"Forgive us," says Lore as we gather with my father and Maljha in the suite's dining room. "Ash had many questions that couldn't wait. I answered as she fed."

"Of course, of course," replies the king—Ejirad, I think Lore called him. His emotion at the sight of me is like a current in the air, an intensity I can't shake off. In fact, everyone's emotions, everyone's essence is particularly loud right now, my empathy excessive to the point of distraction. I recognize the feeling from the last time I consumed Lore's blood and, to a lesser degree, E.J's strawberries.

As Lore works quietly to hold me back from the ledge of total overwhelm, Maljha guides me into a seat at the long bluewood table. The moment I take it, a number of mostly-human looking skeletons march in, their bones coated in silver and their hands baring trays of food which they distribute with expert efficiency.

I glance down at the spread before me. Some sort of thick curry stew, garnished with a hunk of sawed bone overflowing with marrow. A loaf of dark bread. Jellies and chutneys and other things I don't have names for.

"I have more," I rasp, looking up from the food to meet Lore's scarlet gaze again across the table. She holds it steadily, waiting. "More questions."

"Ask them."

"E.J." I have to force her name to my lips, choke it out, because I've been terrified this whole time that if I say it, I'll break down completely. Or at least, more completely than I already have."Wh-where is she? Was she pulled through the gate at UNI too?"

"The last I knew, she was still at Storm's Gate, probably trying to bribe or break her way over to this side from there."

My tensed muscles relax just a bit at that. King Ejirad listens and watches us with interest.

"E.J?" He inquires.

"The woman she loves most in the First Realm," Lore answers for me.

At those words, my eyes burn—dehydration the only thing holding back my tears. To my left at the head of the table, the king's eyebrows crush together at the sight of my distress, and he leans sideways, taking my hand in his much heavier one.

"Daughter, will you forgive me?"

I stare at his hand, warm around mine, and for a moment I have no idea what to say, how to react, or even how to feel.

"F-for what?"

"I didn't bring you here to this realm, nor even will it so. But though it causes you pain to be here, I'm filled with joy." Tears brim at the corners of his eyes, enough for both of us, but his words are true. I can feel his joy as surely as if it were unfiltered sunlight warming my skin. I can sense his conflict and regret as certainly as I could see a storm building on the horizon.

"High Spirits," he rubs his brow with his free hand, bringing it down across his eyes to wipe the moisture away. "Forgive me."

"I d-don't blame you," I say, the tremor in my voice as much from emotion now as weakness. What emotions exactly, I couldn't say. Just that they're as conflicted as they are overwhelming. Strong enough to break past Lore’s control. "I really don't blame you."

He looks up at me with eyes still brimming, and looses a choked sort of laugh.

"The others advised me not to embrace you, that you're too fragile and new to all of this. But spirits if it hasn't been the hardest thing."

I smile feebly at him with absolutely no idea how else to respond. I can't even squeeze his hand a bit, because his engulfs all of my left one, and my other is frozen in place. I will it to move, wonder if I should bring it up and place it on his. But I just can't seem to get myself to do it. After a moment, he clears his throat and releases his grasp on my hand.

"You must eat something. Blood and water alone are not enough."

I shake my head. "I can't stomach it yet. There's—" I stop to cough and gulp water from one of the goblets at my place setting. "there's more I need to know first." I turn again to Lore.

"How long do I have to submit myself, before my mother says she'll start hurting my friends? And—and everyone who comes through the Gate becomes an Umbran, right? What did my mother become?"

Lore's mostly silent for a moment as she chews a bite of her food.

"She's a Crimson now. And you have fifteen days. Until then...she's keeping them in the crystal pit."

"The...the crystal pit?"

"Yes," says Lore. "It's a deep shaft dug into the ground, lined with Umbra crystals mined from the nearby caverns and fully exposed to the sky. A sort of open-air dungeon that can drive prisoners mad, given enough time and Umbra storms.

My stomach turns, but before the revulsion and horror can fully take hold, a cool, artificial calm washes over me. I narrow my eyes at Lore, but she just smiles benignly.

"His Majesty is right. You should eat. I'll help you keep it down."

As I swallow my first spoonfuls of stew, King Ejirad begins to talk...determined, I think, to distract me.

"Soon we will set everything right for you. Get you powerful familiars. Introduce you to court. Find a way to remove that cursed sigil from your spirit and have you properly Joined. We will retrieve your people. But first of course, we must arrange your Dedication—"

I let my spoon drop back into the bowl, looking questioningly from Ejirad to Lore.

