to Redmoon Hall. A floating island covered by a giant pure-white tree must belong to the Silent Servants, as a halo of light that resembled their Goldsign crowned its branches. The Stormcallers were carried on a long storm cloud that drizzled a curtain of rain on the mountains surrounding Sky’s Edge. A number of structures had been built on the cloud itself, so that it looked like they traveled with their entire sect.
Lindon didn’t sense any more Heralds, but he suspected there was at least one. The Blood Sage had attended the tournament, which left the Herald to continue running Redmoon Hall; he couldn’t imagine the man not being here.
But this sight sickened him. Surely no one from Sky’s Edge had been left alive.
He turned to Mercy, but she seemed calm.
“Oh, our side is still alive,” Eithan explained while keeping his eyes on the horizon. “As Mercy told you, everyone is playing quite strictly by the rules. For now. While the battle below is quite heated, it is strictly between Golds and the weaker Lords. They toy with us.”
“For them to have beaten us here, they must have gone to great expense,” Lindon said quietly. “Are they positioning for the end of the tournament? If so, why didn’t we…pardon, Mercy, but why didn’t your mother see this coming?”
“My mother’s weakness is not a lack of foresight.”
Eithan flipped hair away from his face. “I suspect the situation is thus: they are poised to secure the labyrinth as soon as their champion wins the tournament. They have arrived so…aggressively…merely to express superiority and exert their confidence in Sophara.”
“That’s it?” Lindon blurted.
When he put it like that, it sounded…petty.
“I’m boiling down a great many factors, and of course this is all speculation on my part…but many Monarchs are such people. Those who enjoy throwing their power around. They would be certain that Fury can’t fight them all, and even if Yerin wins the tournament, there are so many together that they can retreat without reprisal.”
A hand of dense shadow madra struck a golden spear from the air before it could be fully formed, kicking up a wind that pushed the Redmoon Hall cloudship back.
[I have some idea of what it costs to move this many Heralds,] Dross said. [As you may remember, some of them were our guests in Ghostwater. They’ll have given up fights all over the world to make this demonstration.]
“What happens when Fury loses?” Lindon asked.
“This isn’t a fight,” Mercy responded. “This is him saying he won’t back down. But…I know him. There will be a fight.”
Lindon noticed they were still heading straight for Sky’s Edge.
[I appreciate how fast and fuel-efficient this cloudship is,] Dross said, [but don’t you think we should check its turn radius? For instance, we could turn around and go the other way.]
“You can drop me here,” Mercy said. She tapped Suu on the deck, and the staff’s dragon head hissed. “I’ll go the rest of the way myself.”
“There’s no barrier stopping us from entering?” Lindon asked Eithan.
“None. If I had to bet, they won’t mind our arrival at all. But they may take issue if we try to depart.”
“And the Lords are fighting on the ground?”
“The strongest participating in the battle are Overlords. They would very much appreciate the arrival of a few more skilled combatants, I suspect.”
“No,” Mercy said firmly. “I have responsibilities here, but there’s no reason for you two to risk your lives.”
Lindon continued speaking to Eithan. “If Sophara wins, are we all going to die?”
He would happily put his faith in Yerin, but he didn’t want to bet his life on the Uncrowned King tournament if he didn’t have to.
Yerin hadn’t even made it through the top four yet.
“Malice has certainly prepared for this, which means that Fury has a way to escape. It’s probable that we will have an opportunity to survive, even if the worst happens and the Monarch is killed. But…” He shrugged. “We will certainly be safer if Yerin wins. Or if we don’t go down there at all.”
Lindon thought of his expression in those tournament recordings.
And he thought of what he’d felt when Suriel gave him a second chance.
He looked down into his palm, where Little Blue was hugging Suriel’s marble. The tiny blue candle-flame matched her perfectly.
“Apologies, Little Blue,” he said. “I need your help.”
She dropped the glass ball and gave a whistling cheer.
There was only one step he could take at the moment to improve his power, and Dross had confirmed it would work.