Within an hour of traversing the dirt road, it began to drizzle, then pour down, the noise pitter-pattering against the oilskin cover protecting those inside the cart. Though Gareth insisted it was usual for travellers through the coastal pass to happen upon storms, he clutched at the vial around his neck like it was a good luck charm. Claire and Lotte huddled as near to each other as they could, wrapping themselves in the coloured blankets that softened the floor, and piling cushions to protect against sudden jolts caused by rut after rut in the road. Claire didn’t envy Jemroth, who was driving. She doubted his poncho and hat would stay waterproof long and as to visibility, it was a wonder he could see more than a few feet in front of him.

She tried not to think about how nervous she was. Waving goodbye to Maen, Rael, Kiera, Meghan, Gwenivere, Tarn and Lord Maellwyn had been awful. She was glad they’d gotten their farewells out of the way quickly, but now she wished one of them were here to guide her. Though Jemroth was the eldest, she was the leader of the party, and responsible for everyone. She was worried about flooding and didn’t know if she should command they stop and seek shelter. She wanted to sound like she knew what she was doing, but she also didn’t have the knowledge and experience Jemroth and Gareth had of this environment.

“Have ya visited the Enchantment Weavers before?” Lotte asked Gareth, fingering at a tiny bulge in her cloak that Claire knew concealed the exile’s bag of treasures.

“No, but Jemroth did many years ago when he first came of age. I thought it was simply a courtesy visit on behalf of my father but now I know my friend’s real identity I wonder. Maybe he visited to ask them about his future as sole survivor of House Domain.” He frowned at a sack of supplies by his feet. “Hopefully, the Enchantment Weavers aren’t too hard to find. Jemroth said they’ve moved location since he met them. A snowstorm ruined the roof on their building a few years back and they built a better shelter elsewhere.”

Before they could lapse back into silence, Claire fished for a new conversation starter. “Why don’t you tell us a story, Gareth? If we’ve got to sit cramped and cold, we might as well take our mind off things, don’t you think?”

“Sure, what kind of story?”

“Stuff about the magical Houses,” she said eagerly. “Grandfather said there used to be tournaments and great loves and friendships. It sounded wonderful.”

“Well, obviously that was all long before my time, but I’m told it was.” He thought for a moment. “How about I tell you about House Domain and House Ushanan?”

Lotte pressed her hands together in anticipation. Claire frowned as she saw the tip of a feather peep out from her neckline. She’d have to talk to Lotte later about keeping her mother’s necklace better hidden, preferably inside her pouch.

“Do. It’ll come in awful handy later,” Lotte said, unaware of Claire’s disapproving glance. She’d become almost as invested in saving Kelnarium as everyone else, keen to be part of grand events as an exile who redeemed herself in the eyes of the world and changed history. She’d told Claire as much when she’d snuck into her bedroom so Claire could tell her everything that had transpired during Lord Maellwyn’s meeting four nights ago.

Gareth smiled, putting his hands behind his head, and lounging back against a silver threaded cushion. “House Domain were great builders,” he began. “With their ability to move and manipulate earth and land, they were some of the best in Kelnarium. When we reach Kelnariat, you’ll see that the Council buildings were made by magic. That’s the only way they could be built all crooked and stay upright. House Domain baked magic into the bricks to ensure the building would never topple and whispered spells into the ground to ensure no matter what wild climate troubled the city, it would stay strong and stable forevermore. One of their best builders, Shasta, led the team in Kelnariat. There’s a statue of him in the main city square. Selk had it pulled down, but Praine restored it.”

He paused to adjust a blanket around his shoulders. “As to House Ushanan, it’s a pity they don’t exist anymore, or they could have diverted this weather away from us.”

“What else could they do?” Lotte asked, wide-eyed.

“They could float on wind and cloud if they wanted. Once in a great battle between our House and theirs, they used their learth to send their entire army into the sky.” He smiled ruefully. “My people had no chance. Our spells couldn’t reach them that high up. They shot arrows onto us and we were soundly defeated.”

“The Houses used to fight?” Claire asked. She’d assumed they’d stuck together, and it was Selk and the creation of the Rift that had changed things. She tapped the edge of Gareth’s leather boot with hers. “I bet if it came down to a fight between you and I, it’d be a tie.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said with a laugh.

