The Grove(117)
“And . . . that should be it. You should have everything you need now. Those crystals can record up to twenty days’ worth apiece, so long as they’re not tampered with, and provided there’s enough light to read a book by,” he informed Saleria. “If it grows dark, that’ll use up the spellpower imbued into them.”
“I’ll let Guardian Dominor know,” Saleria reassured him.
He flashed her a brief smile and flicked his hand, ending the mirror-call. Faced with her own, ordinary reflection, Saleria ignored it and peered into the silvered glass, trying to see what Serina was doing beyond her shoulder. The Arithmancer seemed to be muttering to herself and tugging on her long pale braid with her free hand, then she stuck her fingers in the coppery mist-ribbon.
“Yes, Mother?” she asked tartly.
Saleria quickly raised her voice. “The mirror’s free!”
Serina nodded. “The mirror’s free, Mother. Would you like to make this a civilized call, or just rant via the Fontways directly?”
“I have had a very trying day with a very serious shock, child. Do not sass your mother. I’ll be on the mirror in a moment.”
The Keeper of the Grove watched the ex-Guardian of Koral-tai roll her eyes, turn around, and trudge back to the mirror . . . which chimed when she was not quite halfway there. Serina flipped her hand at their guest. Saleria reached out to it, activating the surface. “Baol.”
It responded to the intent shaping the magic behind her choice of word, even though it was a different one than Guardian Dominor had used. The older version of Serina appeared on the screen, her lips compressed into a thin line and her lightly tanned face a bit mottled from an indignant flush. She drew in a breath to make some comment . . . then stopped, squinted at Saleria, and quirked her brows. “. . . Guardian Saleria? What are you doing on this mirror? I know I connected the scrycasting correctly—Serina! What is this Guardian doing on this mirror?”
“Don’t answer that,” Serina muttered under her breath. Raising her voice to a conversation level, she dredged up a smile for her parent. “Greetings, Mother. How are you doing today?”
“Terrible!” Ilaiea snapped, scowling. “Do you know what your niece did?”
“Which niece, Mother?” Serina asked patiently. “At last count, I had five of them.”
“Reina, Ranora’s daughter?” Ilaiea clarified impatiently.
“Since I haven’t chatted with her directly in almost five years, and since you’ve rarely mentioned her when you and I chat . . . no, Mother. Do enlighten me,” the ex-Guardian told the Moonlands Guardian. “What did she do?”
“She has the eyes of the Singer!”
Once again, Saleria felt incredibly ignorant of other lands, because the Arithmancer’s bored expression changed in an instant to a shocked look. Eyes wide, she blinked at her mother. “Reina has the eyes of the Singer?”
“Yes! Today was her channeling day, when her magics were to have been given to the . . .” Ilaiea trailed off, her gaze sliding to Saleria’s face, then to Dominor’s, who was moving up behind the two women, joining them. “Never mind that. Priest Soren was doing it—we were all in attendance, all the extended family—and just as he raised the sacred stone to her forehead, the normal brown of her eyes drained completely away!
“And worse, when I tried to dispel any illusion, not only did they not change back, Soren couldn’t even touch the Sacred Stone to her hand, never mind her forehead!” Ilaiea looked upset at that thought. Clueless, Saleria waited to see what else might be revealed of their foreign ways. “It’s like the child has somehow found a spell or a source of magic more powerful than the Gods Themselves! She defies the very bloodline of the Inoma with those eyes. She is my sister’s child—and I’ll remind you that your younger sister, Kayla, is still very much alive and well, so it’s not like the impertinent girl is some sort of post-tragedy replacement.”
Nope, Saleria thought. I have not a single clue what they’re talking about.
Serina studied her golden-eyed mother with her normal, round-pupil, honey-amber eyes, then sighed heavily as if making up her mind. “Don’t fret, Mother. I am quite certain that it is not some sort of act of defiance. Reina is a lovely child—or she was when I last visited five years ago—and I cannot think her temperament has changed that much in the interim. But if it makes you feel better, I shall make sure to ask Brother Moon and Sister Moon directly as to whether or not this is a genuine Mark of the Singer.”
Ilaiea arched one light blonde brow. “You, ask the Gods Themselves? Since when did you take up a holy calling, child? Last you mentioned, you were still playing with numbers.”