"Wait. Joined? Dedication? I only have fifteen days to figure out how to help my friends—"

"I warned you you'd overwhelm her," says Maljha, an annoyed sort of satisfaction in their voice.

The king and Lore begin to speak at once. Both pause and exchange a look, which is only broken when Ejirad gives a small nod.

"Listen, Ash," begins Lore, setting her spoon neatly down on the table. "Dedication is an important ritual you must undergo, as someone new to this realm. Without it, you can't fully participate as a member in this society, and you'll always be half-blind, in a way. I'm in need of it myself, something your father's kindly agreed to accommodate me in."

"And...Joining?"

"It's what they call it here when they bond into a Circle."

"I'm not going to—"

"Ashwyn, listen," Lore's tone and the Umbral power pouring off of her commands my attention, and I go still as I wait for her explanation...though I can practically feel my own eyes bugging out of my head.

"Only a full Aravatra can create a Gate. Do you know what an Aravatra is by now?" I shake my head because I want to hear how she explains it.

"It's someone with the abilities of all Umbran types. A Stormstruck Reaper like you becomes one by feeding off of one of each of the other types of Umbran after bonding into a Circle with them. The fact that you're Stormstruck allows you to manifest the Umbral abilities of the Types you feed off of. But without the bond, the effects aren't permanent, and the sacrifice doesn't work."

"The sacrifice?"

"The final act which creates the Gate. It's when the Aravatra consumes each of the Circle-mates to the point of their deaths."

All the blood drains from my face.

"Then...then shouldn't I avoid Joining into a circle? At all costs, even?"

"No. The best possible move is for you to be Joined immediately to people on your side, to become an Aravatra so you have all the power possible to protect yourself, and then for all or most of them to disperse as far from one another and from you as they can. That way, if the Allies of the Sixth capture you, they won't be able to force you into a Circle of their own choosing with members who willingly sacrifice themselves. And they'd have to hunt all of your circle-mates down individually and kill them before you were free to re-Join. Or they could try to force-feed them to you."

"Even if they tried, it's not like they can really force me to drain..." I trail off as my imagination supplies many, many corrections to the statement I was about to make. Lore smirks.

"As soon as possible....after the Dedication," she reiterates.

If it weren't for the cooling influence of her abilities, I'm not sure what I'd be doing right now.

At least I'm still too weak to have to worry about flaring.

"So what four other people do you expect me to...to Join with, then?"

"Well, me, for one. Assuming we aren't given the same sign in the Dedication."

I'm about to ask her what the curses that means—though I have a sneaking suspicion—when another thought occurs to me.

"You knew all of this the whole time. About the Aravatra, the Gates, my mother. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"All Avdayari in the First Realm are sworn never to sing our secrets to those who weren't raised with them, though some of us are more faithful than others." She makes a face. "But the oath doesn't extend to this realm. And your mother, well—until very recently I only ever knew rumors. Gossip. Tidbits which could be concerning, if anyone in our community at the time had taken her more seriously."

I open my lips to respond—though I have no idea what I'm about to say—but she continues before I have a chance to.

"There's another oath we all take in my family. If we encounter someone who could become an Aravatra, we must do everything we can to stop them from ever creating a new gate. By any means necessary. I always assumed that meant killing them, but also thought it was so unlikely I'd never have to worry about it. But then I met you, and, well…I liked you too much to kill you. Your Umbra tastes so good." She smiles a bit sadly, almost as if she's disappointed with herself. Off to my side, King Ejirad bristles.

"So now, you're my responsibility. It only makes sense for me to be in your Circle. And if you'll accept me, I'll swear a third oath."

"And what's that?"

"I won't ever try to kill you."

"So generous."

Lore bares her teeth in a broad smile. "I'm glad to see you're starting to feel like yourself again."

"You'll make that oath here and now, if you're to remain alive under this roof," growls Ejirad. As he speaks, his crown uncoils from about his head, its barbed bones rearranging themselves into something resembling a viper. It whips across the table, weaving expertly between plates and bowls to curl itself about Lore's neck, fangs poised at her jugular within heartbeats.

"Very well," Lore replies, tone untroubled. "I swear I will make no attempts to kill or injure Ashwyn, ever."

Ejirad's lip pulls upward to one side and he looks away from her, but the snake withdraws...returning to twine itself about its master's arm.

The tension of the moment breaks my forced equilibrium, but Lore catches this, and another wave of calm washes over me almost immediately. I eat a few more spoonfuls of food as I consider everything. At least if she were in my Circle, she'd have to go somewhere far away from me and stay there. That'd be nice.

