And, as they descended, a sensation filled Cyrene. A soft humming that moved through her chest at first. Then it went from humming to vibrating to full singing that moved through her whole body. An indescribable, unbelievable feeling. She clutched her chest as water came to her eyes. She had felt this once before. Only once before that it had been this intense at least. If not, she would have been much more concerned about what she was feeling.
Dean looked at her in concern. “What is wrong?”
“Do you not sense it?” she breathed.
Quidera looked to Hulen with a frown. “What do you feel?” she asked Cyrene.
“Singing,” she breathed. “A vibration through to my very bones.”
Jenstad raised an eyebrow. “It is that intense?”
“You feel it?” she asked him, realizing in the soft light of the mine shaft that he had green eyes against his brown skin.
“All water seekers can feel it.”
“Jenstad!” Quidera snapped. “Be quiet.”
Cyrene looked around at the water seekers and realized that none of them would make eye contact with her. That none of them would acknowledge what she already knew.
They had Tendrille metal here. The metal of the gods.
The lift shuddered to a stop before a hole in the shaft. It appeared that it could continue to go down endlessly. Cyrene stepped out of the lift in awe as Hulen took care of the device. She couldn’t believe her eyes. When she had heard underground city, she hadn’t truly imagined a city. She had thought a few rooms, low ceilings, a sense of claustrophobia.
But Aleut was none of those things. It was a magnificent spectacle with towering ceilings and branching streets, just like any above-ground city Cyrene had ever been in. The walls were bedecked with tapestries and glints of gold and jewels. Everything had an exorbitant feeling of wealth. Including the people, bustling around the open streets toward homes and vendors and who knew what else. It was stunning and magnificent in its own unique way.
Before she could take another step, Quidera all but stormed past Cyrene.
Cyrene didn’t understand why she was so upset. All Doma could sense Tendrille. That was what Tavry had told her while flying toward a mountain of Tendrille metal in the heart of Alandria. That the dragons had been cast out of Domara millennia ago, and the place where the metal now resided was where they had landed.
So, how was it here, in the middle of the Fallen Desert?
“Why is she so upset?” Cyrene asked Rita.
“It is our most closely guarded secret. Even more than the city,” she whispered. “Quidera will have to tell the council that a foreigner can sense the metal as well.”
“All Doma can sense it,” she told Rita.
Rita frowned. “I did not know that.”
“Different traditions here, Cyrene,” Dean said. “We should tread lightly.”
Cyrene nodded. “It was precious in Alandria, too.”
“Indeed. They had been mining Tendrille for generations, and pure Tendrille was incredibly rare. Your sword might be one of the few remaining weapons there made of it. We do not know what they have been doing with it here.”
“Well, let’s find out,” she said, striding forward to Quidera, who was talking to a tall man with brown skin, wearing impressively woven garments of dark purple.
A leader for certain.
Cyrene bowed her head, an acknowledgment from an equal. “Greetings. Thank you so much for accommodating me and my captain while we reunite you with one of your own.” She looked at the man and watched him weigh and assess her. “I am Domina Cyrene. I speak for the Doma. It is a great blessing to meet so many here today.”
The man pursed his lips, as if to disagree with Cyrene’s assessment. But manners persevered. “Hello, Domina. I am Councilman Dalwin of the Tyghan people. We have heard of the Doma and assimilated some into our ranks many generations prior, but there are no Doma here. We are a peaceful society of artisans and water seekers.”
Cyrene smiled at him. “It makes my heart soar to hear that you mean only peace, considering the world that we live in and the wars that are breaking out across it. And you can use a different name if you like, but anyone who can sense the metal of the gods is a descendant of Domara, and thus, they are Doma. Whatever name you choose to give them.”
Councilman Dalwin looked outraged and turned to Quidera with fury on his face. “Who told her about Hohl?”
“As I was trying to say,” Quidera said sharply, reflexively touching the scar on her face, “Cyrene…the Domina…felt it as soon as we were on our descent.”
“That is impossible,” Dalwin cried. “No one, save a water seeker, can feel the power of Hohl.”
“She is a water seeker,” Quidera said.
Dean cleared his throat next to Cyrene. “My apologies for interrupting. I am Dean, the Domina’s captain. By Hohl, do you mean, Tendrille?”
Dalwin looked at Dean with disinterest. “What is Tendrille?”
Cyrene reached behind her and removed Shadowbreaker. “This is Tendrille.”
Dalwin shuddered with anger at the sight of the sword. “Who did you steal this from? Hohl is sacred. It cannot leave the Tyghan people!”
“Tendrille—or as you call it, Hohl—is the metal of the gods of Domara. It came all the way across the ocean in Alandria, where I received it during a dragon tournament. I had a blacksmith forge this blade for me. Its name is Shadowbreaker.”
Dalwin shook at the word ocean and seemed wholly unconvinced by Cyrene’s story. “Quidera, commandeer our weapon and see these thieves out.”
Quidera looked at Cyrene skeptically. “Sir, I believe her story. She was able to pull water straight out of thin air. She is a water seeker at the least. Though she is of the wetlands. And she was training us on using our powers to find—”
Dalwin cut her off. “Our ways are sacred as well, Quidera. We do not change the way we send out sects of water seekers and how we collect our most important resource. Whatever her methods.”
“But it worked,” Jenstad said, speaking up to the man for the first time.
“You are dismissed, Jenstad,” Dalwin said.
“Why must you always reject anything that is different than you?”
The councilman narrowed his eyes. “I said, you are dismissed. And you will be deducted a water ration.”
Jenstad just glared at the man and pushed past the rest of his sect. Cyrene saw her one real ally disappearing.
But then Lady Cauthorn appeared before the councilman. “Hello, Dalwin. It has been a long time.”
Dalwin eyed Rita. Then something must have registered. His jaw dropped. “Ritanya, is it you?”
“Yes. I did not know that you had become part of the council,” she said with the small smile, “brother.”
He stepped forward and embraced her. “What are you doing in Aleut?”
“The council sent me thirty years ago to watch for the rise of the seeker,” Rita said. “And I am telling you that time is now. That Cyrene is leading the charge. We are here to let you know of the glad tidings and for me to see my granddaughter, if you will.”
“Yes, Isabylle, of course,” he murmured. “We will go to Isabylle at once.”