Lotte rolled her eyes. “I don’t need no magic. I’d beat ya both with me hands tied behind me back.”

“Sure you would,” Claire said. “Anyway, answer the question Gareth.”

“Yes, they fought. In the early days of Kelnarium, it was for the usual silly things people fight over, land, resources, prestige. That’s why the tournament was created nigh on three hundred years ago by two lovers from Maellwyn and Dorran Houses. Ava and Cerse bucked convention in becoming bond mates, and they became outcasts for it, forced to live in a small cottage in the Silent Vale. They saw how many were killed in pointless feuds and went to their respective heads of House to offer their idea for a new way. They were mocked and jeered out of the community a second time. It took years of campaigning for the idea to get off the ground, but in the end, when the priests gained more power and too many hot-blooded men and women died fighting their own kind, it was agreed a tournament could help.”

Before Claire could ask how long ago the priests had come to power and why, they shuddered to a halt. Seconds later, Jemroth poked his head through the fastening, saying apologetically, “You’ll need to get out. I think we’re bogged.”

Claire hastily whipped a cloak around her shoulders and jumped outside, Lotte and Gareth close behind. She saw at once Jemroth was correct. She fell to her knees to start burrowing the sticky mud out of the way. Lotte did the same from the other side.

As rain sheeted down, Jemroth held out both horses’ bridles to Gareth to hold, then joined them. “What’re you two doing? Let me use my magic.” He rose his voice. “Gareth, when I give the word, get Agea and Livia to move forward.”

Claire clambered out of the way. She’d forgotten Lord Maellwyn had said Jemroth knew some basic learth spells.

Lotte tugged at her arm, pulling her off the road and under cover of trees a little ahead. “It’s a wee bit drier here,” she said, as Jemroth closed his eyes and said clearly, “Gnomes, if you can hear me, aid me now.”

As they watched, the mud peeled away from the wheel like skin from an apple. At Jemroth’s command, Gareth guided the horses forwards. Slowly, but surely, the cart groaned forward, out of the hole.

Jemroth straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, then called out to Claire. “The downpours slowed. Can you make a fire where you are? We might as well have dinner, hey?”

“I can do that,” she shouted back, then turned to warn Lotte to step aside to make room for the fire, but the girl was already slipping away among the bushes. “I’ll see if I can find rabbit,” she called by way of explanation.

Claire had the fire lit in no time. She went to fetch dried fruit, nuts, hard biscuit and cheese from a sack in the cart, but before she did, she nabbed some lumps of sugar out of a sack and headed for the front of the cart. With affectionate smiles for Agea and Livia, she fed them each a sweet cube, loving the way their tongues nudged her palm. When they were done, she glanced at the road ahead. Patches of sunshine had broken out and the clouds were grey instead of black. Two jagged mountain tops broke the cloud-line, a thin strip between them climbing up and up and up as far as she could see. She swayed with vertigo just looking at it as someone touched her arm.

“We’ll eat quickly and be on our way while the daylight holds,” Jemroth said, assessing the sky. “The pass is one-way, steep and narrow. If we skid, we’ll go off the side of the cliff.” He looked down to comb his fingers through Agea’s mane. “I’ve noticed you love horses as much as I do,” he said. “When we’re through the mountains and on straighter road, I’ll teach you to drive the cart. It’s a useful skill and I think you’ll take to it.”

Claire couldn’t help but feel a little proud. Jemroth hadn’t offered to teach Lotte or Gareth, almost like he respected her, like their love of horses bonded them. She studied his face. She’d had little opportunity to talk to Jemroth after the meeting with Lord Maellwyn; the man had stridden about with such purpose, giving off an air of not wanting to chat, so she hadn’t waylaid him. This was the first quiet moment they’d had together.

“How old were you when you lost everything?” she asked tentatively. “I can’t imagine it.” Part of her wished she could tell Jemroth about Lotte’s experiences. The pair had a lot in common, but it wasn’t her story to tell and she couldn’t risk the exile being found out and abandoned.

