The gold-eyed woman, Phoebe, smiled. “Now this distraction will be removed.” She glanced at the security guards. “Dispose of these intruders. Use whatever force is required.”

The guards—all of them large, thick-necked men—leveled their weapons at the interlopers. “Walk forward slowly,” one of them said. “Come one at a time with your hands out in front of you.”

Travis was still grinning like a jackal. “That’s funny.” He glanced at Master Larad. “I’m thinking the rune of iron.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Larad said, and held Sinfathisar before him.

“Whatever that is, put it down or we’ll shoot!” The guard targeted Larad with the gun.

“No,” Travis said. “You won’t.”

“ Dur!” Larad shouted.

The three men cried out as the guns flew from their hands, arced across the room, and struck the far wall. The weapons fell to the floor as shapeless lumps of metal. The guards staggered back, clutching stinging hands.

Grace staggered herself. For a moment, as Larad spoke the rune and the Stone flashed in his hands, she had heard a rushing noise, and she had glimpsed silvery threads all around her. It was the Weirding. She reached out to Touch it. However, even as the Stone faded, so did the shimmering strands around her.

“Now, Vani!” Travis shouted. He was already moving toward the guards. Farr was on his heels.

“Take Nim,” Vani said, pressing the girl into Grace’s arms. “Protect her.”

Before Grace could speak, Vani’s form blurred, and she was gone. A moment later she reappeared in midair above the guard closest to the door. Her boot flew out, contacting his skull, and he toppled to the floor as she landed without sound next to him. The other guards tried to back away from her, toward the center of room, but Travis and Farr were between them and the dais, cutting off their retreat.

Two more guards appeared at the door. Again Vani’s form seemed to blur as she attacked them. Travis and Farr grappled with the other two guards. However, Grace saw this only dimly, as if through a shimmering veil.

Once again, the silvery threads of the Weirding shone around her. She reveled in the sensation of life. How she had missed the Touch! She let her consciousness follow the glittering web.

The threads ended at the edge of the chamber.

What was going on? The Weirding had returned, but only here in this room; Grace could not follow it beyond.

Think, Grace.

The silver web had momentarily reappeared when Larad had invoked the power of the Imsari. In a way that made sense; the power of the Weirding sprang ultimately from the runes that had brought Eldh and everything on it into being. But why was she seeing the Weirding again now?

“I’m afraid, Aunt Grace,” Nim said, tightening her arms around Grace’s neck.

The silvery threads grew brighter.

Grace clutched the girl. Contacting Nim was what allowed her to see the Weirding. Only how could that be? Her mind fought to comprehend. The Imsari were part of the First Stone. Like the thirteen morndarithat entered Orú, they were the most primordial of magics; they were the first enchantments, and the last to remain while all other faded. It made sense that the Imsari helped her see the Weirding. But why did Nim do the same?

Grace didn’t know, but she was not going to waste this chance. The Weirding could fade again in an instant.

Deirdre?she called out, sending her presence along the shimmering threads.

Across the chamber, near the door, Travis, Farr, and Vani were still struggling with the security guards. The men had learned to keep away from Vani, but Travis and Farr kept herding them back within the T’gol’s reach. The Philosophers had retreated, standing near several of the sarcophagi where the gold-skinned beings still slept.

“Stop them!” Phoebe shouted, her voice shrill, hands clenched into fists.

Grace didn’t know much about the Philosophers, other than that they were the mysterious leaders of the Seekers. One thing was certain. Whatever power they possessed, they did not like to do their own dirty work.

Deirdre, Grace called again. Can you hear me?

Then she saw a thread that flickered with jade and fiery crimson. Grace brought her own strand close. Astonishment streamed across the thread. On the staircase, Deirdre gripped the railing.

Is that you, Grace? How—?

I’m speaking to you over the Weirding. It seems to still work, at least as long as I hold on to Nim.

She felt amazement and wonder vibrate along the thread. And pain. Grace probed, letting her consciousness reach deep into Deirdre’s body, surveying the damage, making a diagnosis.

It wasn’t good. Deirdre had been shot in the right shoulder, and the bullet had nicked her subclavian artery. She had lost a lot of blood. That she wasn’t already dead was a wonder. Something seemed to have slowed her metabolism. But time was running out. Deirdre was already going into shock; Grace could sense her organs shutting down. Now that she could use the Weirding, Grace might be able to stave off organ failure for a short while and keep Deirdre’s heart beating. But only if she could touch Deirdre. And even magic wouldn’t help if Deirdre didn’t get a blood transfusion—soon.

Deirdre, we have to get you to a hospital.

That’s not important right now. All that matters is the Sleeping Ones.

You mean the Seven of Orú?

Yes, the beings in the sarcophagi, came Deirdre’s reply. Despite her weakened state, her voice was clear over the Weirding, as if speaking this way was utterly natural to her. They seek some sort of transformation. I don’t know what it is, but it’s important. I think it has to do with the rifts in the cosmos.

These words filled Grace with amazement; clearly Deirdre had learned much since Travis had left her and journeyed to Eldh.

You’re right, Grace spoke in return. We’ve learned that the Seven have to come in contact with the Imsari, to heal the imbalance that’s tearing the worlds apart. Only . . .

She thought of the drawing that showed the Stones and the Seven coming together, and the mysterious triangle symbol between them.

Only there’s something we don’t know yet. There’s a key— something that’s needed to allow the Imsari and themorndari to unite. I think it has to do with the Last Rune.

The Last Rune?

Words were too slow. Grace gathered up everything she had learned, everything that had happened since Sfithrisir alighted atop Gravenfist Keep, and sent it in a single, glittering pulse along the Weirding.

She could sense Deirdre reeling. Grace knew it had been too much to assimilate all at once, that it would take Deirdre time to sort out everything that had been transmitted to her.

The Seeker was faster than Grace had thought. It’s the catalyst, Deirdre’s voice came across the Weirding. Something that

can link the Sleeping Ones and Great Stones. The transformation the Seven seek can’t take place without it.

Excitement flared in Grace’s chest. Hadn’t Sister Mirrim said something to Farr about a catalyst? Do you know what this catalyst is?

She felt frustration, confusion in return.

No, I don’t, came Deirdre’s reply. Only . . .

Only what?

I’m not sure, Grace. I’m so close to the answer, only I can’t . . . I can’t quite reach it, and . . .

Deirdre had descended the last few steps, and she sank to her knees. Blood spattered the white marble floor. Deirdre’s face was like marble itself. Grace had to do something. She thought about it only a moment, then she connected Deirdre’s thread to her own.

Grace gasped as she felt her own life force rushing out, flooding into Deirdre, sustaining the Seeker. Across the room, Deirdre’s eyes fluttered, and her back arched. At the same time, thoughts, feelings, and knowledge hummed back along the thread, into Grace. In an instant, Grace understood everything.