Claire drifted up and down ocean waves, Marcus beside her, the gentle rolling motion soothing. In the distance, Mum and Dad called out from the shore, their laughter turning to alarm. They pointed behind the pair. A huge wave built, about to crash over her and Marcus. “Dive under,” she screamed, as the wave broke, and her world tilted …

The sudden drop jolted through her stomach. Marcus grabbed her in a tight grip, his fingers slipping.

“Careful,” a male voice sounded somewhere above her.

She blinked as the sun beat against her skin instead of waves and a hand pressed against her forehead. “Where am I?”

“Merriam Beach,” Maen said. “Your spell shattered when the Beast appeared, but don’t worry. No one was hurt, though you won’t feel well for a little bit. Can you walk? Lord Maellwyn has sent for servitors to assist.”

She nodded, fighting back exhaustion as she sat up. Maen crouched beside her while Gwenivere, Gareth and Kress waited in a huddle. They broke apart at Claire’s sudden attention. Kress and Maen helped her to her feet, then over to a rock to sit and wait. Memories came flooding back as her strength returned.

She gripped Maen’s sleeve. “I know how to close the Rift. I’ll convene a meeting with Lord Maellwyn when we get back to the Manor.”

“How is that possible,” Maen began, but Gwenivere cut across him. “Do as she says.” The Dream Mage looked at Claire differently, something almost like trust in her eyes.

Before Maen could protest, Lord Maellwyn appeared through the cave opening with two servitors. Claire let them walk on either side of her as they commenced the short journey through the cave network back into the Manor, but she didn’t really need them. She felt better already. Soon, she’d see Marcus again. No one could deny they needed to go via Kelnariat now. She told Lord Maellwyn about their need to discuss what had happened, and he agreed to a kind of war council in his private antechamber.

When Lord Maellwyn pushed through the wooden door that led back inside the building proper, Kress hurried away to fetch Rael, Kiera, Meghan, Tarn and a number of Maellwyns. “I can’t make any decision without a vote,” Lord Maellwyn explained.

Claire tried to suppress nerves. She’d have to be like her father and tell her story convincingly to assure them she told the truth and that there was hope after all.

The party traversed up passageways until they entered an open space with a rectangular pool in its centre, silent men and women waiting in each corner. Claire guessed they were at the top of the estate because she saw the blue domed roof directly overhead. She looked around with interest. Lord Maellwyn’s quarters were very different to her grandfather’s. For one thing, painted murals ran all along the upper part of the walls, depicting berries and wine and dolphins diving. For another, the floor was made of polished white marble streaked with purple.

Before she could take much more in, Gareth indicated an archway to the left. “Through here.”

She followed him into a new room, the two servitors still either side, little fold-out chairs dotted around a rectangular table. The footsteps of Maen and Gwenivere clattered close behind her. Lord Maellwyn indicated they should all take a cup from a basket perched on a wicker stool and dip it in a giant clay amphora of wine at the entryway before sitting. He sat at the head of the table, but not before asking the two servitors who’d assisted Claire to fetch some fresh fruit, bread and honey.

Claire sat gingerly on the brightly dyed cloth strip that formed the main section of her chair. It felt like she only sipped at her drink for a few minutes before six advisors arrived, including Kress and Jemroth, as well as Rael, Kiera, Meghan and Tarn. They sat in the spare seats around Lord Maellwyn, looking puzzled.

“Now,” he said, fingers steepling, “to business. As everyone knows, we went to Merriam Beach to work Claire’s spell a second time. She succeeded admirably.”

“Except?” Jemroth frowned, leaning forward.

“Yes.” Lord Maellwyn looked at Claire significantly. “What happened?”

“The Beast appeared,” Gwenivere said. She looked at Claire with a small conspiratorial smile. “Amongst other things.”

Claire took the Dream Mage’s cue. “I was in the process of working the spell for the final time when I had a vision. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know, but in it, I saw how to close the Rift.”

Chaos. Rael shouted at Kress and another advisor while Kiera and Meghan whispered to each other. Maen pounded a fist on the table at Jemroth and still other advisors protested that such a thing was impossible. Claire tried raising her voice, but no one heard her over the cacophony.

“Silence,” Lord Maellwyn’s voice echoed throughout the room. “Silence,” he repeated more politely as everyone turned his way. “Let the lady speak.”

