Again the Singer’s eyes flashed with Power. Her lips thinned. “If the gong is needed, the gong will sound and be heard!” She raised her hand and fisted her fingers in a snatching, twisting gesture.
The low note of a gong—could it really be the silver gong in the Marshalls’ Castle so many leagues away?—resonated throughout the chamber.
The woman, who’d sat up, flung back her head. A cry came from her throat, but the sound held music.
The Singer’s gaze snagged his again. “How many times?”
She knew, he’d reported the damn ritual five times, hadn’t he? “Three.”
Another clench of her hand, pull of her elbow. This time the gong note held longer, echoed loud against the cavern walls.
Another long wail from the woman, a thrashing of her limbs. By the time her body finished shuddering, she’d changed her position, sat cross-legged and hunched. She raised uncomprehending eyes and stared at him. He was watching her, but the Singer’s gaze had not left him.
“She felt the tuning with my cymbals thrice already,” the Singer said in her musical voice. “Now you insist that she experience the gong. Do you think she will be pleased with you?”
He forced his stare from the beautiful woman to the Singer. “Doing what is pleasant isn’t as important as doing what is right.”
The Singer lifted both of her hands, fingers straight. She nodded. “As you will, then. And three!” She closed her hands.
The sound was massive, clanging against his ears. He staggered a step, saw Friends fall from the corner of his eyes. A long, ululating cry came from the woman, matched by the warble of the bird.
There was a tinkle of chimes, and the mirror in the cavern faded—was it real or illusion? How much was truly needed for a portal between the worlds?
Marshalls’ Castle
Raine staggered away after the third sounding of the gong, her ears still ringing despite her hands over them. Faucon had kept her upright with a grip on her upper arms.
The huge wooden doors from the courtyard burst open and Alexa, the first Exotique, and Bri, the healer, shot into the room, along with their men.
Raine stared at them in surprise.
Alexa, hands on hips, with the aura of the most Powerful warrior in the country, small and silver-headed, examined the large room in one whirling turn. “Where is she? Why did you do it?”
“What are you talking about?” Raine asked.
Bri, medium-brown hair gleaming, creamy complexion pale, rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms. “I felt it, a great change in Lladrana, in Amee. I heard the gong!” She glanced at Alexa, who was nodding.
“A Summoning,” Alexa said. “Just a little while ago, and now the gong has sounded.”
“No Summoning here.” Raine and Faucon spoke together. He released his grip on her and she missed it. But Raine knew about sounding gongs, at least. “Tuning an Exotique to the world,” she said between dry lips.
“Ayes,” Alexa agreed. “But you didn’t sound the gong.”
“No.” Then in Lladranan, “Ttho.” Raine swallowed. “What’s going on?”
“I can guess,” Bastien, Alexa’s husband, said grimly, towering over his mate. “The last Exotique is for—”
“The Singer!” Alexa shouted. “And that sneaky old woman has Summoned her!” She broke from Bastien’s grasp and ran into the courtyard, yelling for her flying horse. Bastien followed.
Bri sent Raine a look and said, “Sevair and I rode the roc up from Castleton, we’ll get there quicker. Are you coming?”
Everyone had been overprotective of her, and the Marshalls’ Castle nearly a cage. Now, to leave it in the dark and fly south to the Singer’s Abbey that she’d only heard spoken of in awed tones, seemed scary. Still, Exotiques stuck together. “I’ll come,” she croaked. Blossom! she called her own winged steed mentally. Prepare for a flight to Singer’s Abbey.
Bri drilled a look at Faucon. “You?”
He shrugged. “Ayes.”
Bri nodded and ran out, hand in hand with her serious husband.
But Faucon wasn’t as casual as he seemed. Just standing near him, Raine could feel his tension. He strolled to the door, threw her a look from over his shoulder. “Come along, though I’d wager that this will be a futile quest. Despite everything, we won’t wrest the new Exotique from the Singer’s clutches.”
Raine was cold and her throat too tight to reply.
As they flew away, the Castle alarm sounded, calling warriors to battle. Raine saw Alexa and her volaran flinch, but she didn’t look back.
Knowing that Chevaliers and Marshalls were running through the Castle to their volarans, rising in a cloud to the North to fight monsters, Raine didn’t look back, either.
She’d learned that looking forward was always best. That way you sometimes saw doom coming.
Singer’s Abbey
Jikata was barely aware of what was going on around her. She thought there was a big, gorgeous Asian man looking down at her, wearing white…leather? Then he stepped out of her line of sight and she was surrounded by the people in rainbow robes. Most of them were smirking and she didn’t like it.
A couple of them had looked at her in horror and disgust, had trembled and shrunk away from her gaze, pressing themselves against the cave walls.
Cave walls?
She had an uneasy feeling that she wasn’t in Denver anymore. But she was more than confused, she’d just begun to figure out her surroundings when wave after wave of sound ran through her, electrifying her nerves. It felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. By the time it was done she could only lie quivering.
The older woman who’d said she was the Singer gestured to two women and they lifted Jikata gently, set her on her feet, steadied her as if she were a precious child learning to walk. She wasn’t sure she liked this extreme care any better than the revulsion. Looking around for the one being who was slightly familiar, she saw Chasonette on the man in white’s broad shoulder, staring at him. He was staring back at her in surprise, then he turned and met Jikata’s gaze with a dark chocolate one of his own that made her tremble in more ways than she understood.
Then the elder was in front of her, demanding attention. “This cavern and the tunnels leading to and from it are filled with the tunes of prophecy. I am the Singer and have Summoned you!” She spoke English.
Jikata saw White Leather Man’s grimace and an odd expression flicker on his face. She’d seen him come from that door to the tunnels, right? Now that she scrutinized him, he looked a little worse for wear, lines around his eyes and bracketing his mouth that she didn’t think were usually noticeable. There were also smears of grime on his forehead, his face, his white leathers and gloves.
Chasonette warbled and again words sifted through Jikata’s mind. Let Luthan escort you. Best for you both. The bird tugged a strand of the man’s hair from a tie in the back and Jikata realized it was longer than shoulder-length. A good look for him.
She took a steadying breath. “Luthan?”
The Singer frowned, the man strode forward, lifted his arm and Chasonette walked down it to his wrist. Keeping that arm raised, he bowed, brown eyes never leaving Jikata.
“Luthan Vauxveau,” he said. As he straightened he rolled a gesture from himself to her and spoke more words. Frenchlike.