“Are you hurt?” Lindon asked, sliding his pack down to pull out the bandages. It almost slipped out of his grip—one of the straps had been burned halfway through by a tongue of Blackflame.

Eithan cracked one eye, though he might have tried to open both; one was gummed shut by a mass of blood. “I am taking a break and enjoying the brisk night air. You look like you were beaten with clubs while climbing through an erupting volcano.”

Orthos was still picking his way through the debris between the two cliffs, his frustration echoing through the contract, but neither he nor Eithan seemed to expect another attack.

Lindon extended his perception and felt a handful of very alarming spirits on the slopes above him. “They aren’t going to attack us, are they?” he asked.

Eithan barked out a laugh, then winced. “Oh, that’s…that’s tender. No, after the show I gave them, they wouldn’t come near me if I had a spear through my chest and was begging for death. Couldn’t say if any Skysworn were watching us, but I suspect my ranking among Underlords is about to be adjusted.”

A feather’s weight lifted from Lindon’s head, and the Sylvan Riverseed hopped to his shoulder, sliding down his arm, ocean-blue hair drifting behind her. She jumped off his hand, landing on Eithan’s chest.

The Underlord raised an eyebrow. “Why, hello there.”

She walked up to kneel on his forehead, looking down curiously. Then she rubbed his head with one hand, whistling like a flute in a way that Lindon suspected was meant to be comforting.

“Your power can’t help me,” Eithan said, flinching as he sat up. The Riverseed scurried up to sit on top of his head, still making a sympathetic face. “Madra doesn’t get any more pure or gentle than mine.” He looked to Lindon as though something had just occurred to him. “Speaking of which, I see you’re making good use of my cycling technique. Reliable, isn’t it? No fun to practice, but there are always tradeoffs.”

“Yes,” Lindon agreed immediately, “I couldn’t be more grateful. Without…” The implications of Eithan’s statement caught up to him a second later. “…ah, pardon, but when you say ‘your’ cycling technique…”

“I mean mine,” Eithan said cheerily. “The one I’m using right now. It was in the family library, but everybody else can supplement their cores by cycling aura. Focusing on capacity is inefficient, unless—as you’ve experienced—you can’t add to your power with vital aura. Pure madra Paths aren’t as rare as everyone seems to think they are.”

“You…” Lindon began to express suspicion, but there was a more polite way to confirm. He extended his perception, scanning Eithan’s spirit. This time, the fog that usually covered Eithan’s core was lifted.

And he felt a pool of pure blue-white power, just like his own.

“I didn’t pick you up because of your impeccable fashion sense,” Eithan said, touching two fingers to the corner of his blood-stuck eye. “Hm. I think this is swelling. Anyway, a pure core is one of two ways in which we are similar, so I thought I might be able to provide you with some unique guidance. And that you might help me as well, in the long run.”

Lindon was sure he was supposed to ask, but he played his role anyway. “What’s the second way?”

“You left it back in the Trials after you advanced to Gold,” Eithan said. “It happens. Advancement can play havoc with the memory, especially when the process is traumatic. It should be lying in the dirt, but it followed you. Now it’s in your right pocket.”

Lindon reached into his pocket, knowing what he would find, and withdrew Suriel’s marble. The ball of pure glass sat on his palm, its sapphire flame steady, casting blue light over him.

“Do you know what this is?” Lindon asked, and he wasn’t sure if he was afraid or excited.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” Eithan said, reaching into his own pocket. “Not everything that blocks my senses is from the heavens.” He pulled out his own glass marble the size of a thumbnail. “And yours looks somewhat different from mine.”

Inside the hollow shell was a ball of perfectly round darkness. It looked endlessly deep, like a bottomless hole suspended in glass.

Eithan held it up to one eye, inspecting it. “Maybe they’re like coins,” he mused. “This could be the celestial equivalent of tossing a scale to a servant.”

Lindon had so many questions that they all tried to exit his mouth at once. They came out together, so they sounded like, “Bluh.”

Eithan nodded as though that was exactly the question he’d expected. “Yes. Precisely. Well, let’s trade stories while we’re not surrounded by hostile strangers.” He slipped his black marble into his pocket and pulled something else out: a gold plate slightly bigger than his palm, set with white, dark blue, and a black crescent in the center.

“This is the authority of the Arelius clan’s Patriarch,” he said, tossing it to Lindon. “You’ll need that to run a quick errand for me.”

Lindon cradled the ornate emblem in both hands. “It would be an honor,” he said, still trying to catch up to the rest of the conversation.

“Above us, you’ll find the homes of the Jai family. One of the homes has a decorative tower on the grounds, a tree with pink leaves, and the statue of a crane and a dragon locked in combat. Break into that house and search for a girl named Jai Chen.”

“Should I bring her back here?”

Eithan’s grin widened. “That’s Jai Long’s sister, held captive by the Underlord to ensure his cooperation. In all the confusion, I’m afraid she’s been left alone.”

“Really,” Lindon said, and Blackflame surged in him.

Eithan snapped and pointed to him. “That! When you are stopped by Jai clan members, show them the emblem, look them straight in the eyes, and do that. If they don’t listen to you then, I’ll come kill them.”

“I’m…sorry, look them in the eye and do what?” Lindon asked. He’d done nothing but cycle.

“You don’t need a Remnant to have a Goldsign,” Eithan said, then lifted the Sylvan Riverseed on his palm. She hopped back over to Lindon, who settled her on his shoulder. “Now, go. Go!”

When Orthos felt that Lindon had changed direction, his spirit surged with irritation, and he reluctantly turned to follow.

***

Jai Chen was trapped in a room nicer than any she’d seen since she was a child. The Patriarch had locked her here, but he hadn’t bothered to tie her—there was no need. She lay in bed as though a great weight pressed down on her limbs, focusing the full force of her spirit just to breathe. As always.

She’d considered killing herself. Jai Daishou had to be using her against her brother, or she wouldn’t be here, and killing herself would burn one of the cards in his hand.

But it wouldn’t change anything. Jai Daishou was an Underlord; he would get what he wanted with or without a hostage.

Instead, she focused on cycling. Some of the medical experts who had examined her over the years had suggested that she might eventually regain partial function in her spirit if she diligently exercised, so she spent most of her day attempting to cycle. It was like jogging on broken legs, but she persevered, shoving madra through shattered channels.