Claire smiled gratefully. “I saw the Rift and the shadows around it. Then the vision came. I saw that we need all four elements of learth to close it. That was when the Beast appeared, and when I saw it was frightened and angry, I knew I wasn’t meant to have seen what I had. It tried to cover the sky so I couldn’t keep watching but I could make out enough beyond it to know the truth.” Her voice trembled as everyone leaned in close. “I saw who we need in our party to succeed. There was me, and then two others in Maellwyn attire; a young man using water magic and then,” she frowned, “a man splitting the earth. I must admit that part didn’t make much sense. I thought everyone with magical ability in House Domain has long since died.”

“Indeed,” Lord Maellwyn said. He wove his hand, “But go on. We’ll get to that later.”

“And then I saw Marcus. He was using air magic.” She hurried on before anyone could interrupt. “I know he’s a Dorran like me, but well, I thought and thought about it when we came back through the caves and I think I have the answer.” She turned to Maen. “My grandmother was House Ushanan, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“So, she probably passed some of her magical blood on to Marcus. We need me and Marcus and someone powerful in Maellwyn magic, you, Lord Maellwyn, or you, Lord Gareth,” she said, catching both their eyes. “And then someone from this House who has a bit of House Domain earth blood somewhere in their ancestry.” She looked at Lord Maellwyn for confirmation.

To her surprise he turned to Jemroth, who had risen to his feet. “How can we trust that what you saw is true?” he demanded through bloodless lips.

Gwenivere pushed her chair back and stood, staring Jemroth down. “You forget that I too was watching, and I saw, heard and felt what Claire did. The Beast revealed itself to be an extension of the Rift and begged Claire to spare it, for if she closes that blight in the sky it ceases to exist. It is this that makes me believe the solution Claire saw is correct. The pair share a terrible bond; one will destroy, and the other be destroyed. I think the Beast appeared to cause trouble with Claire’s spell, but instead, revealed too much of its mind and its fears.” She looked around the table. “I think we can trust Claire’s vision. We need all four elements to close the Rift.”

“That means we need to go to Kelnariat after all,” Maen said. He glanced at Claire with narrowed eyes. “How convenient.”

“Nonetheless, you heard Gwenivere,” Claire said. “I’m not making this up.”

Lord Maellwyn drummed his fingers against the table. “Rescuing Marcus won’t be easy. I’ll send a message to my contact in Kelnariat. He’ll be able to put you up, Claire, and help you find your brother.”

Maen cleared his throat, and Lord Maellwyn look at him in inquiry. “Yes?”

“What of this person of your House with Domain blood? Does he or she exist? I don’t see the point of haring off to the Riftlands without finding them, and that could take weeks of poring through records.”

“It won’t,” Jemroth said with a sigh. “No,” he said, as Lord Maellwyn moved to stop him. “The time for secrecy is past. I was a boy when my home was destroyed by Kelt. Lord Maellwyn found me on the edge of the battlefield, scared witless, and took me in.” He spread his fingers wide, staring at them like they’d reveal something important if he concentrated hard enough. “I was too young to learn much of my true family’s magic, but I can use basic spells. I have practised with Lord Maellwyn in private, knowing that someday the time to rebuild my House would come. I will go with you, Lady Claire.” He closed his fingers into a fist. “And together we’ll close the Rift.”

“You have proof?” Maen asked.

Jemroth reached for the string around his neck. Claire, like everyone else, had assumed it contained a vial of seawater. Instead, he produced a metal pendant, a bronze coloured disc with a hole in its centre that the string passed through. Claire didn’t need to hear the exclamations of shock to know what she was looking at; Jemroth wore the special metal of House Domain that Gareth had mentioned.

Kress looked from the metal to Jemroth and then to his lord in hurt confusion. “You never even hinted.”

“I’m sorry I lied to everyone,” Lord Maellwyn said, “but it wasn’t my secret to give away and I didn’t want Jemroth singled out. He was an orphan who deserved a chance to fit in with his new family.” He sighed as he studied Jemroth. “Sometimes I still wonder if I did the right thing. I can’t pretend to understand earth learth. I could have sent you to the Enchantment Weavers and they’d have known more about your past and how to harness your abilities, but they walk strange paths. It didn’t seem right to send you to the mountains in isolation without children your own age to grow up with.”

“I’m glad I was raised here,” Jemroth replied gruffly. “You’ve never treated me unkindly or differently.”

“But in my darkest hours I fear I have made you too much a Maellwyn. Your elementals have never appeared to you. It worries me.”