“I was eight,” Jemroth said grimly. “Old enough to remember the faces of my mother and father and my little sister, Jes. Too young to hold onto much more. Domain Manor was hewn from black granite, I remember that, and if I concentrate, I can recall the bronze lanterns and the green glowing lights that lit up the passageways, but I never saw our gnomes or journeyed into the quarry that contained these.” He tugged at his tunic to reveal his bronze disc necklace. “I only have this because Lord Maellwyn liberated one from a fallen member of my House on the battlefield. Traditionally, it was only when one was presented before our elemental leader, the Gofannon, and recognised as true Domain that we were gifted one.” He shrugged. “But when everything was lost, even the quarry, our gnomes and the Gofannon himself, rules had to be broken.” He ran a hand over his forehead. “If only my elementals would appear. Then I’d know I was worthy.”

Claire put a gentle hand on his shoulder. She thought of the times she’d seen the Saura in the sky and how her own elemental leader refused to speak with her though she was the current leader of Dorran House. “I’m sure you are. The time just has to be right.” She remembered Lord Maellwyn’s fears that he’d somehow changed Jemroth’s fundamental nature and wondered how much of that fear had rubbed off onto her friend. “I don’t think anyone could blame you for having to live such a fragmented life. It must be difficult, feeling half Maellwyn and half Domain but if Lord Maellwyn hadn’t taken you in and protected you as he had, your House would be extinct and who knows how lonely your life might have been.”

“Oh, I know,” Jemroth said. “I owe him a great debt. He became a father figure to me. He was sympathetic and understanding. If his son grows to be half the man Lord Maellwyn is, he will be a great ruler.” He smiled, then strode towards Livia and began to unharness her. Soon, he’d led her undercover and given her a nosebag.

Claire followed him with Agea, then collected the food. She, Gareth and Jemroth ate standing up around the small fire as they waited for Lotte to return.

“Lord Maellwyn mentioned a contact in Kelnariat,” Claire said, scrounging for a topic of conversation. “Tell me more about the capital and what to expect.” She grinned. “I wouldn’t want to give us away with an obvious faux-pas.”

“That won’t happen,” Gareth replied with a laugh. “But to answer your question, my father established a safe house in Kelnariat in the lead-up to Selk going on the offensive against magical brethren. One of my cousins without learth ability took over manning it a few years back. That’s Bron, who we discussed at our meeting. He’s apparently met a woman recently with a lot of coin and friends in town so his monthly reports to the Maellwyns have been even more detailed and useful than usual.”

Lotte reappeared, a bloody, partly skinned rabbit swinging from her hands. She and Jemroth busied themselves cooking it, wrapping its flesh around sticks, while Claire asked Gareth if Bron had heard anything about Marcus.

“We left before this month’s report arrived,” Gareth explained, “but the rumours are that Marcus was popular in Kelnariat. There’s gossip he’s added two original paintings to the Council Gallery. A great honour.”

“That sounds about right.” Claire couldn’t help a grin, but then she remembered how much danger her brother was in. “Tell me more about Eidan. After he became a merchant, I mean.”

“He created a large empire trading in silk and glass, Kelnariat’s key exports. His workers loved him. You’ve seen the scars on his face?” Gareth looked at Claire inquiringly and she nodded. “He got them defending his workers and a common coach from brigands on the road. Whatever else I want to say about him right now, I can’t deny he’s brave. What else can I tell you? He had a lot of long-term relationships, but no bond mates and no children. They say that’s why he was able to throw himself so passionately into politics – he didn’t have family to hold him back. He met a rich merchant woman named Alaya more recently and the pair were close for several years.”

“They broke things off not long ago,” Jemroth said, looking up from his work on the rabbit meat. “Only in the last year.”

“Yes, it was a big scandal,” Gareth agreed. Alaya alternated between insulting him from here to Southern Kelnarium and begging him to take her back, which did her no favours. Eidan didn’t rise to her bait. He’s always been reasonable. In Alaya’s case, some would say too reasonable.”

“But not in ours,” Claire said, as she accepted a stick loaded with rabbit meat from Lotte.

No one had anything to say to that. They got on with the business of cooking their rabbit, then eating it.

