Page 28

I study the wall where the water flows. If the marks once spelled out words, they no longer do. Instead, they appear exactly as the priestess said. Like water stains.

Still, the patterns seem almost familiar. A distorted reflection of something I should recognize.

Once again, a hush falls over the crowd. A small cluster of people in dark cloaks slithers up the garden path, their faces obscured by deep hoods. The crowd parts for them, some with expressions of interest, others with unmistakable distrust.

“The gods weep.” The other cloaked figures nod with the speaker in unison, the motion eerily synchronized in a manner that prickles the hairs on my neck. “These are their tears.”

“Street preachers,” Bastian mutters. “The Devoted.”

Leesa leans closer to me. “See their hands?”

I follow her gaze and catch what I’d missed before. They have matching tattoos on the backs of their hands, constellations that trail up their wrists before disappearing beneath their billowing sleeves.

“Ah.” Sterling’s lip curls in disgust. “It’s them.”

One of them lunges forward, his voice rising above the murmurs. “I see the divine tears. The gods weep for our arrogance. For keeping magic while other kingdoms go without. And what are the royals of Tirene doing about⁠—”

“Oh, shut it.” A man in the crowd shakes his fist. “You see divine tears in every puddle. Viri brings the cycles of life, not your doom prophecies!”

The air vibrates with tension.

Instinctively, I lurch forward.

Sterling catches my arm. “Watch the water marks.”

I focus on the temple wall again, and goose bumps skitter down my spine.

As the argument heats up, the water stains appear to…respond. They ripple and shift, like a lake surface disturbed by a passing breeze.

The patterns elongate, contract, and rearrange…as if trying to form words before dissolving back into randomness.

I keep my eyes locked on the strange sight. “That’s not something you see every day.”

Sterling’s fingers tighten on my arm. “It’s magic. But not like any I’ve ever felt.”

The crowd grows louder, their collective anger mounting.

One of the Devoted pushes ahead, his star-marked hand raised in accusation. “The gods are calling us to account! They’ve sent signs throughout Tirene⁠—”

“The only sign I see is that you lot need to find proper work instead of scaring the shit out of people!” a woman shouts back.

What happens next unfolds in heartbeats.

The Devoted member lunges at the woman. Someone else shoves back. Bodies collide, tempers flare, and the peaceful temple grounds erupt into pandemonium.

Elijah and the royal guards lurch forward, creating a barrier between me and the scuffle.

Behind them, I glimpse the temple guards reluctantly intervening, their living armor of woven vines and bark flexing with each action. They seem hesitant to engage, as if they’d rather retreat inside with their priestess.

A wisp of flame curls from my fingertips, and the crowd freezes. “Enough!”

Sterling stalks forward, exuding dangerous power. “Now. Take your grievances to the proper channels.”

Slowly, begrudgingly, the crowd thins, with most dipping their heads to their queen and crown prince.

The Devoted retreat last. Their leader’s intense eyes find mine before he turns away, the constellation on his hand shimmering in the afternoon light.

“Did you see?” Leesa whispers beside me. “When the fight broke out, the water looked like it was trying to spell something.”