"We must find three or four more eligible and trustworthy prospects for your Joining, then," announces Ejirad. "The instant you are Dedicated, I will speak with my Circle and advisors to compose a list for summons."

"Th-thank you?"

He raises his cup to me. "Eat more," he says, before taking a generous gulp from his goblet of spiced mead. I eye my own.

Spirits, I could use a drink. But I'm not certain how my system would react to alcohol just now, so I resist, finishing the water in my other cup instead.

"I...I think I've eaten as much as I can right now," I venture after nibbling at my lump of dark bread. It's surprisingly flavorful and good—spiced and packed with dried fruits, nuts and other savory morsels. But it's heavy, and I can't stomach much of it.

"Shall I show you back to your bedchamber to rest?" offers Maljha, already getting up from their chair.

"No, but thanks. I think my body's had too much of that lately. I want..." I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to rub my aching throat. "I want a tour. And I want some fresh air."

What I really need, what I don't have the energy to say, is that I'm desperate to place myself in this other world, to make myself face the reality of it now that I'm in my own body and can see it through my own eyes. I want to jump right past further meltdowns over the incomprehensible gulf separating E.J. and I and skip to the part where I figure out how to bridge it...and save my friends and our school in the process. No big deal. Nothing I can't handle.

Spirits, we're so fucked.

 

~*~

 

The black stone halls of House Skyr echo with faint music—Drums that beat steadily as hearts overlaid with haunting voices and the occasional howl. Maljha and Lore and a pack of guardians accompany me down a high-ceilinged hall, King Ejirad having been pulled away by matters of immediate concern. Most of the people we encounter go wide-eyed and still at the sight of me, or else avert their eyes as they hurry past. The only ones indifferent to my presence are the skeletons.

The first we pass died somewhere between beast and human form, though what beast exactly, I can't tell. All I know is that it's enormous, its teeth are dagger-like, and it looks like it's grinning at me as it hauls an equally large and much fresher corpse around a corner and out of sight. Others hang inanimate in alcoves, waiting to be put to use, empty sockets staring down at us as we navigate the halls. Still more putter about the corridors, sweeping up dust and little gray soot spirits alike, a bored-looking Reaper never far off.

"We'll save the best for last," says Maljha as we follow the path of the corpse-hauler, descending a narrow stair where the spiced fat scent of the lantern oil thickens into a heady soup. One of the guards carries Lore, another her chair. Apparently my mother confiscated her hovering one when she first came through the gate.

The scent of the lantern oil thickens and transforms as we reach the bottom, until I realize it's no longer just the lanterns I'm smelling.

"This is the butchery," explains my cousin unnecessarily as we step into the broad space beyond the landing door. It's icy-cold, a thin rhyme of frost forming already on the freshest corpses where they lay on their tilted draining platforms. Wispy spirits creatures of glittering ice scales and snowy fur trail lazily through the air, chilling it with their passage. The black-clad butchers move with much greater purpose, expertly carving their way through beast and Umbran corpse alike.

"Nothing goes to waste," says Maljha proudly. "All the blood is drained and stored first, and you can see how careful they are not to damage the bones as they break down the meat."

"Very nice," says Lore, pouring a fresh serving of indifference into my soul as if she can tell I'm about to be sick.

"Where, um...where are all the dead Umbrans coming in from?"

Maljha shrugs. "All over the place. Some of the dead are our own, others are tithed from the people of the archipelago."

"And they died...naturally?"

"If you mean to ask if they were killed expressly for the purpose of eating and using their bones, no. Some are natural, some are accidental, some were enemies who died attacking us, others are criminals sentenced to death. No body goes to waste."

I'm quiet as Maljha shows us the Repository of Bones, which is exactly what it sounds like. A vaulted hall lit by a few greasy lanterns and a scattering of bioluminescent fungi, where the larger and more interesting skeletons are kept in racks and open tombs and the lessers are organized into piles.

After that Maljha takes us to the shifter's wing, with its special restraints and rooms that lock from the outside for storms and the unruly young. But they rush us through, in a hurry to get to the next leg of the tour. We're well out of that wing by the time I finally ask about the curtained alcoves we occasionally pass in the corridors. Maljha responds by strolling over to the nearest and pulling its dark lengths of fabric aside to reveal bars and a padded nook.

"For Shifters caught far from their wing in a storm," they explain.