***

Claire held her breath as the cart travelled along the road as it picked its way through tricky terrain. Though they’d set out with the sun shining, within an hour the rain had returned worse than before and now the cart moved at a slow crawl. She clutched at Lotte’s hand as lightning cracked somewhere close by. “Should we stop? Isn’t this too dangerous for Jemroth and the horses?”

“There’s nowhere to stop,” Gareth said through white lips. “We have to push on and hope it dies down.”

As though nature had heard him, the rain beat like a drum overhead, making their cart sway with the wind, its cloth covering flapping wildly. They were jostled from side to side worse than ever. Claire gripped for purchase where wood met oilskin as a loud bang reverberated through the floor.

Claire hauled herself upright as wind hit her with full force. The wooden back of the cart had un-latched, at the same time tearing the oilskin rear wall attached to it, giving her a view of wide, open sky and exposing them to the elements. Lotte held onto the side where timber met oilskin too, using it to make her way towards the open door, now banging back and forth in the wind.

“Stop!” Gareth shouted.

Claire lunged forward and gripped Lotte by the back of her dress to try and restrain her. “Gareth’s right,’ she shouted to make herself heard over the wind. “If we get jerked around and you’re not careful, you’ll fall and hurt yourself if you’re lucky, or go over a steep ledge if you’re not.”

“We can’t leave it open,” Lotte shouted. She gestured at sacks of coin and their precious supplies. She didn’t need to explain herself. Without them they’d be in real trouble.

“At least let me hold onto you,” Claire insisted as she grabbed onto the waistband of Lotte’s skirt. Then Claire craned her neck towards Gareth. “Here. Take my other hand and grip the side,” she shouted to him.

As the cart continued to bounce along, they made a human chain, Lotte clambering right to the edge of the open cart. She flung sacks backwards first, then lent forward to close the wooden back. There was another bump and twist and with a hideous creak, they began to tilt. Jagged rocks far below stared at Claire.

“Move,” Gareth screamed, face whiter than Claire had ever seen it, as a snap cracked through the air. All the muscles on his arms rippling, he hauled Claire and Lotte backwards, as sacks of food and skins of water toppled into emptiness. “By the Nereus, we’re going to capsize.”

They threw their whole weight against the far side of the cart as Jemroth shouted, his words snatched away by the howling wind.

“I think the harness connecting the horses to us has broken,” Gareth gasped, “and Jemroth won’t be able to pull us back from the ledge with his bare hands.”

Claire closed her eyes rather than look at the steep drop below. What an ignoble way to die. She pressed harder against the wood, praying that their combined body weight would set them right. They teetered, but stayed balanced, though Claire knew they were on a knife edge.

A minute or two passed, though it felt like an eternity. Then, she heard shouts and hammering hooves coming closer and closer. Perhaps they weren’t finished quite yet. Voices called to Jemroth; boots thudded as the newcomers dismounted.

“We’ve got you,” a gruff voice said from outside the cart. Her new allies tugged and swore. Time seemed to slow, and she thought that any second their rescuers would make a mistake and they’d freefall, then smash onto the rocks below. She’d counted to two hundred in her head when at last they were pulled back from the edge so that the wheels rested on the track. Pressing a hand against her pounding heart, she climbed out of the cart, half-stumbling in the mud.

“That was a close one. Good thing we came this way,” shouted one of the rescuers.

“Thanks,” Claire stammered, as whoever had spoken flung a dry oilskin cloak over her own woollen one. She could barely make her rescuers out for the heavy rain getting in her eyes.

An arm moved around her. “You’ve had a nasty shock. Come sit over here.” The mysterious stranger steered her away from the precipitous edge of the road to the shelter provided by a boulder. She sat at its foot, letting her head rest against her knees for a few seconds, then looked up as Lotte and Gareth came to sit beside her, Lotte quivering and Gareth bent forward as if to regain his breath, his face partially hidden.

They were surrounded by a party of four men, all clothed in coarse brown robes covered with oilskin coats and hoods. One man held onto Agea’s bridle and Claire was relieved to see her four-legged friend was uninjured, if scared. A fifth man helped Jemroth bind Livia’s leg, his hood falling back to reveal a partly shaven head. Once he was done, Jemroth took back both horse’s bridles, looking relieved that they were relatively unscathed.

