“Doma are the blood of the Domara. The blood of the gods gives you the magic in your veins. What I have,” he said darkly, “is something else.”
“Dean…”
“Daijan,” he spat. “The word they called me is Daijan. And it is not a compliment.”
Cyrene frowned. What had happened to him? “I don’t care what they called you. In our world, Doma are not of Domara. The blood that runs through my veins came from my parents, Hamidon and Herlana. I am a Strohm. Descendant of Anne and Serafina, all the way back to Benetta in fact. The magic might have been given of the gods, but here, in Emporia, under my rule, as far as I’m concerned, any person with magic in their veins is under my domain. Which makes you a Doma of Emporia.”
A muscle twitched in Dean’s cheek, and then he bowed his head. “It would be an honor.”
“Now, let’s follow the Tendrille and see exactly what these people are hiding.”
“They will surely love that.”
“Shouldn’t have locked us in,” she said with an unrepentant shrug as she stalked toward the heart of the Tendrille vibrations. Her own sword singing in harmony with the song.
The pulses led to an empty corridor and the sound of laughter and the ringing of steel beyond.
Dean smiled. “Ah, now, that sounds like home.”
“This should be interesting.”
Then, she stepped through the door and into a large, circular room stocked to the gills with Tendrille metal weapons of every variety imaginable. The feeling was almost too much to bear. She clutched Dean’s arm for a heartbeat before she was able to tamp down the feeling until it was more manageable.
“Actually, this might be more your scene,” he said, not acknowledging what had just run through her.
She glanced back up and saw what she hadn’t been able to differentiate before. It wasn’t military sparring, as she’d suspected. Or even training like they had endured at the dragon tournament. About a dozen young adults, ranging from much too young to be imbibing whatever they were passing around to much too old to be pushing it on the youth. Some of them were indeed sparring, but it seemed child’s play more than actual training. Considering the sheer quantity of the Tendrille arsenal, Cyrene thought they might have taken it more seriously.
It was a young girl, no older than Isabylle, who noticed them first. She squeaked in alarm and passed the drink back to another boy. “Who are they?” she gasped.
All eyes turned to them now.
And Cyrene was surprised to realize that she recognized one of them. Jenstad strode forward in front of his friends with a Tendrille fencing blade held lazily in his hand.
“Ah, if it isn’t the great Domina,” Jenstad said with a cocky swagger he hadn’t had upstairs while facing off with the councilman.
“Hello, Jenstad,” Cyrene said. “I did not get to thank you for standing up for me with against Councilman Dalwin.”
A girl snorted, sidling up next to him and slapping his blade with her own. “You mean, his father?”
“Shut it, Cambria,” Jenstad bit out.
Cyrene put the pieces together. Well, that made a lot more sense.
She took another step into the room, mirroring Jenstad’s and Cambria’s easy demeanor. She might look out of place in her all white garb compared to the sand-colored water-seeking uniforms they wore, but she was obviously closer to one of them than to the elders here.
“This is quite impressive,” Cyrene told them. “All the Tendrille.” She smiled. “Hohl, as you call it.”
“She really does know about Hohl,” the young girl cried, jumping down from her seat and pushing past Cambria. “Huh. I thought Jen was making it up.”
They had everyone’s attention in the area now. The sparring had ceased, and everyone was watching and waiting to see what the small group, the leaders of the crowd, had to say.
“Creator, Alchia,” Cambria spat. “Just because you are the youngest water seeker in a generation does not make you important in this conversation.”
Alchia flipped her braid off her shoulder. “Who asked you, Cam? For one, I’m almost sixteen. And two, she’s a foreigner. She probably has news of topside outside of Tygh. Don’t you give a damn?”
A boy laughed. “She doesn’t give a damn about anything, except sticking her head so far up Jen’s—”
“That’s enough,” Cambria spat. “I can still dock you water rations, Bratton.”
The boy just lazily laid out on his bench, putting his head into another girl’s lap. “Do it then.”
Cambria rolled her eyes and looked back at Cyrene. “I don’t know who you are, but you probably have less irritating sects in the wetlands.”
Cyrene shrugged. “This seems about normal.”
Dean chuckled. “Maybe even nicer than what we deal with.”
“So, you mine the Hohl? How did it get here?” Cyrene asked.
Cambria looked to Jenstad. He winked at her. And she sighed heavily, giving in to him. “Long ago, Tygh was part of the wetlands. The desert had not extended out this far. It was a time when gods walked among us. Our people were blessed by the gods with developing Hohl weapons. But then one of our own, Ishme, thought himself better than the gods. Ishme drew a Hohl sword against a god. He and his entire line were slain, and the desert swept across our lands. We were punished to live our lives underground, always seeking out water as punishment for our hubris. We make weapons now for when we are required to take up arms again for the gods.”
Cyrene nodded reverently at the story. She knew better than to distrust any myth as nothing but fantasy at this point. Everything she had ever been told was true. It was likely that this had its basis in truth, too.
“So, is it true you pulled a Hohl blade on Councilman Dalwin?” Alchia asked with a quick grin.
“I was there,” Jenstad said. “I saw it.”
“Yeah, but you exaggerate,” Alchia said with an eye roll.
“Yes, I did. But just to show him that I’d already known about Tendrille.” She pulled Shadowbreaker out. “A Hohl blade forged on a different continent but the same material.”
Jenstad stepped up and admired the blade. “It’s something else though.” He frowned at it. “What else is in it?”
“The ruby is a honeycomb that can hold excess energy.”
He shook his head. “No, it feels imbued with something.”
“Oh, I think…it’s because of its name. When things are named, it can change the property of it. It can become something more.”
“What is its name?”
“Shadowbreaker,” she told him.
He nodded. “Fitting.”
“So, what’s the likelihood this council will be called?” Dean asked as Cambria and Alchia got closer to check out the sword.
Jenstad shook his head. “Never. My father is a real asshole.”
Cyrene snorted. “Great.”
“What about all of this rise-of-the-seeker stuff?” Dean asked.
Cambria sighed. “Oh that. It’s said that, when the seekers rise, it will be time to serve the gods with Hohl blades again. So, basically never.”
“Yeah,” Alchia said. “They’re never going to go fight with the gods or whatever.” She shrugged her petite shoulders. “Even Mags isn’t that superstitious.”