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“Fed. Up. The bastard even gave us a clue.” Agnar shifts his shoulders. “If we’re right about this, at least.”

“The Devoted aren’t just spreading fear.” Leesa stares at her sister. “They’re creating intense emotions that lead to more prayers, more offerings⁠—”

“More food for the gods.” Disgust laces Bastian’s tone.

Agnar whistles. “Imagine the flow of devotion at a Champions Match where each side’s praying to their favorite’s patron god. Or praying for a swift and merciful victory, or any of the other things humans pray for while loved ones fight, especially when lives depend on the outcome.”

Another realization spears me as I mull over Rivlan’s warning about humans being worse off than puppets with new perspective.

The elemental god came so close to divulging the truth to me—perhaps even wanted to—but in the end, he withheld crucial details.

A bitter sense of betrayal flays my chest. The intensity surprises me. Somewhere along the way, I started to trust Rivlan, began liking him on a personal level.

Meanwhile, the prick’s been using me all along.

He may not be as manipulative as the other gods, but a spade’s still a spade. “Rivlan wanted to keep the match quiet. He said it was to avoid distractions and attention.”

Bastian considers this. “Maybe there was another reason. The only way that counsel makes sense is if Rivlan actually wanted to rein in the gods.”

“Bullshit.” Agnar folds his arms over his chest. “He’s one of them.”

“Think about it.” Bastian continues to flip pages. “When people witness divine power, what do they do? They pray, they make offerings…”

I see where he’s going with this. “And if they witness that divine presence in person, as they would at the match with the gods in attendance, imagine how many prayers would be offered. How much devotion could be harvested.” The pieces fall into place. “Definitely explains why Rivlan wanted to limit witnesses.”

“Which is exactly why we shouldn’t.” The expression of absolute disgust distorting Lark’s features mirrors my own. “We need to push the gods to reveal who they truly are. I don’t know what will happen, but in either case, everyone needs to see what these assholes are capable of. How predatory they can be.” Her fierce, resolute eyes meet mine. “If people see how the gods obtain their energy, they might question feeding the deities their devotion.”

Agnar pounds his fist on the table and hoots. “That’s the answer! We starve those fuckers.”

Damn, do I like the sound of that. “Exactly. Those asshole deities hit us with everything from floods to fires to crop destruction to tolls on bridges. They starve our people in order to get fat off our prayers. Drive us mad. Kill. The time’s come to flip the script on them.”

I examine the faces of our small council. Lark with her fiery determination, Leesa with her quiet strength, Bastian with his thoughtful resolve, Rafe with his calculating intensity, Helene with her reluctant alliance, and Agnar with his fighting spirit. For the first time since my conversation with Rivlan on the cliffs, I truly believe we have a chance.

The gods twisted our lives into a game, used our devotion as fuel, and forced us into positions where only sacrifice could save everything we hold dear.

But in this new version of the game, the gods are no longer the masters.

They’re each merely another piece on the board.

Chapter Forty-Four

Dawn’s pale, hesitant glow crawls through my sitting room windows like a thief. I’ve sat here for hours already, watching night retreat while trying to define the churning sensation in my gut.

Not fear exactly, but something close.

My fingers tap against the wooden table, tiny sparks following each impact. A rebellion is brewing, and since yesterday’s revelation, my fire magic has started reacting to my emotions more strongly than ever, as if our new knowledge somehow amplified my power.

Or maybe that’s just rage.

Pure, clarifying rage over being used as fodder for divine appetites.

The door opens, and Leesa enters, her face drawn with worry. Lately, she’s struggled with morning nausea, though she tries to hide it. Pregnancy doesn’t seem to care about celestial conspiracies or impending death matches.

“I was told you wanted to meet for breakfast again?” She drops a kiss on my cheek before settling into a chair near mine. Her hand moves instinctively to her stomach, a protective gesture that squeezes my heart. “You look like you’ve been up for hours.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” I offer her a weak smile. “Apparently, plotting treason against the heavens isn’t conducive to rest. Who knew?” The teapot no longer steams, but the tea remains warm as I pour her a cup.

Bastian joins us shortly after, bringing with him a collection of the scientist-priests’ journals. Judging by the messy hair, rumpled clothing, and sunken eyes, he spent his evening the same way I did. He nods to me and sets down his burden before immediately stationing himself behind Leesa to start massaging her shoulders.