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I snort at the blissed-out expression on my sister’s face and slide a second cup of tea over. “Any new insights?”

“Several.” He pauses to yawn. “I’ve been cross-referencing the journals with older texts. This topic’s been debated for years and frequently arises during times of calamity. Always linked with the growth of those crystals.”

Agnar and Rafe arrive together, deep in conversation. Agnar’s unbound waves cascade to his shoulders, giving him an almost feral look when combined with the dangerous brightness in his blue eyes. Rafe, by contrast, is meticulously put together, though the rigid set to his mouth betrays his anger.

“Your Majesty.” Agnar greets me with a formal bow that transforms halfway through into a conspiratorial wink. “Ready to overthrow some assholes?” We’ve all agreed not to use the names of any of the gods so as not to draw attention to ourselves.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Bastian cautions, though a smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

A maid enters with breakfast. Platters of fruit and berries, fresh bread, cold cuts of meat, cubes of cheese, and pitchers of juice. We fall silent as she arranges everything on the table, and I dismiss her with a sincere thanks.

“We need to be careful.” I reach for a piece of bread more out of obligation than hunger. “Even mentioning our plans where anyone might overhear⁠—”

“Could result in prayer.” Bastian offers a glass of orange juice to Leesa before pouring one for himself. “A single prayer of concern from a loyal servant, and they might know exactly what we’re plotting.”

Helene sweeps in, her black braid twined perfectly around her head. As always, her snooty expression suggests she just smelled something unpleasant, but a new intensity gleams in her eyes.

I’m about to greet her when Sterling emerges from our bedchamber. My heart performs the usual flutter at the sight of him, but I cock my head when I take a closer look.

Today, something’s different about his bearing, almost as if he vibrates with coiled energy, like a spring compressed to its limits. “Good, you’re all here. We need to plan carefully. My ‘sponsor’ will be keeping tabs on me.”

“And mine, too, most likely.” I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder at the hearth, which remains unlit for the first time this season. “We need to give them exactly what they expect to see. And discuss the plans in ways that are less likely to draw their attention.”

Another servant appears with a fresh pot of tea. We again pause our conversation, exchanging pleasantries about the weather until she leaves.

Once she vanishes, Sterling checks the corridor before closing the door. “This is how it’s going to be. Everything we say in public must support the narrative that we’re reluctantly accepting our roles as champions. In private,” he gestures to our small group, “we plan our real strategy.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Rafe grabs a piece of bread. “We know they feed on devotion, but how does that knowledge help you avoid fighting each other to the death?”

I flatten my palms on the table. “We turn their weapons against them. The match will draw massive crowds, thousands of witnesses. What if, instead of fighting each other, we use that stage to reveal the truth?”

Bastian cuts an apple and slips the slice onto Leesa’s plate. “The truth about their feeding on our devotion?”

“Yes.” My heart warms as I watch him care for my sister. “But we can’t just make accusations. We need proof. Evidence that people will believe.”

Rafe rips the bread in half with more force than necessary. “Revealing the truth at the match will be too late. We need to prepare people beforehand.”

“Seed the information.” Agnar’s eyes light up. “Make them start questioning things before they ever arrive as spectators.”

“But subtly.” Leesa nibbles on an apple peel, leaving the meat of the fruit untouched. “If the gods or the wrong people realize what we’re doing…”

“They’ll either sink or cinder Tirene.” I use my knife to strip the peel from my own apple. Growing up in an all-female household, with mostly women visitors, I heard stories about strange and sudden cravings during pregnancy. If apple peel is what Leesa wants for breakfast, that’s what she gets. “So we need to be strategic. Start rumors, not proclamations. Talk, not decree.”

“And we need allies.” Sterling’s forehead crinkles with adorable confusion as I pass Leesa the peels. “Not just here in Tirene, but in every kingdom. People who will help spread the word without exposing the source.”

“The Craftsmen’s Guild.” Rafe taps the emblem on his shirt. “We have members in every town and noble house. They can circulate information without raising suspicion.”

Helene holds a grape up to her mouth. “I can use my Aclarian connections as well. After what happened at Flighthaven, there are those who already question the gods’ benevolence.”

As the afternoon wears on, our strategy takes shape. We map out key locations, identify potential allies, and debate the best phrasing to plant seeds of doubt without triggering divine attention. My legs ache from sitting for so long, but the discomfort is nothing compared to the growing sense of purpose in my chest.

“What about the actual fight?”

I stifle a groan. Leave it to Bastian to vocalize the question we’ve all been avoiding.

“We’ll have seconds, maybe less, before they realize our betrayal.” Sterling’s gaze slides to me, his expression grim. “That’s why the revelation needs to happen simultaneously. We need the crowd to see the truth at the exact moment we refuse to fight.”

Agnar wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “And then?”