For a split second, out of sheer fighters’ instinct, Seyun’s mind reached upward with his Spirit vein Ledger to test whether the autonomous Measure ring could be fixed with a Rival Mark.
Every step of his training from the outer valley to the Chamber of Permitted Shapes had been built on the principle that a worthy enemy sharpened the self. Daro Kesh had pressed him in the courtyard. Then, when Ilyra had tested his footwork across the flat stone slabs, and when Nara Soth had met him on the mountain road, his Answering Spirit vein had grown by taking the measure of an opponent’s distinct intent and answering it without surrendering his own shape.
Here, hovering thirty feet above the stone floor in a blinding wheel of twelve white-gold blades, was the strongest concentration of destructive power in the room. An enemy that had just scorched his right forearm with a stray lash and threatened to shear the roof down on everyone he cared about.
Yet the moment Seyun’s focus brushed against the cold, spinning shape of the Measure ring, his own heart-method recoiled as if he had touched a slab of dead winter ice.
In his chest, the three existing Rival Marks didn’t open to make room for a fourth. Instead, they rang together like three bronze bells struck in warning, reminding him of what every one of those three marks actually contained.