“The gnomes will find me when they’re ready, Lord Maellwyn. Perhaps I’ve yet to prove myself a true Domain.” Jemroth grinned. “And what better way to demonstrate my right then by helping Claire on her quest?”

Claire couldn’t stop staring at Lord Maellwyn’s chief advisor. She’d thought Jemroth had an air about him that was different to everyone else, but she’d never have guessed he was the sole member left of a dead House. Still, everything was coming together. “When can we leave for Kelnariat?” she asked.

“We?” Lord Maellwyn asked.

Claire looked around the table. Maen, Meghan, Rael and Kiera were all shaking their heads. She felt like she was a child learning to swim, the board keeping her afloat pulled away before she was ready. “What is it?”

“It will have to be a small group that goes with you to the capital,” Gwenivere explained gently. “Tarn and I are too easily recognised and Maen has been on many a diplomatic mission to Kelnariat over the years.”

“What about Kiera or Rael or Meghan?” Claire asked, her concerns about being left alone rising.

“Meghan is old like me,” Lord Maellwyn said. He smiled at Claire. “Though I am touched you consider me strong, I think younger blood is called for. My son shall go with you to Kelnariat.”

“And Kiera and I are too easily recognised as Dorrans,” Rael added. “Don’t forget there is a price on our heads. No. You, Jemroth and Lord Gareth should go to Kelnariat alone. We’ll meet you in the Riftlands.”

Claire knew they only spoke the truth, but she didn’t have to like it. She was losing her mentors and friends in one blow.

Gareth cleared his throat. “We should have a two-pronged mission in Kelnariat. We must rescue Claire’s brother Marcus, but we should also try to find out who has turned Eidan against the Dorrans. It’s no use closing the Rift if a House is immediately killed for their trouble.”

“Yes,” Lord Maellwyn agreed. “I think your best bet is to enter the city in disguise. Then, head straight for our safe house and our contact, Bron. He’ll be able to tell you whether it’s safe for you to reveal your identity inside the Council Building, Gareth. If it is, claim you’re in Kelnariat to understand what has happened with Dorran House and to reaffirm our allegiance to Eidan. Learn what you can about why the man’s gone rogue. If we can discover who’s behind his sudden antagonism, we might be able to neutralise the threat they pose.” He stroked his white beard. “The whole thing’s bizarre, that an old friend and confident could turn like he has …”

“It beggars’ belief,” Maen finished. “I know, but that’s why your Bron could be of great help.”

“If Gareth can go about as Lord Maellwyn’s son, perhaps I could pretend to be a Maellwyn cousin serving Gareth and visiting the city for the first time? Servitors can learn all kinds of things without people noticing them,” Claire mused.

Maen nodded. “It’s a good idea. Keep your ears to the ground, but don’t tarry too long in Kelnariat. As soon as you get Marcus, head to the Riftlands.” He studied his wine cup for a moment, then looked up again. “I disagree with my good friend, Rael. I think one other should go, one who is not a Dorran and who can bring us a message if the need arises. Gareth, Jemroth and Claire are all needed to save Kelnarium so cannot waste time on messages, but this person could.”

A thrill ran through Claire. There was still one other she counted as friend, and who wouldn’t mind risk-taking if it meant getting answers about the murder of her family. “How about Lotte? She’s not a Dorran, but a villager. She helped me when Eidan attacked and has stuck by us all this way.” Claire kept her fingers crossed under the wooden table.

Maen frowned as he tried to remember Lotte’s face but then his expression transfigured into a wide smile. “By the salamanders, she’s perfect. No one will spare her a second glance.”

Claire looked around the group eagerly. “So, it’s agreed? Me and Lotte, Lord Gareth and Jemroth will head to Kelnariat straight away?”

“You’ll need a few days to arrange things,” Lord Maellwyn said, “and that gives Bron time to receive my letter and prepare, but otherwise, I’m for it.”

Gwenivere cleared her throat. Claire’s palms felt sweaty. She knew what was coming. “Before we progress further with plans, there’s something Claire and I haven’t told you.”

“Oh?” Maen said to the ceiling. “The Saura help me, I’m beginning to wonder if I know anything at all.”

“Claire’s been sent nightmares by the Beast,” Gwenivere continued. “In them, he tells her she will betray us. Before Rinn Taccala died, she spoke with it too. It told her the same thing; Claire will betray this world.” She flung up a hand before anyone could interrupt. “I didn’t want its words spreading discord, so I kept them to myself. Not to mention that I don’t trust it not to have been playing mind games with Rinn and Claire.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Claire?” The hurt in Maen’s voice hit her like a blow. “I’m your teacher.”

