Finally, she asked, "You saw it, didn't you?"
Lindarion didn't blink.
"I saw too much."
"And yet you told no one."
"I can't."
Nytheris tilted her head, her expression unreadable.
"Because they wouldn't believe?"
"No. Because they shouldn't know."
A faint smile, barely a twitch, touched her lips.
"You are learning."
"I'm not proud of it."
"You shouldn't be," she said. "But it's necessary."
Lindarion let his eyes close for a moment. The Garden pulsed gently beneath him, soft warmth in the moss, a breeze that carried no scent but still cooled his brow.
He finally asked the question that had sat in his chest since the glyph chamber.
"What's really in here, Nytheris?"
Her expression didn't shift.
"You've seen the outer threads."
"Not what I asked."
"No," she agreed.
Then she raised her hand, and the ground before them opened.
Not violently.
Not with magic.
Just movement.
As though the moss had stepped aside.
Beneath it, a vein of black crystal.
