Page 52 of Fate Promised

“He came in late last night and roamed around this morning for a bit, but left not too long before we showered.”

She twisted to view his face. “You heard all that?” Triska reached up and ran her hand over one of his ears.

“Aye.” The corners of his eyes crinkled the way they did when he truly smiled. “You know that ear you’re touching has a tale. I almost lost it to a mad chef.”

“Insult his cooking, did you?” She nudged the bowl of porridge with her spoon. “I don’t think Koschei would enjoy any comments about his cooking either.”

Juri growled. “It wouldn’t have hurt him to make muffins for you. Or toast. And lots of bacon.”

She swallowed another bite. “This is fine. And I didn’t see any pigs running around.” She barely tasted the food, she was too focused on the vulk holding her.

The front door opened, and a puff of breeze gusted through the room. “Your magicwielder has been on the beach since dawn, looking at a bowl,” Koschei said with no other greeting. “You need to check on him.” He turned on his heel, his cloak whipping around him, and left out the front door.

Triska leaned closer to Juri. “He’s grumpy this morning.”

“His bedroom wasn’t nearly as exciting as ours.”

They finished their breakfast and hustled down the path to the beach. It was clearer this morning, the mist only a fine sheen high in the sky, allowing the suns to shine brighter. The black sand glistened and small green birds with long orange beaks scuttled along the shoreline, peeping as they dodged the waves to peck at the sand. The birds in Ryba went crazy chasing after sand fleas. Did this island have them as well?

Near his boat, Fergal sat in the sand. Rising on a short base in front of him was a pewter bowl. The scrying bowl.

Fergal’s eyebrows were scrunched together, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the empty basin, Koschei at his side. “He’s been sitting like this without moving for quite some time,” Koschei said. “I thought he was dead, but he grunts every once in a while.”

Triska shrugged. “He gets like this every time he’s considering something.” While he was training her, and they’d worked together to figure out her magic, he’d often go silent and absorbed. She’d called it his do-not-disturb-and-go-away pose.

Koschei scoffed. “Are magicwielders so weak these days that a scrying bowl paralyzes them with fear? Scrying is nothing. It doesn’t take long moments of contemplation. All you need is a flat surface of water and a wisp of magic.”

Juri shook his head. “Hoyt didn’t only use this bowl for scrying, he created magic in it.”

Koschei inhaled sharply, and his lips pinched together. “Are you sure?” He bent forward without waiting for an answer and ran his fingers over the edge of the bowl. He jolted. “Impossible … but maybe …” He glanced skyward, then turned the bowl as if turning the wheel of a ship, a quarter turn clockwise.

Fergal hissed, but it was too late. Purple flame flared inside the bowl, even though it was empty. Triska gasped and jumped back, losing her balance. Juri grabbed her waist and steadied her. An image appeared inside the flame, so detailed it was easy to make out sunlight streaming from tall windows into a dim room. A dark, scarred table took up most of the room, a large piece of paper stretched across it. From their angle, it appeared to be a drawing, maybe a map. Shelves groaning with books and parchment filled the opposite wall.

Juri stepped closer and peered into the flames. “I’ve seen this room before.” He rubbed his head. “I just can’t remember …. What is this? How did you activate the scrying bowl?”

“I wasn’t sure if it would activate since this island dampens most magic,” Koschei said. “And this isn’t a scrying bowl. It’s one of the five Herskala bowls.”

Juri’s mouth dropped open. “I thought they were all destroyed? Or lost?”

Triska gaped at the three males surrounding her. She’d never heard of a Herskala bowl; why did they all know about them?

Fergal roused, sitting up straighter. “He’s right. I’ve suspected this was a Herskala bowl since I picked it up on the beach, but I was still deciding whether it would be wise to use it.” He glared at Koschei. “Some haven’t learned to think before making a decision.”

“What is this bowl?” Triska asked.

“Do you see the notches along the rim?” Fergal pointed at the edge of the bowl. Barely visible, a notch was etched into the rim in four places. If someone drew a string between each notch, it would bisect the bowl vertically, then horizontally. “It represents the four points of the compass—north, south, east, and west. When you line them up, the bowl activates. It was primarily created to allow communication between those who owned the bowls. But these bowls have many secrets. I suspect there are many we still don’t know.” He nodded toward the image. “This bowl is communicating with another bowl right now. One sitting in an empty room.”

Triska’s brows shot up. “If someone was in that room, could we talk to them? Would they know their bowl is active?”

“We could do much more than talk to them,” Koschei said, and he spoke as if in a trance, his gaze still fixed on the room. “The most powerful sorcerer ever to live created these bowls, Herskala himself.”

Triska frowned. “Herskala Academy is named after an actual person?” She wasn’t a magicwielder, and while they lived in Ryba with her, magicwielders kept their own counsel on magic matters. She knew little about their education or their magical history.

Fergal nodded. “The academy is inside his old residence. He liked spires, apparently, and didn’t mind that they’re quite drafty.” He paused for a long moment. “By all accounts his power was remarkable, and we still discover spells or artifacts he created. Many of his spells are so complex, no one can use them, and these bowls … as Juri said, were thought to be lost.”

Triska turned to Juri. “What were the bowls for?”

Inside the image, a shout rang out. Light shone across the table, and a door creaked. A group of guards swept into the room, hands glowing with magic. “Voices are coming from inside Princess Katisa’s study,” one of them said. Each guard had the top part of their hair braided along one side, revealing delicately tipped ears.

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