“Because I told her not to,” Gwenivere said. “But we don’t have time for recriminations. This is about next moves. I believe Claire is who we need to save Kelnarium, but I understand if others are worried.”

Kress and Sleath scowled openly and Jemroth studied Claire looking so hawk-like, she felt like she was a mouse about to be eaten.

“What do you propose?” Lord Maellwyn asked Gwenivere with a faint smile. “I can see you have something in mind.”

“Well, I’d be happier if the party visited the Enchantment Weavers before going to Kelnariat. You can ask them about Claire’s role in the Rift as well as to weave Eidan a different future, one where he doesn’t fear Dorran House. That way, we know where Claire stands, and you can avoid wasting time in Kelnariat if you don’t need to. You’d simply pick up Marcus and keep going.”

“No, there should be no delays,” Claire interjected. She couldn’t believe this. She needed to get to Kelnariat and Marcus as fast as possible before Eidan did something awful.

“It’s only a slight detour and could save a world of trouble,” Gwenivere said gently.

“Not to mention, it would mean all of us could get on with things secure in the knowledge you aren’t about to destroy everything we’ve tried to protect,” Tarn added. “Otherwise, doubt will plague us.”

“What will you do if the Weavers say I’m the betrayer?” said Claire, desperate that another roadblock shouldn’t come between her and Marcus.

“Then instead of going to Kelnariat, you will meet us at the Riftlands nearest the capital,” Maen said. “We can discuss it then.”

“And what will you be doing?” Claire demanded.

“We’ll tell the common folk who’ll listen about Eidan and his actions at Dorran Manor. That way, if the Enchantment Weavers cannot help, we have a way to deal with his sudden hatred of magical brethren once the Rift is closed. Many people respect and even love us. They will not want to believe the lies that are being spread. If we have to, we can get the people to rise up against Eidan.”

“It is wisdom, Claire,” Rael said as she scowled.

“We need to put it to a vote,” Lord Maellwyn said, stroking his white beard. “Everyone in favour of caution and a visit to the Arras Ranges, raise your hand.”

Claire could have groaned. Everyone but her had their hands in the air. Well, she thought, uncomfortable journey up a snowy mountain range, here I come.

***

Kiera held up the plain clay pot filled with dark sludge. It was the afternoon of their departure. Claire sat on the ground at Kiera’s feet with her hair trailing down her back against an old blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Kiera’s long fingers brushed through Claire’s hair to distribute the dye evenly, and Claire relaxed, pushing the problem of the Beast aside. The brown dye applied in Autun had started to fade and needed touching up before her long journey.

“I’ll miss you,” Kiera said quietly. “Keep your wits about you and when this is over, we’ll have a huge party before I have to say goodbye.”

As Kiera massaged more of the dye into Claire’s scalp, Claire cleared her throat against the lump forming in her throat. Something had bothered her ever since she’d met Kiera. “What did you really think of my dad, of James?”

“He was charming and funny, and he told the most brilliant tales. I remember when he first arrived, he’d tell Suranne and I stories every day. He’d tell us about little folk who stole milk and fruit in the night, or about the gods of the well and of the lake who never asked for anything but a memory. He told us of wars between gods and goddesses and of men lost in the hills, following fae lights into the otherworld, never to be seen again.”

Claire laughed imagining her dad keeping two young teenagers transfixed with tales of Irish folklore.

“Did he remain a storyteller in your world? I’ve often wondered,” Kiera asked.

“He became a journalist.”

“A journalist? What’s that?”

“A journalist writes news articles for the paper.”

Kiera still looked lost.

“Never mind,” Claire said. “Yes, he remained a storyteller.”

“I wished for the longest time they’d stayed,” Kiera went on, as though Claire hadn’t answered. She gathered the last of the dye and spread it through Claire’s hair in foamy scoops, then piled her curls over the top of each other to let the dye take. “There was a part of Suranne that never did quite fit in. I didn’t ever want to admit it, but a part of me always knew she would go someplace far away on a grand adventure. When you get home, tell Suranne I forgive her and that I love her.”

Before Claire could find the right words to answer Kiera, a loud thump on the door interrupted.

“Who is it?” Claire called.

“It’s Jemroth, Lady Claire. The cart is prepared. When you are ready, get your things together. We leave before the light fades."