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Watching Lark—this fearless, incredible woman—refuse to back down stirs something primal inside me.

Rafe edges around us to confront the Devoted himself. Mud cakes his boots to mid-calf, but somehow his guild robes remain pristine. “Where are the scientist-priests?”

The man’s expression shutters closed. A vein in his temple pulses. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I told you.” Lark releases an exaggerated sigh. “We’re wasting our time.”

The female Devoted sneers and makes an obscene gesture with her bound hands. “And that just proves how wrong you are. By now, thousands have witnessed our power. They’re flocking to our temples, begging to learn.”

I don’t miss the specific phrasing. “Our power.” Not the gods’ power, as they usually claim. An interesting slip.

Heavy footsteps announce Bastian’s arrival. He emerges from the tree line, hazel eyes grave beneath furrowed brows. “That part is the truth, at least. There have been reports of magical displays in every kingdom while you were here, fighting the grove.”

My stomach tightens.

Lark rolls her eyes.

Suddenly, I understand what she’s doing. Without asking a single question, she’s using their pride in their cause to provoke them.

A brilliant strategy. She’s brilliant. Fanatics love preaching about their ideals.

“See!” A swift and triumphant smile touches the female Devoted’s mouth before she masks it.

“You planned this?” I gesture around us. “The grove, the moving temples. It was a distraction, wasn’t it?” I glance at Lark.

She shakes her head and starts to turn away.

“Think of it as a test.” The man throws himself forward, only to be grabbed by the guards. “One you failed spectacularly. Did you truly believe you could breach the gods’ realm without consequences? The stars saw your presumption.”

Agnar moves to stand in front of the male prisoner and narrows his eyes. “So did the big guy we talked to. We weren’t sneaking. We walked right up to the door and knocked. Also, I’m pretty sure his name wasn’t Stars.” He strokes the hilt of his sword, the action leisurely but unmistakable in intent. “Want me to take him out back and see if he’s got any useful information in that annoying as fuck brain of his?”

Lark smooths a wisp of hair that hangs loose from her braid. “Agnar, we’re already out back. There’s nowhere else to take them from here.”

He shrugs, mouth quirking into a dangerous half-smile. “Guess that means I don’t have to worry about their screams bothering anyone.”

The man’s throat bobs, and some of his bravado cracks. That pulse in his temple speeds up. Good. Fear often loosens tongues faster than pain ever could.

Lark crouches to meet the woman at eye level. “What’s the point? We’re just wasting our breath. They won’t know what happened to the scientist-priests. They’re just lackeys meant to slow us down.”

“Oh, we know what happened to them. Everything they deserved. Heretics, questioning the gods’ methods.”

The woman’s expression grows cunning. Something in her dark eyes shifts.

I tense. Here we go. This is what she’s been building toward.

“You should hurry back to your palace, my queen. Other kingdoms wonder why Tirene ignores their pleas.” She leans forward until her face is inches from Lark’s. “How long before they decide they don’t need you anymore?”

Bastian stiffens. If this was the male who’d threatened Lark, her brother would be flat on the ground already.

I would have knocked the fucker out myself.

The air between them shimmers with heat.

Lark doesn’t flinch, but I can see the tiny flames in her cupped palm. “You still don’t get it. We’re not keeping anything from the other kingdoms. The only ones controlling the flow of magic are the ones you claim to serve.”

That confuses the woman, who glances at her partner.

He scowls, split lip widening. “It’s too late for your lies. The stars are watching, and they’re hungry.”