Page 17 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“A bit, but the distance isn’t the real problem. The Temple probably has some protections on her that are blocking my magic from reaching her.”
“And let’s say you could get through to her,” one of the rebels, Cettar, interjects. “What then? How would that help? She probably doesn’t even know where she’s being held herself.”
I give him a long, hard look. He has a point, but Cettar has made it clear he doesn’t trust us, so I don’t trust him. “She might at least have some clues,” I say.
Out the corner of my eye, I see Alastor stiffen. I can tell something’s just hit him. He swings his head around to me, eyes wide like he’s surprised by his own idea.
“Speaking of connections…there might be another way to locate her.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Alastor licks his lips. “What about a sawlamoor ritual?”
I stare at him. A mooring? That’s drastic.
But it could work.
I look to the rest of my soldiers, ignoring the empty seat where Eryx should be. It’s too painful to acknowledge it. Phaia and Hyllus look tense, Damia unfazed, and Stratton is nodding at Alastor.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Stratton says. “If the captain’s willing, of course.”
“Phaia?” I ask, wondering what she’ll say on this point. She’s the one with the most experience with the sawlamoor after all.
“It’s not without its consequences, captain. But I also think anything is better thannotfinding Morgana,” she says.
Didn’t I just say times were desperate? If ever there was a reason to invoke something as powerful as the sawlamoor, it would be now. The side effects can be guarded against if you’re careful. Frankly, if it’ll get Ana back, I’m happy to do this and worry about the consequences later.
“Are any of you going to explain what a sawla-thingy is?” Tira demands.
Initially, I’d worried that Ana’s disappearance would break Tira. Instead, she’s thrown herself into training—by day with the rebels, and in the evening with my soldiers. She looks stronger and more confident now, and she’s certainly not afraid to speak her mind—though I suppose she’s been strong in that way all along.
“The sawlamoor is an old bit of fae magic,” I say. “It can tie one person to another. If it connected Ana to me, I’d be able to use it to pinpoint her location in Qimorna.”
“And what about the consequences Phaia mentioned?” Harman asks.
I work to keep my expression neutral. “They can be contained,” I say decisively.
I won’t let it get out of hand, I think to myself.And as long as Ana’s safe, we can deal with the rest.
My tone seems to be enough for Harman not to question the issue further.
“There’s just one problem everyone seems to be forgetting,” Damia says. “The sawlamoor ritual requires the princess’s blood.”
My heart sinks as I frantically run through options. “We must have something. We only need a few drops. Maybe a piece of clothing she was injured in or?—”
“Or we could just use the vial I have,” Mal says. As quick as it sank, myheart leaps. “I still have most of the sample I took for the kin test,” the half-dryad continues.
“And why would you have kept that?” Damia asks darkly. Barb emerges from beneath her collar and starts to wind her way down Damia’s arm.
Mal shrugs, uncomfortable. “I just did.”
He’s lying. Agathyrians mostly avoid blood magic—nearly all branches of it are seen as morally dubious. But Mal’s made it clear he has no such qualms.
“Think again,” I say, fixing him with a hard stare. “Your viatic power is blood magic, and you justhappento have kept some of Morgana’s? What were you planning to do with it?”
Despite the green tinge to his skin, the rebel goes pale. “Nothing, I?—”
“Iasked him to keep hold of it,” Harman says.
