The woman had practiced for several millennia how to reach any time, any reality. Yet since the First Brotherhood had dissolved, this ability functioned only from Nexoria. Since then, only fragments of her power—and even of her memories—had remained.
Nexoria… This was Xewith's world, the one she always returned to. This was her time, the place where she had awakened, together with the First Ones.
She took form directly behind the man. She enjoyed testing his abilities, though she knew well how thoroughly Drakthor concealed his magic. No one knew what kind—or how great—his magical power was. None of Nexoria's inhabitants suspected that the man possessed any magical abilities at all.
Drakthor was reviewing a book when Xewith appeared behind him out of nothingness.
"Perhaps some sort of reckoning," the woman thought.
Drakthor's accounting interested her not in the slightest. She had come to be the first to deliver the great news: the Twelve were beginning to awaken. And, of course, she wished to torment the man with the memory of Mirael, the traitor—who had died before he could bring shame upon the Second Ones. Xewith did not pity Mirael.
She stood there in silence until the man sensed that he was being watched.
"Sit down, Xewith," he commanded without turning around.
Not that a Worldkeeper—one who belonged to the Twelve and was among the strongest of the First Ones—fell under his authority. Drakthor was simply accustomed to giving orders, and to being obeyed.
Xewith did not resist. She sat down beside the table, in the seat opposite the man. She settled in comfortably and cast a mocking glance at Drakthor.
"Your instincts are better than most—but not good enough," she taunted him.
The man still did not lift his gaze from the book. He replied slowly and reluctantly, as though he were not speaking to a Worldkeeper at all, merely brushing aside an impertinent fly.
"You're the only one who keeps appearing without notice or discussion."
Over the long years, no friendlier tone had ever developed between them.
"They're awakening."
That was all the woman said. She drew back her veil so she could see better and watched Drakthor's reactions with malicious delight.
"Do you think they'll cross over again and come looking for that symbol at my place?"
Xewith felt slightly disappointed. She had expected joy, resistance—anything. This cold reaction displeased her. Drakthor's voice was icy and indifferent.
"One of them is already here, quite close to you—and you don't even know it," the woman tried to stir his interest.
She failed again.
"I know you're thinking of yourself right now, Xewith. You came here to chatter about trifles while I have far more important matters to attend to."
"You should visit the castle dungeon more often," the woman offered dryly.
Only now did Drakthor look at Xewith. With boredom.
"I assume it's that self-important boy—the one who disguised himself as a shepherd for years during the awakening of the Second Ones, and played mournful songs on a flute every evening beneath the castle walls."
"You guessed correctly. What will you do with him?" the woman asked eagerly.
"I'll release him and let him wander freely through Nexoria. He can disguise himself as a shepherd—or anything else."
Xewith leaned closer, to give weight to her words.
"You do realize that if you let him go, they will take the oath. Soon. In the world where I now exist, they discover their unusual abilities very quickly. Many have awakened suddenly, all at once. If you keep the boy here—"
Drakthor cut her off with a gesture.
"Without the symbol, they cannot access the power or memories of the First Ones. At most, they'll keep crossing into Nexoria. That doesn't trouble me."
"You're waiting for her," the woman stated wickedly.
Once again, she did not receive the reaction she had hoped for.
"You're mistaken. I'm waiting for no one. Mirael is dead."
Xewith rose from her chair in disappointment, ready to depart. She drew the veil back over her face.
"If the Brotherhood's awakening truly doesn't interest you, then continue studying the tedious reckonings of your tedious world. Just don't forget by tomorrow how many measures of wheat the servants gathered…"
Drakthor did not wait for the torrent of words to end. Truth be told, he wasn't interested in the tedious reckonings of his tedious world either.
"Their awakening is of no importance to me. But let us not be discourteous. Since you're here, come to the Square. You usually enjoy yourself there."
Xewith shook her head.
"The girl has Mirael's memories of that fateful day," she tried once more to spark his interest in the Brotherhood's awakening.
"And that girl shared them with you as well?"
"Her parents visited me not long ago and told me everything. Question the boy, if you ever decide that the Brotherhood's awakening is more interesting than the dull reckoning before you."
"This is no reckoning. I will release the boy today."
Xewith felt an urge to vanish without a trace before the man's eyes—back to the world where she currently lived, to flaunt her abilities—but then she reconsidered. She would go down to the Square, but without Drakthor and his lackeys. If Rhys had crossed into Nexoria, others might have been here as well.
The Worldkeepers needed to know about this.