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The words hang in the air like suspended droplets of water. No one speaks. Even the earth users assisting Agnar pause in their work, their heads swiveling toward us. My mind struggles to comprehend what he’s suggesting.

“The Devoted have demonstrated true magic in their own kingdoms. Just as we did here.” The glee in his voice churns my stomach. “Simultaneously. Water, fire, earth, and air. All elements bent to our will regardless of the user’s heritage.”

Stunned silence blankets us.

I share a glance with Sterling, whose eyes have darkened with concern. Rafe curses under his breath, flexing his fingers as if he wants to summon a gale to blow these fanatics away.

“You’re lying,” I finally manage, but even to my own ears, my voice lacks conviction.

The woman laughs, the high-pitched tinkling reminiscent of shattering glass. “Are we? Ask your scouts. While you’ve been containing our little distraction here, we’ve been changing the world.”

Realization dawns in Sterling’s eyes. “This was just a diversion.”

Baldy’s expression gentles, like that of a proud teacher when his slow student finally grasps a concept. “The first move in a very long game, Your Majesties.”

Holy. Shit.

If what they’re saying is true—if the Devoted somehow coordinated magical demonstrations across every kingdom simultaneously—we’re facing something far more organized and dangerous than we ever imagined.

These religious zealots outplayed us before we even knew the game had begun.

Chapter Thirty-One

Behind me, Lark’s anger boils with the heat of a volcano. Her patience with these fanatics wears dangerously thin. Moments ago, her hands were nearly as hot as branding irons.

My boots sink into the sodden earth as I stare down at the woman kneeling before us.

She has brown hair, brown eyes, and chafed cheeks. Her expression bears the serene arrogance that all Devoted seem to cultivate. Mud streaks her face in the spot where one of our guards was less than gentle, but she doesn’t appear to notice or care.

The male Devoted kneels a few feet away, similarly bound but with a split lip that glistens with fresh blood. His pale eyes track our every movement.

I’ve experienced that look before. Cataloguing weaknesses to report on later.

The eyes of a prisoner merely biding their time.

“Our faith has been rewarded.” The woman attempts to gain her feet while pitching her voice loud enough to carry. “Magic will return to all the world, not just your selfish kingdom!”

Your?

This woman is Tirenese too. But she clearly only identifies with her faith now.

Lark shifts her weight, twigs snapping beneath her boots. I can picture her expression. The tight jaw and blazing eyes.

Ready to spit nails.

She advances until we’re shoulder to shoulder, close enough that I can smell the smoke that still clings to her hair. “I’m getting really damn tired of the narrative that Tirene somehow wants to hoard magic from the world. We’ve never wanted that.”

Visible tension shows in Lark’s hands. The slight curl of her fingers indicates that she’s resisting the urge to call forth her fire. The accusation of selfishness cuts deep for Lark and pisses me off. She’s devoted her entire reign to healing, rebuilding, and protecting.

She was willing to sacrifice herself to save the world, for fuck’s sake.

“Haven’t you?” The woman lunges forward again, but Rafe drags her back. “Your borders remain closed. Your magical knowledge locked away. Your scientist-priests refuse to share their discoveries⁠—”

“We’ve spent the last few days doing the exact opposite of that.” Lark crosses her arms over her chest. “Rafe, these prisoners are useless. They know nothing.”

The male Devoted’s harsh laugh is akin to stones grinding together. “We know war is coming again, regardless. But this time, you won’t be the only ones with power.”

Lark pushes into his space. “No shit. Everyone knows that. We sent out decrees warning about it.”