Page 98

“So are the trees.” Lark straightens, peering over her shoulder at the pacified grove. “Feed one of them to the trees and take the other one back to the palace dungeons to save for a later meal. They’re the ones who upset the sacred grove. It’s only fair for them to appease it.”

The woman’s eyes widen until the whites show. She jumps toward the man, but neither says anything.

Four guards grab the prisoners and haul them to their feet.

As they drag the two Devoted members away, the woman twists in their grip to call to us. “Wait! You can’t do this.”

“Of course I can’t.” Lark shrugs, her face passive, her tone measured. “The last time I killed traitors it took them a while to burn to death. According to you, I don’t have that kind of time. That’s why I’m delegating this task to my soldiers.”

Rafe goes a little green around the gills. He’d witnessed the fires, heard the traitors’ cries. But they didn’t meet their fates until after they managed to kill Lark’s grandfather and my mother.

I focus on the worry creasing Bastian’s brow. “Is it true? Have messages arrived from other kingdoms?”

Bastian nods, features set in grim lines. “Many. Urgent ones. The kingdoms are in chaos. While some are celebrating what they think is magic’s return, others are suspicious. Kamor is threatening to sever all diplomatic ties. Claims we’re not responding because we’re hoarding magical knowledge.”

My jaw tightens. A perfect strategy. Draw us away from the palace during a critical moment, leaving no one with authority to answer the inevitable diplomatic storm.

Lark’s face flushes with frustration. “It’s been less than a day! Do they think we sit around just waiting for someone to talk to?”

Her hands, pinned by her sides, clench and unclench. Small sparks flicker and extinguish between her fingers.

I recognize the desire to scream etched across her features, along with the effort required for her to stifle that urge. The crown weighs heavier in moments like these. “They’re moving faster than we anticipated. Coordinated attacks, magical displays in multiple kingdoms simultaneously, and diplomatic sabotage.”

She nods, her expression tight. “They’ve been planning this for months…maybe longer.”

“And we still don’t know what ‘this’ is.”

Dread sits like cold eel pie in my stomach, slick and writhing. The corrupted grove is contained, but the other horrors unleashed by the Devoted are just beginning to multiply.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“The Northern border has three more acres of twisted trees since last week.” I push a report across the small table in our sitting room. It’s just me, Sterling, a copy of the big map from the council chamber, and a whole stack of ever-growing reports. “That’s twice the rate of the previous month.”

Sterling nods, tracking the inked border that keeps shifting and advancing. “And the Devoted?” He scribbles a note on the bottom corner.

“Getting bolder.” I flip to another report, attempting to ignore the ache growing behind my eyes. “It’s only been a day since they made their worldwide declaration. They’ve started public displays of elemental magic at their gatherings. Nothing spectacular, but enough to draw crowds. Enough to make promises they can’t possibly fulfill about returning magic to their followers.”

Sterling grunts.

We’ve been at this all day, and I’m pretty sure he slept poorly last night. He woke with bags under his eyes, and the reports started rolling in before Rhiann even finished helping us get ready for the small court Bastian holds for emergency cases only. The council is off ensuring our orders are being implemented properly. Leesa, Helene, and Elijah are working with Agnar and Rafe to test magic merging with Tirenese and non-Tirenese people. The stonemasons have changed their priority from repairing walls to building grow houses for the Fusion Root Vine plants we’ve started collecting.

Sterling sets his quill down. “We could station more guards near⁠—”

The air in the room thickens and condenses like gathering storm clouds.

His head snaps up, and he reaches for his sword. The weapon isn’t on his hip because we haven’t yet managed to leave our chambers today. His sword, along with mine, remain in our bedroom.

As a haze forms in the air, the temperature drops, dew forms, and the hairs on my arms rise.

Sterling stills. I open my connection to the dragons, feeling the instant snap of the mental cord. If we need aid, I want to be ready.

The air continues to coalesce into the shimmering, near-transparent figure of Rivlan. Water glows from within his figure, through eyes that somehow reveal a depth of knowledge beyond mortal comprehension. He’s not in his fully human form.

I frown with discontent. Why is the god who offered to make Sterling a champion appearing in our rooms? Maybe the danger hasn’t passed.

Sterling, on the other hand, tosses the papers onto the table and rubs his eyes. “Let me guess. You’ve been watching.”

“I have.” Rivlan’s watery features shift and flow, but his voice contains an element I’d never expect. Fear. “The expanding grove. The Devoted’s calculated displays of magic. Everything. You handled the situation well, but things will worsen. The gods mark their territory like animals now, and they care nothing for the mortals caught between. What are you and Lark,” he nods to me, “to do in such times, when a viable solution is beyond your means?”