I stiffened. I had met the contessa once as a child, but it had been with my mother, and I was too young to remember most of it. We were a fairly important Lumen family—one of the most important, thanks to Jiyorga—but that didn’t mean we were cozy with ancient royalty. I’d never been so humiliated and nervous in my life. I could feel her eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to return her gaze.

"What do you wish for, Damaus Ju Demma?" she asked. Again, her voice was soft, but it echoed powerfully off the chamber walls. I couldn’t remember if she had ever bothered with honorifics or not, but it was odd not to hear Lord in front of my name.

"If I could, I’d like to turn back time about a day," I said, studying the floor. This floor was dark and smooth, like the palace’s outer-walls. Though it was translucent, in the darkest shade of violet-blue, I couldn’t see the next floor below; instead I saw what looked like a great pit of fire throwing red and orange embers toward its surface. I instinctively jerked away as one came toward my foot, but I didn’t even feel its warmth before it fell back down. If the contessa noticed, she didn’t acknowledge it.

"I suppose you would," she noted. Now I forced myself to look at her, wincing an embarrassing amount at the light of her staff. Her dark-painted lips pressed together. "Do you remember your first visit here, child?"

"A little," I said, attempting to lean back and act comfortable. It was difficult wrapped in chains. "I think you summoned my mother for something. I don’t remember the...exact circumstances. Which I think is fair, given that I was only about three turns of the sun old."

If she was amused, she didn’t show it. We weren’t sweet-talking yet. It kept hitting me that this was the most powerful being on the planet, blessed by all ancient wizards, and yet the only way I knew how to respond to such an absurd situation was to keep cracking nonsense at her. If Westalyn or my mother could hear what a fool I was making of myself, they’d drag me out by the ears.

"Three and a quarter trips around the Great Sun, yes," the contessa continued. "At your mother’s request."

"I wasn’t aware one could request a meeting with the contessa," I confessed.

"It is unordinary," she said, getting to her feet. I didn’t know whether to stand with her out of respect, or shrink back into my seat. I stayed put.

The fabric from her pauldron trailed behind her on the floor as she crossed to the center of the room. Facing away from me, she began to turn the staff in her hands. She spun it slowly at first, then doubled the speed. Faster and faster it twirled like a whirling baton of light. She kept her arm relaxed; it was more like she was conducting it than forcing it to spin.

It started to spin more quickly than she could keep up with, and she took a single step backward. Arm still extended, she positioned her hand adjacent to it, with her palm toward its center, and motioned her wrist toward it. The staff followed, lowering itself flat onto its side, and continued to spin horizontally.

I watched with my mouth wide open as the fires below the floor all pulled in the direction of the rotating staff. Orange-hot ruins began to form on the floor a short distance below where it hung in mid-air. Two thin circles were drawn around the ruins, much like the first light of the doorway, enclosing the markings in a white ring. Then to my horror, the inner-circle opened up, and liquid fire exploded up into the chamber. The contessa didn’t move, but I thought I heard her whisper something. A white, cylindrical column of light fell from the staff to the floor, causing the flames to vanish and the floor to close again. I blinked and saw that the ruins were gone, but there on the dark surface sat a small box.

The contessa didn’t speak. I had a million questions and yet zero words. My eyes hung on the box. There wasn’t even a trace of smoke. I wasn’t sure if that spoke to the power of the staff, or if the fire had been some kind of illusion.

"Come, Damaus Ju Demma," she beckoned. Her arms were relaxed at her sides. I realized then that the staff was gone. The room was only lit by the fires below.

Stunned, I made an attempt to stand. It was surprisingly difficult. I could hardly move my legs, and the casings on my arms felt extremely heavy. Something was wrong. I could feel my face burning up with embarrassment, and wondered for the first time since the festivities how my paint was holding up.

I managed to stand on the third try. Then it was like learning to walk for the first time. One foot in front of the other, careful not to lean too far forward or back. Thirteen awkward steps in total before I was face to face with her. I grimaced as I dared to look her in the eye, wondering what thoughts were hidden behind all that gold and glimmer.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked, looking down at the box. It was a bluestone chest with a ruin on its top above a star-shaped steel lock.

"No," I said. I held back all of the questions and exclamations I wanted to shout at her. I wasn’t sure I could shout; she was probably controlling my speech too.

She looked back into my eyes. Hers were dark, like black pools, like the Grey, I realized. I found myself wondering if I’d seen her take a breath. Almost as if hearing my thoughts, she turned away from me and began pacing toward the back of the room, toward the bars that separated this part of the chamber from the cells.

"Lumen are interesting creatures," she said, clearly not including herself in that assessment. "Tell me, Damaus Ju Demma—have you ever kept a secret?"

"A what?" she was mixing languages. Ancient words only she would know, most likely. It sounded like something out of one of my childhood lessons.

"A secret," she repeated. "A truth only you know to be true. Maybe your truth, or one of someone dear to you. A truth kept from the pervasive eyes and ears of our society."

She was speaking in riddles. "I don’t think so," I said.

"It is my duty, as contessa of Palunia, to bear this burden. Lumen are interesting for many reasons. One of which is their distinct inability to keep secrets when asked. Tell me—what were you planning to do this evening before your name was called?"

She was baiting me. It was difficult to keep from snarling my response. "Before all of this," I said, "I was going to watch the sky fire and ask Westalyn Chi Soha for her partnership. Then we were going to feast with my family and watch the Procession in the morning."

"Why do you tell me this?" She stared deep into my eyes in a way that made Westalyn look expressive. I was getting frustrated.

"Because you asked."

"Yes." She sauntered to the chest and turned to face it before kneeling on the floor. "What do you suppose would happen if you came to know information that would destroy us?"

"Destroy us?" That was a little dramatic. "I wouldn’t know." She more than outranked me, but I had never been spoken down to like this. My patience wasn’t going to last much longer.

"You wouldn’t know, but there was a time when you did know, Damaus Ju Demma. Because on your first visit here, when you were only a young lord of three and a quarter turns of age, you came to me here, in this chamber, and you sealed away a secret. You handed to me the burden of that secret, and together we placed it here, inside this box."

The contessa slung her right arm outward and extended her fingers gracefully. White light materialized just outside her palm, forming a key. It solidified, long and gold, with red and violet gems down its shaft. Inside the bow at the top where most had empty holes remained an embodiment of light. She grasped the key in hand and bent forward, sliding it into the star-shaped lock.

I waited.

Next Chapter: Keeper of Secrets