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“Or maybe you’re not fighting him…” With a casual flick of his hand, he tears the fabric of reality. From the resulting rift, he pulls out a scroll that glimmers with the same starlight that clings to his form. “I intercepted your encoded messages to the Northern Kingdoms. They were hidden in trade manifests. Shall we discuss?”
My heart stutters, and I go still. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my lips until Sterling squeezes my hand. We sent those messages through our most trusted channels, and encoded them in ways that should have been impenetrable. No one outside our innermost circle should have known about them.
No one.
“Or perhaps,” the Guardian shoves the first scroll aside and pulls out another, “we should talk about the supplies you’ve cached along the Western Ridge? The boats waiting in the cove?” With each revelation, my heart sinks even more. “The prayer strikes?”
All that we planned, every careful preparation, every contingency…he knows it all.
Everything.
Around us, the festivities continue in eerie silence, the dancers waltzing to music we can no longer hear, chortling at jokes we cannot share. Only a few feet of space and an unbridgeable gulf of knowledge separate us.
The Guardian’s power, or another’s?
He fixes his mocking glare on Sterling. “Such a waste of potential.” His voice drips with false regret. “By aligning with the gods as a guardian, you come closer to the divine.” His perfect features contort with disgust. “Instead, you choose to debase yourself with these mortals.”
His gaze flicks toward me, and I realize it’s not because he thinks I’m unworthy of attention. It’s because he doesn’t want to risk engaging with me directly. He’s wary. Despite everything, this emissary of the gods fears what I might do.
The realization sparks a small ember of hope in the frozen landscape of our compromised plans.
“You have until sunrise.” He tucks the scrolls away again, hiding them in the rift. “Stop this foolishness, or I reveal everything to my masters. Zeru’s reaction will make Rivlan’s threats seem gentle by comparison.” He turns as if to leave, then pauses, looking back over his shoulder at Sterling. “Do you know why they chose Lark as your opponent?”
I’ve never had a shiver get stuck halfway down my spine before. It’s just as unsettling as the Guardian’s words.
Sterling says nothing, his posture rigid with barely contained fury.
“Not because she could beat you.” As expected, he answers his own question. “But because she’s the only one you’ll never beat. You’ll never destroy her.” His starlit eyes narrow. “You’ll surrender. Ergo, Zeru’s gods win.”
As if we didn’t already guess the reason. The gods really do think we’re fools. Apparently, so does the Guardian.
His assessing gaze weighs me. “Though you’re not without power. Dragons. Phoenix fire. You guard much.” His smile twists. “The gods hate that.”
“The gods hate a lot of things.” Sterling finally speaks up, his voice steady despite the rage radiating from him.
The Guardian’s expression sharpens. “You shouldn’t worry about what they hate. You should worry about what they fear. Mortals using their brains…free will…magic.” He practically spits out the last word. “The more magic mortals have, the less you need the gods. Honestly, Rivlan offering to return magic was counter to the gods’ interests. You mortals might say he’s a ‘good guy.’ As good as a god can be.”
“And you?” Sterling raises an eyebrow, his voice lethally quiet. “Are you as good as a guardian can be?”
The Guardian’s face hardens, and he snaps his gaze away as if the mere question scalds him. Without another word, he disappears through the portal he came in through.
The bubble of altered reality dissolves. Sound rushes back. Music, laughter, the clink of glasses, the rustle of fabric.
My gaze slides to Sterling, and in his eyes, I find the same cold, heavy understanding that’s settling in my stomach. The Guardian is going to expose us—or worse, he’s going to destroy us, our friends, our allies, and countless others—in the most devastating ways possible. The Champions Match is only hours away, and our carefully laid plans are unraveling before our very eyes.
“What do we do?” I whisper, though I already know the answer.
Sterling’s hand grasps mine, our fingers intertwining with fierce pressure. “We stick with our plan. We fight. We reveal the truth about the gods. We break their hold on this world.”
“Even if it’s the last thing we do.” Last time I died—or thought I did—I did so with quiet acceptance. Going out screaming and fighting sounds like a much better way. More…me.
He nods, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that halts my breath. “Even then.”
Around us, the ball continues, the dancers oblivious to the war being declared in their midst. Tomorrow, Sterling and I will face each other in the Champions Match, not as the pawns the gods intended, but as rebels determined to expose and end divine predation forever.
It’s no longer meticulous strategy.
It’s desperate defiance.