I've already seen where they keep new arrivals fresh out of the gate, so we pass on that and the open-aired throneyard alike. The Crimson's wing is a vaulted haul with mezzanine floors to either side. There are no rooms, and most of the current occupants lounge out in the open on hammocks or among the clusters of thick pelts. Here and there, curtains and tapestries form makeshift enclosures.

It feels both right and terrible to be moving around so much, and by the time we make it to the Petran wing, my muscles are aching in a way I can tell is good, but hurts like the seven curses. Neither Lore nor Maljha complains when I slow down to a snail's pace, probably chalking it up to my weakness. I am getting worn out, but mostly...I'm milking it for a chance at a longer look.

It looks as though a natural cavern decided to become a grand cathedral and stopped halfway through the transformation. What I take at first to be gargoyles turn out to be shed pieces of Petran armor, spectacularly preserved and affixed to the walls and stony spires. Gemstones of every variety glitter from amongst the stony plates, set into the lines of sigils and glyphs like blood welling in a fresh cut.

Spirits, I wish Boon were here. I've never wanted reference pictures so badly.

"Alright, now for the best part," says Maljha as we finally make our way out of the Petran's wing.

"That wasn't it?"

"Not in my opinion."

It's a long way up to the last stop—but thankfully there's a lift to take us there this time. On the way, I look over at Lore for the first time in a while.

"Do you have any idea what it's really like, being in a Circle? I still don't think I fully understand it. I didn't think I'd need to for a long time."

Though I'm not addressing them, Maljha begins to answer, but Lore talks over them, and they snap their mouth shut to glare at her.

"It's the sort of thing you can only fully comprehend once you've done it. Otherwise, it's as Toad explained in class. You're connected through the Liminal. You can communicate and join each other there."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?" I press. "It's a like...a special bond or something."

Lore shrugs. "I don't really know any more about it than you do."

A glance over at Maljha, who looks like they've got something to say. But then the lift comes to a rattling stop, the cage door opens, and a rainbow of light washes over us.

"Oh...wow."

Maljha grins at my response. "I told you."

We step out into the high-ceilinged space beyond, and it's like walking into a brilliant burst of sunlight through scattered spring rain. Slats cut in the stone high overhead let in fresh air from the outside, but the sky is dark and clouded over. The light comes from the spirits, which drift about like over-grown, multi-colored fireflies-their fragmented bodies parting and flaring outward and condensing again in a mesmerizing pulse.

But even more surprising than the spirits is the plantlife that packs every bit of the floor and much of the wall space, too. Fat palms and fruiting bushes, nut trees and vines and roses and mushrooms. Pools, fountains, and irrigation channels full of lotuses and algae and things I can't name. Tapestries of lichen, moss and fungi in a melting array of vivid color.

The Viridian's Wing.

The occupants glance our way as we come into view, a few of them pausing to stare or whisper to one another-but most are absorbed in their work. Tending to the plants.

"It really is beautiful," says Lore. "But this can't be the last stop of the tour. I know I'm new here, but there's one place I know of that we haven't yet seen."

For some reason, Maljha bristles.

"This is all we need to see for today."

"I don't think it is."

I look from one to the other of them. "What—"

"She's not ready, says Maljha through gritted teeth.

"If you're talking about me," I say, having to stop partway through to clear my throat. "I can decide for myself what I'm ready for."

Maljha shakes their head, but Lore fixes me with an unnervingly sympathetic look.

"Ash, I'm not the only one Gwendolyn sent. I arrived with someone else."

"What?" I stare down at her, and the look on her face and the feeling she exudes makes my stomach twist. She's silent for a moment, and I can sense a slight nudge as she attempts to temper my emotions. But she's either getting tired, or struggling for some other reason.

"Leon, Ash. It's Leon. But he's...not exactly himself right now. They've had to house him in their dungeons."

"It's not a dungeon," begins Maljha, affronted, but I can't wait for them to finish.

"In the dungeon? Why? Take me to him!" I look back and forth between the two, and—finally restored—my Umbral power crackles to life around me. I gasp in shock, and it flares brighter in response, as red as a crimson's eyes.

"Why does it look like that? Why's the color changed?"

"That's just what Umbral lightning looks like in this realm," explains Lore, eyes half-lidded now. "It's perfectly normal." A tremor passes from her head all the way down to her waist and hands as she basks in the excess Umbra.

"Spirits," breathes Maljha, wrapping their arms around themselves.

I take a deep breath, and then another.

No thoughts but darkness. No feelings but calm. No thoughts but darkness. No feelings but calm.

The power slowly begins to fade, and I fix my gaze on my cousin.

"Leon." I make his name a command. "Take me to him."