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“Only way in and out, unfortunately.”

“Why steps? I assume only Thalassarians, as a general rule, come down here?”

“One of the Deep Archives’ many mysteries.”

And just like that, Marek disappeared. A few seconds later, I joined him.

“Not the pits of hell. Below the sea’s surface.”

It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Even the Aetherian capital of Aethralis, built among the mountains so high they reached the clouds, was not as impressive.

Walls and pillars, seemingly carved from flowing water, its blue, glowing light reminding me of the Garden of Luminous Tides. Above us, light mimicked sunlight peeking through the water. Surely, we’d not walked to a space at the bottom of the sea, but that was precisely how it appeared. There was no sound besides the gentle one of trickling water, occasionally punctuated by the echoes of splashes and distant waves.

“This place is…” I had no words to describe it.

“Only problem,” Marek said, striding ahead and clearly less impressed than me. “Too many books.”

As we moved forward, rows and rows of books and scrolls, encased in shimmering, protective bubbles of water, were tucked into niches in the walls. I couldn’t imagine where one would start reading or how you went about finding what you needed.

More importantly, how would we find Seren? Marek admitted to never spending much time here, and though I was impressed that he was able to break in using some crystal and who knew what black magic he’d conjured, I wasn’t convinced we’d get much further without some guidance.

Look down.

It was the same feeling that came over me with my visions, but instead, this was a voice. One my grandfather had not prepared us for. To my knowledge, he saw things but did not hear them. On the other hand, he often said The Keeper of each generation possessed unique skills the others did not.

When I looked down, a faint, blue line appeared. Marek, ahead of me again, didn’t seem to notice. But when he took a left turn, I stopped him, pointing down. The line continued straight.

“What in the Tides is that?”

“I’m not certain,” I admitted. “But maybe some sort of guidance?”

I caught up with him, Marek on high alert now. He took in our surroundings, and then apparently deciding the line wasn’t a threat in any way, began to follow it. We passed row after row of “shelves,” periodically punctuated by some sort of small, reflective pools. When the line suddenly stopped at a wall, Marek and I looked at each other.

“That worked well,” he said, Marek’s voice laced with sarcasm.

When the water that made up the wall suddenly fell to a trickle, revealing an inner chamber that looked suspiciously familiar, I smiled, triumphant.

“Aye, it did.”

We stepped forward, but a voice stopped us.

“The human only.”

Where had that come from? One second, the chamber was empty. The next, a figure rose from the pool of water at its center. A woman. A vaelith. She was as old as anyone in Elydor by the looks of her. At the same time, she moved with the ease and grace of a younger Thalassari. Her clothing dripped with a wetness that, with one swoop of her hand, disappeared.

Her bright-blue eyes narrowed.

“Marek. You are not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

In response, she shooed him backwards. “He will rejoin you shortly. Someone comes who you must attend to.”

“What do you mean, someone?—”

The sound of voices carried to us then, but apparently, Marek had stepped back far enough that I wouldn’t find out who the voices belonged to. The wall of water that had hidden this chamber was now firmly again in place.

“Sir Rowan of Estmere, I presume?”