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My knees wobble, my body yearning to bend, to bow. How many nights did I pray to Ziva as a child, begging for help with my magic? For the ability to control it. For the skill to tap into the power that my mother feared and tried to extinguish with alchemy.

Back then, I was a child. Now, I’m a queen. And I cannot behave as though the monarchy is choosing sides.

Especially not with everyone in the courtyard watching. Figures appear in the windows, too, their attention drawn by the dragons’ song. But no one can ignore Ziva’s fiery glow as she stands at the edge of the courtyard.

“My goddess.” I incline my head, the best compromise I can muster up on the spot.

Ziva sweeps toward me, her feet hovering just above the ground. With every step, her flames bank lower, revealing the coppery skin underneath. “Lark. You’ve faced so many challenges lately.” Her brilliant glow casts my skin in shades of amber and gold. “All the madness you’ve battled, all the confusion and conflict, the tensions between your mortal kingdoms. I’ve seen it all.”

Seen it all, yet never once reached out to help. Not even during my childhood.

Anger flares through me, but my flames remain stable. I keep them contained, controlled by the willpower I worked so hard to cultivate. Fire is just as much the element of life as destruction. Flames can provide necessary warmth or destroy.

The heat blazing from Ziva’s fire is just short of charring. Enough that every nerve in my body screams, “Stay back! Danger!”

The goddess stretches, her feet unmoving while her body somehow curves around me. If she wanted to prove how inhuman she was, she couldn’t have picked a better way. Her presence toasts my skin, my bones, even my blood. I feel suddenly exposed, as though she can see through flesh to the truth beneath.

“I’ve always been proud to call you one of mine. Your fire burns true, even in darkness.”

The warmth of her presence and praise undulates through me, around me, inside me. Swells in my chest and fills me with pride, belonging, and purpose. All things I craved as a child, things I didn’t realize I still hungered for.

A chill skates over my skin when Ziva returns to her spot near the rift in the sky. She presents me with her back as she cranes her neck to stare up at the palace. Flame red hair floats behind her, lifted by the updraft created from her own heat. “You know the gods are at war.”

A hesitation flickers beneath her words. An unnamed shadow. Pride mingled with…what? Regret? Fear?

Whatever it is, my skin tingles with alarm. “I do,” I respond warily.

“That’s why I need you, Lark.”

Oh gods.

I stamp out the prayer before it can continue. “For what?”

The graphs and the blood-spattered drawings of those crystals flit through my mind like a hazy warning. I hope with everything inside me that my instincts are wrong and she’s not about to ask what I think she is.

She shifts to the side, waving her hand and highlighting the air with her glowing hair. “Be our champion.”

So much for hope.

The words hang between us, terrible in their simplicity. We gaze at each other while a hysterical laugh races up my throat, along with the burn of stomach acid.

No. Absolutely not.

I bury my fingers in my hair and yank. This cannot be happening. Surely, even the gods would never be so cruel, would they?

But with dread settling into my bones and ice filling my veins, I fear I already know the answer.

My mind rebels. Fragments. All I can do is stare, slack-jawed.

“This is nothing new for you. You protect things.” Ziva reaches for me but stops short of touching, her blood-red nails creating sparks. “You protect your people, your kingdom, the dragons. All excellent things you should be proud of. Now I’m offering you a chance to protect the entire world.”

In a daze, I find myself seeking the face and body beneath the aura of heat. Her features are sharp, almost catlike. Narrow, upturned nose, thin upper lip, slightly pointed ears, sharp cheekbones, pointy chin.

Maybe this is all a nightmare. Maybe I’ll wake up and realize I never met the Goddess of Fire. Everything will be okay because no one asked me to face off with the love of my life in a battle to the death.

Except, by now I know better.

I close my eyes, inhaling through my nose to stop myself from hyperventilating. I open them again with frantic denial still racing through my mind. “Knox.” His name is a talisman I cling to against the horror unfolding before me. “Are you aware that Knox, my betrothed, is the other champion?”