Gold masks.

Vani looked up, her own face becoming a mask: one of fury. “Sacred Mahonadra, they have taken it!”

Beltan and Travis exchanged a grave look, and Deirdre understood what it meant. Somehow, the Scirathi had taken the gate, and without it there was no way to open a doorway to Eldh. But the gate wouldn’t do the Scirathi any good either, not without—

A sound like the crackle of electricity permeated the air, along with the metallic scent of ozone. Deirdre turned, and her heart became stone. On the other side of the parlor, a circle of darkness hung in midair, rimmed by blue fire. Nim was no longer on the sofa. Instead the girl padded across the carpet on bare feet, approaching the mouth of the portal.

Vani sprang forward. “Nim, get away from that!”

Fast as she was, Beltan was ahead of her, leaping over the back of the sofa. Travis scrambled after them.

Nim stopped before the dark circle and gazed into it. After a moment she nodded, the way a child might when obeying an adult’s instructions. She held her chubby arms out.

“No!” Beltan shouted.

A pair of black-gloved hands reached out of the circle of blue sparks, snatching up Nim. The girl screamed.

“Mother!” she cried, twisting in the gloved hands that gripped her, looking back, her eyes large with fear.

Beltan dived forward, lunging for the girl. His arms closed around empty air, and he crashed against an end table. The hands pulled Nim into the blazing iris of the portal, and both they and the girl vanished. At once the gate began to shrink in on itself, a blue eye winking shut.

Travis thrust a hand into the rapidly dwindling circle. Azure magic crackled around his wrist, biting his hand like a hungry maw.

“You must not let the gate close,” Vani said, her voice hard as steel. “There is no other way we can follow her.”

Travis nodded, his face lined with pain. However, the blue circle constricted more tightly about his wrist. Beltan lay on the floor. He wasn’t moving.

“Anders, help me,” Deirdre said as she knelt beside the blond man. Anders helped her roll him over. He was breathing, but his eyes were shut, and there was a bruise forming on his forehead. Anders helped her haul his limp body onto the sofa.

“Vani,” Travis gritted between clenched teeth. “My bandage. Take it off. I think it was my blood they used to open this gate. They must have gotten it from the stomach of the dead gorleth.”

Her eyes blazed. “What fools we are! We should have known they would do this.”

Travis flinched as she jerked the bandage off his wound. Blood began to ooze forth.

“More,” he said.

She dug her fingers into the wound, and a moan escaped him. Blood flowed freely from the gorleth’sbite marks, running down his arm. When it reached his wrist, the circle of blue sparks flared, then began to expand outward. Travis stuck his other hand into the opening, gripping its blazing edges, straining as he forced it wider. More blood flowed down his arm, and it vanished as it reached his wrist. The gate was consuming it.

Travis staggered. His face was white, and alarm coursed through Deirdre. He’s lost too much blood. He’s going to pass out.

“Do not stop!” Vani said, her voice a cruel slap.

Again Travis strained. The gate expanded a fraction; it was as wide as his shoulders now.

“Hello there, mate,” Anders said as Beltan drew in a shuddering breath and sat up on the sofa.

“What’s going—?” The blond man’s eyes went wide. “Travis!”

Travis cast a look of pain, sorrow, and love over his shoulder, his eyes locking on Beltan’s.

“Now, Vani. Help me.”

In a single motion, the T’golgripped his shoulders and pushed him forward, into the mouth of the gate. However, she did not loosen her grasp on him, and his momentum carried her forward as she dived into the circle after him. Travis’s feet vanished, then Vani’s, as the ring of azure magic rapidly contracted.

“No!” Beltan shouted, pushing himself free of Deirdre and Anders, throwing himself forward. However, before he could reach it, the blue circle collapsed into a single point, then disappeared.

The gate had closed.

PART TWO

MASKS

15.

“So, dear,” Melia said, regarding Grace over the rim of a steaming cup of maddok, “I hear you had a chat with a dragon.”

The amber-eyed lady sat beside the window in the chamber she and Falken shared. The chamber was small, but it was the sunniest in the keep, and that was why Melia had chosen it over grander rooms. She had been born long ago in a land far warmer than this, and her bronze skin seemed to absorb the morning light that streamed through the window.

Daylight had diminished Grace’s dread a fraction—the rift was invisible against the flawless blue sky—and she gave Melia a crooked smile. “News travels fast.”

“No, dragons travel fast,” Falken said, his hair disheveled from sleep. He poured a cup of maddokand handed it to her.

Grace sighed as she breathed in the rich, slightly bitter aroma, then sat in a chair opposite Melia while Falken perched on the windowsill.

“You’re blocking my sunshine, dear one,” Melia said in the kind of pleasant tone that demanded immediate attention.

“I thought I was your sunshine,” Falken said dryly, though he hastily hopped off the windowsill and retired to another chair.

A black cat sprawled on the carpet, licking a paw as it regarded Grace with moon-gold eyes. It had finally outgrown its seemingly eternal kittenhood over two years ago. Grace should have realized then that Melia was no longer immortal.

“So what did the dragon speak to you about?” Melia said, her amber eyes as curious as the cat’s.

Grace gripped the hot cup. “Nothing.”

A frown shadowed the lady’s brow. “If you’d rather not tell us, that’s your prerogative, but please don’t speak a falsehood, Ralena. Sfithrisir is not one for idle conversation. I doubt the dragon flew all the way here from the Fal Erenn simply to tell you about nothing.”

“But that’s it,” Grace said, struggling to find a place she could begin. “That’s exactly what the problem is. It’s nothing at all.”

Falken raised an eyebrow, glancing at Melia. “I think the dragon addled her wits.”

“They’ve been known to have that effect,” the lady agreed.

Grace set down her cup and stood. “It’s the rift in the sky,” she said, shaking with frustration and fear. “It’s growing. It’s going to annihilate this world, and Earth, and any other world that lies close to them, and when it’s done, there won’t be anything left. There’ll be nothing. Nothing at all.”

Melia and Falken were no longer smiling. As precisely as she could, Grace recounted her conversation with Sfithrisir. When she was done, both the bard and the lady stared, their faces ashen.

“This cannot be true,” Melia said, shivering. The sun had gone behind a cloud. “Things cannot simply . . . cease to be.”

Grace looked at Falken. “You’re the one who told me dragons can only speak the truth.”

“That’s so,” Falken said, doubt in his faded blue eyes. “But you have to be wary of what a dragon says. They speak the truth, but they also twist that truth to their own ends.”

Grace thought about this, then shook her head. “He was afraid, Falken. I know that seems impossible, that a creature that existed before the world was even created could feel fear, but he did, I’m sure of it. Whatever the rift really is, Sfithrisir is terrified of it, and he can’t stop it.”

“And you believe Travis can?” Melia said.

“I have to.”

Falken rose from his chair. “What will you do, Ralena?”