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Then I spot the cave cats lurking in the shadows of the temple, their emerald eyes glinting in the light. They tend to shun cities, so their presence likely indicates that at least one god retains power in this domain.
In light of that, I’d expect them to act like ceremonial guardians. Instead, they pace and prowl around the perimeter, their black coats gleaming, their eyes watchful. One snarls, showing glinting white teeth, and the priestess falters in her invocation.
The flames at Ziva’s shrine flare, shooting high into the air. They turn black, belching smoke that reeks of sulfur and rot.
There’s a tug in my chest, a familiar heat that tells me my fire magic is responding to something. But I can’t control this. This isn’t my fire.
“Sterling, something’s wrong.”
He’s already tensed beside me, one hand resting on the sword at his hip. “Stay close.”
Around us, fountains begin to crystallize. The clear water hardens into jagged formations that crack and split and spit pellets across the arena. People yelp as the shards strike them, their tiny wounds beading with blood.
Panic ripples through the crowd.
People begin to back away and push against each other. Children cry. The priestess raises her hands, calling for calm, but the compounding chaos drowns out her voice.
From the edges of the amphitheater, figures in dark cloaks emerge. Each bears a star-mark on their hand, a constellation image that snakes up their wrists and disappears beneath billowing sleeves.
The Devoted.
Worshippers of Zeru who’ve weaponized their faith.
One points directly at me, then at Sterling. “See what happens when the magic-killers dare participate in sacred rites?”
The accusation acts like a slap to the face. Magic-killers. Is everyone outside of Tirene calling us that now?
“Better magic-free than god-stuffed!” a woman in the crowd yells back.
I’ve never been so glad to hear someone shout in my life. It seems not everyone blames us.
A young man with cropped black hair glares in the direction of the Devoted. “Go crawl back to your shrine!”
The tension snaps.
Arguments break out across the amphitheater, which quickly escalate to shoving matches. The guards swoop in, attempting to separate people, but they’re overwhelmed by the sheer numbers.
The Devoted spread through the crowd like ink in water, their accusations becoming louder and more specific.
“They burned the sacred plants!”
“They poisoned the magic!”
“The false queen brought this curse upon us all!”
I stand frozen as the careful diplomatic event we’d agreed to participate in crumbles into shambles.
A rock sails through the air, missing my head by mere inches.
I flinch, and in an instant, Sterling is stepping in front of me, putting his body between mine and the growing mob.
“We need to move.” He scans the area for an escape route. “Now.”
But the crowd surges like a tide, cutting off our retreat.
I reach for my fire magic and feel it stir beneath my skin, hot and ready. If I have to defend us, I will. But using magic in this already volatile situation might only confirm their suspicions.
Chapter Fourteen
