his ears, the combined babble of all others who had entered the darkness and made their confessions. He couldn’t make out words but he heard Rivalen’s deep voice among the cacophony, Variance’s sibilant tone. For a moment he felt as if the floor had opened and he were falling, a vertiginous spiral into an unending void.
“I hated my father,” he confessed through gritted teeth, and the feeling instantly ceased, the whispers subsided, and he knew his own secret had joined the babble.
The magic of the foyer tugged at the holy symbol of Shar he wore, lifting the symbol from his chest and pulling him by the chain. He followed its lead. In a few strides he emerged from the darkness to find himself face to face with Variance Mattick.
Shadows twirled around her in long, thin spirals. A scar along her cheek marred the dark skin of her round face. Her long, black hair melded with her shroud of shadows. She wore the purple robe of her office. He wondered if she, like Rivalen, was thousands of years old.
“Priestess,” Thamalon said, inclining his head. “In the darkness of night, we hear the whisper of the void.”
“Heed its words, Hulorn.”
“I seek Prince Rivalen. He is not in his quarters, so I thought—”
“The Nightseer is within.”
She made no move to step aside, nor offered further detail.
“May I see him?”
“He is at worship.”
Thamalon looked past her, saw only the hallway and its purple carpet. “I think he will see me.”
Variance smiled, the expression made sinister by the way the skin of her cheek creased around her scar.
“Remain here. I will inquire of the Nightseer.”
Without waiting for an acknowledgement, she turned and walked down the corridor. She soon melted into the darkness of the windowless space.
Thamalon stood in the hall, irritated with the presumptuous manner in which Variance had ordered him to remain.
“As if I were a dog,” he murmured.
His irritation only grew as the moments passed. He looked down the corridor, but saw nothing but the purple carpet and bare stone walls. Could she have forgotten him?
“Damn it all,” he said, and started down the hallway after Variance.
“Hulorn,” Rivalen said from behind him.
Surprise jolted Thamalon’s heart. He turned to see Rivalen step from the darkness.
“You startled me,” Thamalon said. “I did not see you.”
Rivalen let the shadows fall away from him entirely. “Do you see me now?”
“I do,” Thamalon said. “You look … different.”
Rivalen stood no taller than he ever had, yet he appeared to Thamalon to fill the hall, to occupy more than mere space. The shadows enshrouding him appeared darker, like a bottomless hole. His exposed left hand was black, as if formed of coalesced shadows. The regard of his golden eyes made Thamalon uncomfortable. Thamalon had no desire to know what secret Rivalen had confessed to the darkness.
“You have disturbed my worship, Hulorn.”
The incivility of the prince’s words surprised Thamalon. Anger lurked in Rivalen’s tone. Thamalon reminded himself that he was the Hulorn, soon to be ruler of all of Sembia. He and Rivalen were peers.
“I received word that you had returned, but had no word of the outcome of events. I expected to receive that from you.”
Rivalen’s eyes narrowed. “Expected? Why?”
Thamalon tried not to wilt under Rivalen’s gaze. “Because I am the Hulorn.”
Rivalen seemed to advance on him, though he did not move. “And what is that to me?”
“I …” Thamalon stuttered, swallowed, adopted a more deferential tone. “I should have said ‘hoped,’ Prince. I did not expect you to report to me. I hoped you would. We had kept close counsel previously and I … assumed that would continue.”
“It will,” Rivalen said, and something hid within the words. “We were … successful. The rift was closed. The Shadowstorm will retreat from Sembia, though Ordulin is lost to darkness forever.”
Thamalon’s heart surged at the news. “And what of Mister Cale? The Saerbians?”
Rivalen’s brow furrowed, as if the question pained him. “Mister Cale is dead.”
Thamalon could not contain a grin. He knew he must look like a gloating buffoon but he didn’t care.
“Splendid news, Prince Rivalen! Splendid!”
Rivalen continued, “I allowed the surviving Saerbians safe passage through Sembia. They may settle where they will.”
Thamalon lost his grin and his good humor. “You allowed?”
Thamalon regretted the emphasis the moment the words bid farewell to his teeth.
Rivalen stared at him, the shadows around him whirling. “Yes. I allowed.”
“Of course,” said Thamalon, forcing a smile. “You have the authority to act in my name.”
Rivalen stared down at Thamalon, his mouth a hard line. “You will