Read Online The Heir of Night by Helen Lowe - Free Book Online

it was to be her decision. “The enemy is loose in the New Keep,” she said quietly, “and once thisRaptor of Darkness is finished in the Temple quarter, it will hunt us out anyway. We have to do this, Kalan, take the risk.” But inwardly, she mocked her brave words, wishing that she did not feel so afraid.
    Kalan looked bleak. “It’s
‘Yorindesarinen’s Choice’,”
he said somberly, “from the saga.”
    Malian shook her head, thinking that Yorindesarinen’s choice had been far more bitter, her hour more desperate. She drew a deep breath and spoke to the quiet room: “Tell us how to come inside your power.”
    “Close your eyes and empty your minds and hearts, then open them again to me.”
    Malian exchanged an uncertain look with Kalan, then closed her eyes, striving to let all thought and emotion drain away and fix her mind on emptiness. Gradually, she was filled with an immense golden light that intensified until she flinched away from its brilliance. The muted thunder rumbled in her head.
“Fear not, I will not burn you. Now open your eyes.”
    Malian obeyed and saw her own awe and wonder mirrored in Kalan’s face. The room’s twelve walls remained, but now the roof was far overhead and points of fire glimmered in the arched dome.
    Like stars, Malian thought, staring up—or meteors burning through space.
    The twelve doorways, too, had grown tall, stretching toward the distant roof. Each frame was outlined in golden flame and the solid wooden doors had been replaced by shimmering mist.
“You may not look through them yet,”
the fiery voice said.
“For now, turn your eyes to the table.”
    Malian blinked at the circular table that had appeared in the center of the room. Its circumference was vast and supported on what looked like a massive tree trunk, rooted into the stone floor. She moved closer and saw that the table was divided into twelve equal parts, each one separated by fiery lines. The surface was cloudy, filled with moving shapes that she could not make out.
    “No child of the Blood of Night has stood at this table in over five hundred years,”
the Fire said.
“But if you look closely, you will see your place.”
    Malian looked again and saw that one of the twelve sections was growing clearer. As she watched, it became a field of gold with a glittering horse flying across it, its wings cleaving heaven.
    “Touch it with your hand and mind at the same time, and join with me,”
the Fire commanded.
“As you do so, let the boy take your other hand. He will anchor you here, for that is part of his gift. But be careful, boy, not to touch the table yourself, for only the Blood may do so and live.”
    “I was born to the House of Blood,” Kalan said, but he sounded uncertain.
    “It is not the same, alas,”
the Fire replied.
“Your House has named itself for the blood of battle and war, at which it excels, whereas I speak of
the
Blood, the kin bound to us since the beginning of the Derai Alliance. Now, Heir of Night, are you ready?”
    “I am,” said Malian and placed her right palm on the table. The surface was cool as flowing water, and she could feel the contrasting warmth of Kalan’s right hand, clasping her left. Her whole being was infused with light; she felt intensely and gloriously alive with it and could sense the Old Keep, with all its silent levels, rising above her. She shot up through them like an arrow burning through darkness, past the enormity of empty rooms and vast echoing corridors. The chill of long neglect numbed her but she forced herself on, coming at last to the tiled halls and wooden galleries of the upper levels. From there, it was only a very short journey into the New Keep with its lights and warmth and life, a life that was muted now in sleep.
    Too much sleep. Malian could feel the silence of death and smell congealing blood. She was aware, too, of the dark malice of her enemies, regrouping now from the hunt and preparing to attack again.
    The Fire in her mind