“Why’re you travelling this route?” asked a man who wore a wreath of twisted leaves and berries around his head beneath his hood. He appeared to be the leader of the group; aside from the fact that he was the only one wearing a wreath, the other men stayed behind him and looked at him with reverential respect.

Luckily, they’d come up with a cover story in case something should go wrong. “My sister in Corinth Village is due with child,” Claire explained, keeping her voice as colourless and unmemorable as she could. She gestured at Jemroth. “This is my husband. We were told this way is fastest.”

The man shook his head, not unkindly. “Faster, but more dangerous. I hope you didn’t pay hard coin for such terrible advice.”

“Lucky for us ya was here, Yer Holiness,” Lotte said.

Claire started. Of course. These men were priests. No wonder Jemroth and Gareth were keeping their heads down. She tried to hide her trepidation as she forced a weak smile.

“Most never come this way, and those that do have magical blood in their veins.” The head priest spat at the ground as Claire stiffened. “As to us,” he shrugged, “there are twin shrines to Brighid and Lugh on the outskirts of Maellwyn Village. You can journey there with us if you like. We’ll keep you safe and even say a prayer for your sister. There’s more than storm clouds to fear in these parts.”

“What do you mean?” Claire demanded through trembling lips. Somehow, she could guess what they’d say next.

“There could be Maellwyns about,” he said, “and in the direction you’re journeying, other magical types too. A nice woman like you wants no truck in their ways. You’re best off with us.”

She pretended to consider his offer. “Thanks, but all the same, I’m worried for my sister. I promised her I’d come as fast as I could. If I go back with you now …” She looked away delicately, faking tears.

The man peered at her, then glanced back at Jemroth, Lotte and Gareth as though he sought confirmation. His eyes widened as he took in Gareth, who had looked up to follow Claire’s conversation, still holding his cloak across part of his face.

“Who’s that?” he pointed imperiously.

“My cousin,” Claire lied.

The man strode over to Gareth and knelt, placing a hand under the boy’s chin, and forcing him to meet his stare as Gareth’s cloak fell backwards. “I know you,” he said. “You can’t hide your eyes and hair.”

“Wha’ do ’ya mean? I’m jus’ as she says.” Gareth put on a mild accent to make his voice rougher.

“No,” the man laughed. “You’re really not.” He released Gareth and stepped backwards, his hand at his side, brushing against a small scabbard. He addressed his men. “This boy is Lord Maellwyn’s son.” The men cursed and spat.

Claire didn’t know where to look or what to do. She hadn’t thought someone would recognise them before they’d even got started.

“What if I am?” Gareth said, giving up all pretence of being someone else. “It’s not a crime.”

“Not yet,” the man sneered. “How much difference is there between you and a blasted Dorran when all’s said and done?”

“A lot.”

“I beg to differ.” The man drew his dagger. “There’s no one here but your accursed party, none to hear you scream, and I’d be doing Eidan a favour.” Around him, his men drew their own makeshift weapons. “You others will be free to leave if you swear off your immoral ways and cleave to us.”

“No!” Lotte yelled, as he drew his dagger back. Jemroth called out to his gnomes and Claire could have sworn she heard Gareth shout for the Mer-people’s protection.

The time for hiding was past. There was no point journeying on without Gareth. Claire silently called on the Saura and her salamanders to aid her, then concentrated on the leader’s dagger, remembering how Maen had told her she could heat up metal until it burnt the skin. She muttered under her breath, repeating Maen’s instructions to calm herself and make sure she got the spell right. As the captain of the priests dropped his dagger with a howl, the ground heaved up around him and his fellow priests, sludge splattering into their eyes and mouth. Claire met Jemroth’s amused glance as a roar sounded overhead.

Next to Jemroth, Gareth had both his hands raised in the air as water hurtled over the mountainside. Before Claire could scream, a swirling current surrounded the priests, sending them tumbling downhill along the path, the raging river somehow skirting around Claire, Lotte, Jemroth and the two horses.

Claire got to her feet, crafting scalding flame to lick at the backs of the fleeing priests, as rockfalls also pursued them. “They won’t forget us in a hurry,” she said with a laugh, tasting brine, loam and smoke on her tongue.