names of military outposts or strange words that didn't seem to fit in normal conversation."

Wey looks up at him blankly.

"They never talk, sir," he says apologetically. "The guards never talked."

Allayria watches as Beinsho's gaze meets Ruben's and the room falls silent for a moment.

"Thank you, Wey," Beinsho says after a moment, standing up and motioning for him to do the same. "You can go back to your room. We might have to ask you to come back again at some point, but you have been very helpful—"

"There's nothing else, then?" Qui Wren says suddenly, his brown eyes fixed curiously on the boy. "Nothing strange you remember? Moments that seemed off, bits of time that are out of place in your memory?"

"I—" Wey stops and his brows twitch, stitching together and then flickering as his mouth hangs open. "Bits of..."

He pauses and they all fall silent.

"There was a light," he says, his gaze wide and transfixed on the Dynast, seeing and unseeing as something passes across his face, a shadow. "This bright light that blew everything else out. And a sound of something whirling. Like a little buzzing. And... and something... shining..."

What little blood is left in his face drains and he collapses onto the table.

Five people jump to their feet as the boy convulses, arms and legs seizing and twitching, and chairs clatter to the floor as some begin to rush forward. The guards seize him first, hands clamping on his shoulders, pulling him up off the table, but Wey isn't convulsing anymore. The wall behind them crumbles apart, huge chunks punching out of the debris and the floor, flinging themselves forward.

Coffee splatters and the table crunches as Allayria's feet slam onto it and she jumps forward. Lei is close behind as they both reach out, shoving the incoming boulders to the side as Ruben leaps up behind them. The guards are now trying to throw the boy down and one suddenly collapses as shards of rock burst out from between his shoulder blades.

Feuilles joins the fray as Lei catches the next shot, Ruben blocking the one after and Allayria shoots fire at Wey's face, hoping the flames will catch him off guard, make him hesitate. But a blank, flat look has taken over the boy's face and it doesn't even ripple as Feuilles slides between them all, vines slinking from around his wrist and wrapping onto Wey's arm.

The boy twists, kicking a foot out at them and the wall beside the remaining guard's head pummels out, smashing through him and careening toward Feuilles.

Ruben yanks it away and when the boy's legs curl back Allayria feels a hard hand on her chest, shoving her down as Lei jumps in front of everyone, hands out as if to catch the next wave.

And when the wall bursts apart it suddenly shunts back instead of flying out toward them, flung by the propulsion of Lei's outstretched arms. It hovers, suspended, and then collapses in a heavy clamor down on the thin, prone body below it.

Dust, white and thick, blooms up around them and people cough between shouts. Allayria has scrambled to her feet again, the metal slipping out of her pocket and slinking into thin, bendable strips, but Lei is still standing and the rumble is motionless.

"Where is he?" Beinsho calls, suddenly materializing out of the haze, sword in hand. He and Lei begin to pull back the rocks and Allayria turns around, catching the vague outlines of Ruben and Feuilles, the former seemingly crouched over the latter.

"I'm quite fine," Feuilles's arch voice says, but even with the strain of irritation its timbre has thawed. "There's no need to worry over me, I can get up on my own. I am not that old."

Allayria thinks she can hear Sofo too, his reedy voice high and shrieking as Dost appears, a knife in hand.

The women exchange looks and then step forward, joining Lei and Beinsho.

It doesn't take long to find Wey, and it doesn't take long after that to see the awkward angle of his neck, to confirm with the press of fingers to his neck what they already know. By this point guards are clambering over the fallen wall, shouting inquiries at Beinsho who commands them around.

"I want a secure perimeter," he's yelling. "I want a search of his room, a search of the tower. I want to talk with everyone who had contact with him in the last three days—"

"What the hell was that?" Feuilles snaps as he and Ruben appear at Dost's side, a thin coat of dust sprinkled across their hair and face. Allayria spies the smudge of dust on two of the High King's fingers and wonders if the ruin of his pristine appearance is partially responsible for his mood.

"He snapped," Dost suggests, glancing over at the body.

"After falling into some kind of fit," Qui Wren says, climbing with bent, weak knees over the rubble. He kneels down, peering over at the body.

"A ploy," Feuilles dismisses. "Meant to distract the guards so he could attack us. This is Jarles work—he was a spy."

"It was certainly Jarles work," Ruben muses. "Though I find it hard to believe he was a spy."

The thin line of Feuilles' mouth curdles and he exchanges a look with Dost.

"Just because he looked sweet and innocent doesn't mean he was, Ruben," he retorts in a long-suffering tone that Allayria takes to mean this is not the first time a conversation like this has been had.

"You're certainly correct," Ruben returns smoothly and he crouches down next to Wren to examine the body, "but the traumatized retelling of his experiences was quite something if it was just an act."

"If it wasn't an act, the memory he was accessing may have triggered it," Wren murmurs, his gaze trained on the dead boy's face.

"A memory you prodded him to recollect," Feuilles rejoins. "Thank you for that, by the way. I thought your commander said he was not under the control of that lunatic in the East—"

"An attack on all four rulers," Sofo protests from his chair, his reedy hands hitting the table. "In broad daylight!"

"If it was possibly a medical cause, we'll need an autopsy on him," Dost says, ignoring this outburst. "Wren, do you have someone who can examine the body?"

The Dynast nods.

"Excellent," Feuilles snaps. "Do that. Now I think I will return to my camp." He begins to climb up the rubble, quick and deft, despite his age. "We've reached the quota for attempts on my life today."

A/N: What's this? A new chapter, all on it's own? It's here, not on a Friday, because I will not be here on Friday. I am going on (well, technically am on) VACATION. Aka, the annual week where my family coalesces, almost kills each other, and then almost kill ourselves as we run like maniacs over whichever unsuspecting town we have descended upon. It is folly.

(Anyone who can pick up on the two LOTR references in that paragraph is my best friend. Automatically.)

More fun news: I've pretty much slotted the rest of the book in Wattpad and it's looking like later chapters are individually much shorter than usual. It is unacceptable to post only half of my promised weekly offering, so I'm thinking at some point I will switch to biweekly postings. For a very limited, very confined time. The early chapters of the next book are hella long, so don't get any ideas!!

(I say to myself as much as I do to you, because let's be honest, I have no patience.)