Page 62 of Fate Promised

Fergal wrapped his robes more firmly around himself. “Are we settling in this palace? Where are these fires you mentioned? Perhaps we can make ourselves more comfortable?”

Koschei swept his robes back and lifted his chin a fraction, and even though Juri had over a foot in height on him, he appeared to peer down his nose at everyone. “When I lived here, I had a proper staff who would have seen to your every whim. Every wish.” He sighed. “Once my footman would have announced you with your proper title, and there would have been much fanfare. This palace is built for guests, and you’ll find clothing stocked in the bedrooms, fires that light with only a word, and our kitchen should stock what I require. Help yourselves. Now, let’s repair to the east wing.”

Fergal rubbed his hands together. “Not too shabby. You know, I like my garments doubly lined for warmth. Tell the house that.”

“The palace will provide what you require.” Koschei pointed out a window as they walked past it. “And outside, it’s hot. It’s the underworld.”

Fergal waved his hand. “Pah.”

Triska sidled over to Juri as they strolled down the corridors, and his arm lifted a fraction as he went to wrap it around her. He stifled the impulse and kept it at his side. The bond in his chest twinged with a sharp ache. Soothe her.

He clenched his jaw. Soothe her? He was the reason she was here. In a place where she’d most likely die if he couldn’t figure out how to escape soon.

She raised a brow. “If this house was announcing my arrival, what do you suppose my proper title would be?”

“Triska of Ryba, daughter of Remi, top oyster fisher in all of Ulterra, albatross tamer, and great collector of Quarter Obol Dreadfuls.”

“Hm. I think I need to do more things with my life to get a better title.”

He shook his head. “No. You should live a happy life in Ryba. Doing the things you love.” His hands fisted again.

The corners of her mouth turned downward. “I’m living, but I don’t really feel alive, you know?” Her large eyes, a brighter blue with the stark white of the walls of the palace behind her, seemed to fill her face. “Well, not until the past few days.”

His heart thumped painfully. He knew what she meant.

They followed Koschei into a small parlor, where bright swaths of the murky light shone along the marble floor. Fergal headed to the wide fireplace with a fire already blazing on wide, fat logs. Juri pointed to the crest inlaid in the mantel to Triska. “He wasn’t kidding when he said he stamped his crest everywhere.”

A large cherry-colored sofa and several chairs stood on a dark, wine-colored rug edged in gold in front of the fireplace. A bookcase took up one entire side, stretching all the way to the high, vaulted ceiling, with a set of movable stairs propped against it so readers could access books on the top shelf. Across from the bookcase, on a low table in front of the windows, sat the Herskala bowl. Koschei rushed over to it and laid his hand on the rim. “I didn’t put this bowl here. It’s never been in my possession.”

No flames issued from the bowl, even after Koschei shifted it, presumably aligning the four poles. Fergal joined him, and they peered down at it.

This bowl differed from the other. While Hoyt’s was heavy pewter, this one matched the sculpted marble look of Koschei’s palace, the lines smooth and delicate, except it was solid black.

Fergal and Koschei muttered together as he and Triska joined them. They had both bowls side by side now, and neither was alight. “They aren’t turning on.”

Juri froze. “Morana used the bowl down here. We know it works.”

Fergal shook his head. “I don’t know why, but neither are working.”

Flashes of purple lit up the room as Koschei waved his hand over the bowls. It might have only been a few minutes, but it felt like hours as he watched the bowls remain unlit.

Finally, Fergal slumped against the table. “I need to think. I’ll keep working on this.”

Juri bared his teeth. “Think quickly.”

Fergal’s chin shot up. “Do you know magic, vulk? These are dangerous and powerful objects. Most likely built with traps and tests no one understands.”

Juri rubbed his head, then turned on his heel and paced across the room. “You had no trouble on the beach.”

“We were doing little more than using the bowls for their original intention—talking to the others. Down here, we may have to use this bowl in other ways.” He lay his hand on the marble one. “And I believe this is Herskala’s own bowl. Using it isn’t something to take lightly.” He glared at Koschei. “This time, we will take our time before we activate it. But—” His glare turned to Juri, and if he’d been a vulk, his eyes would be scarlet. “I will figure out how to activate it.”

Triska walked over to Fergal and laid her hand on his arm. “Yes, you will.” Now she shot Juri a glare. “And I’ll help you. We all will.”

Fergal snorted and headed for the couch. Only then did Juri notice the magicwielder hobbled slightly. He sighed. Hoyt’s windstorm had tossed all of them around, and the others weren’t vulk and didn’t have his fast healing. He nodded at Fergal. “Let me know if I can help.”

Fergal leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. “If I need fangs and claws, I know where to go.”

Triska rejoined Juri and whispered, “He gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

---