Dominor winced, holding up his hands as he tried to shush Saleria. His wife narrowed her amber-gold eyes. “A what of the what is related to the what? Dominor, dear, is there something you haven’t been telling me?”
Within the span of one second, he switched from a hunched wince of regret to a square-shouldered, head-high stance. Staring down over the inch or so that separated him from his tall wife, the Guardian of Nightfall gave her a quelling look. “I did not tell you that the Convocation is related to the Netherhell forescryings you’ve been examining because you have been working on something far more important in the last month. The safe birth of our children, and the resolution of the Natallian/Mandarite mageborn imbalance.”
“Now that they have been born,” Serina stated, not in the least bit quelled, “when were you going to tell me? Or Mother Naima, for that matter?”
“After a full turning of Sister Moon. You heard Mariel,” her husband cautioned her. “The first three months of our twins’ lives are crucial to their good health, and that requires their mother to be well-rested.”
Saleria decided that, as she had spilled the news, she had to make up for it. “He is right, in that you don’t need to focus on it just yet. At the current rate the prophecies are unfolding, we still have several months to go before things get anywhere close to a head. Of the pattern-of-eight in at least two of the prophecies involved, we’re still only up to the second verse, and that after at least five or so months since the first one’s conditions were met.”
The ex-Guardian drew in a breath to protest, but the sleepy wriggling of the infant slung across her chest distracted her. She let it out, argument abandoned. Mostly. “Fine. I’ll agree that Galea and Timoran need most of my attention right now. But I do want copies of all these pertinent Convocation prophecies—and no arguing, dear. I have quite a lot of experience at extracting information from such things mathemagically.”
“Mathemagically?” Saleria asked her, wondering what that had to do with the words of the Gods as transmitted through Their Seers.
Serina smiled. “I’m an Arithmancer. Graduated in the top of my classes when I studied in the kingdom of Guchere.”
Saleria had no idea where that was. Once again, she was feeling her ignorance of non-Katani matters, and resolved to find a map of all these far-flung places.
“A really good one,” Dominor agreed, giving his pale-haired wife a fond look. “I’m not bad myself, but Serina is a master-class mathemagician.”
“Ah. I never really did all that well at mathemagics. I am a mage-priestess, but that doesn’t really qualify as a specialization, per se. I do know a really good Hortimancer,” she added. “But that brings me back to my idea about the scrycasting mirrors. While we’re talking with Guardian Kerric, Guardian Dominor, I can ask him if he can send over a copy of the prophecy scrolls for your wife, if you like.”
“I’ll do that myself,” he stated. “Or I’ll never hear the end of it. Let’s get to the Fountainway before something else crops up.”
Trailing behind, Saleria followed the pair down the hall where they had met, around a corner, and into a large, oval chamber filled with columns . . . and a shimmering, pulsing sphere that spewed colorful ribbons in all directions. The look of them, the feel of the energies wafting against her inner senses, was familiar. It took her a few moments to realize the ribbons were streams of differentiated magic, much like the sap-dripping vines of the Bower. But where those fed pools on the moss– and cobblestone-lined ground, these vanished into sculpted pipe mouths.
Dominor did not lead them to the shining spark-in-a-bubble that was the Nightfall Fountain, however. For one, there were subtle shimmering walls in the way, protective wards that would prevent anyone unauthorized from getting close. Saleria knew the commands for similar wards for the Grove, but rarely used them, as they required a great deal of energy to invoke prior to attunement. For another, that wasn’t the reason why they were here.
Instead, the Guardian of the local Fountain led them to a mirror hung on one of the artfully carved walls, set in the center of bas-relief knotwork carved by some mathemagically precise hand. Used to the chaotic natural lines of the Grove, Saleria couldn’t help but admire all the formal symmetry and smoothness, the timeless stillness of all the images she had seen carved so far.
“Anan!”
The spellword, backed by a faint but still tangible pulse of power from the tall, dark mage, pulled her attention back to the mirror. Shaped out of the same materials for the frame and hung sideways just like her own back in the Bower, it quickly resolved into the familiar sight of the curly-haired Master of the Tower. He only glanced their way briefly, however.