I picked up the flower between my fingers and twirled it, the yellow center bright with pollen. A pointless thing, that tiny yellow flower beside my breakfast, but I knew when he cut it that it was meant to be a promise.
He smiled. Even on someone who had been raised a criminal, love looked so innocent. I smiled back, though somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, Ina’s ghost rose unbidden, pressing the jagged blade of betrayal into my back. I pushed the thought away.
“Thank you,” I said. Then I traced the flower down his nose, leaving a trail of yellow dust on his brown skin.
It felt good to be loved.
It felt good, for once, not to be the one who loved more, who loved too much, who loved until she lost herself in something beautiful and reckless and dangerous that could only end in blood and death.
CHAPTER 24
WE REACHED COROVJA THE NEXT MORNING, AND FOR the first time in days I felt the tiniest bit of hope. The Fatestone was somewhere here—I just had to find it and the key to changing the past would be mine. The city began in the bottom of a valley filled with farmers’ fields, growing more densely populated as it angled up the side of a mountain that Hal and I had only just begun to climb. The sun shone down on us and a cool breeze nipped at our heels as we walked. Big fluffy dogs with tails that curled over their backs trotted alongside most of the people passing by. The road carved a wide path through the city until it made a sharp switchback to the palace at the top, a castle made of white marble that glistened in the sun almost as brightly as the snow-capped peaks beyond it. The Grand Temple stood not far from the castle, its stained-glass windows glimmering like gemstones in the sunlight.
“I’d almost forgotten how spectacular the views are,” Hal remarked. Tall trees, green hillsides, and patchwork farmland seemed to extend for leagues in the valley below.
“They’ll be even better from the Grand Temple,” I said. The promise of finding the Fatestone put a spring in my step, and I kept a keen eye on my surroundings, as if clues to Atheon’s location might suddenly appear. Along the road, narrow shops pressed tightly together, advertising everything from jewelry, books, and crystals to food and herbal spirits—anything a person could want. The smell from a bakeshop wafted over us, making my mouth water.
“How does anyone get around in the winter?” I asked. Even though it was summer, the altitude was high enough that old snow still lingered in shadowy nooks the sun couldn’t touch.
“Snowshoes, ice cleats, dogsled, and, if it gets really bad, tunnels.” Hal ticked off each one. “Sometimes it’s deep enough that the smaller houses get buried.”
The homes and storefronts grew taller the closer we got to the top of the mountain. Instead of simple A-frames like the homes in Amalska, these were built with roofs angled only on one side, pitched to the south to deflect the worst of the wind. Even the most humble of buildings bore snow cleats tacked into them. Glittering prisms hung from the eaves, catching sunlight to cast rainbows on the whitewashed walls of other structures nearby.
“What are the crystals?” I asked.
“Festival decorations,” Hal said. “They’re put up during solstice week to celebrate these longer days, and to spread and reflect that light across the land to show that it is what makes all things possible.”
“Back home we decorated with flowers,” I said. My throat tightened at the memories. In Amalska, our midsummer celebration had been about the bounty the land gave us. This year flowers might still have sprung from the ashes, but they would have only had empty houses and burned rubble to grow on. No one would have trained vines to climb over trellises so they could burst into fragrant bloom for solstice. No one would be there to weave wreaths of blossoms to crown the heads of those ready to be married. There would be no feasts or stories—only silence, and the animals and land reclaiming the structures that remained.
I tried to close my heart to the sorrow. We had other tasks at hand—ones that might change the fate of Amalska. The shard of hope that I might find the Fatestone was all I had to hang on to, so I clung to it with all my strength. I fondled the edge of the bandage on my arm. I still couldn’t grip anything. The injury was a constant reminder of what the world wanted from me—my blood—and what I needed to fight against.
“There were flowers at the solstice festival here, too,” Hal said. “See?” He pointed to a low stone wall decorated with garlands that had begun to wither.
“If solstice has already passed, our time is running out. There’s no telling when the first autumn snow will fall and Ina will be able to challenge the king.” I frowned, trying not to give in to the growing dread in the pit of my stomach. There wouldn’t be much time to come up with a new plan if I couldn’t get into the Grand Temple or Hal couldn’t get what we needed from the royal alchemist.
Also, I couldn’t help worrying about Ina’s child. If it was solstice week now, Ina’s pregnancy had to be entering its final moons. How would Ina take care of a baby while preparing for battle? What would happen to her baby if I couldn’t change the past—or if I could?
“Fair point. Let’s go this way. I still don’t think they’ll let you into the Grand Temple, but I know a shortcut to it if you’re determined to try,” he said, tugging me into an alley.
We climbed up the alley stairs and emerged onto another street that soon joined the road leading south of the palace toward the temple.
As we drew closer, I began to appreciate how truly staggering the Grand Temple was. A high stone bridge with towering archways led through the castle wall to the temple. Some kind of ordinance must have prevented any of Corovja’s wealthy citizens from building homes too close to it, because a public park filled with trees, flowering bushes, and verdant grass decorated the hillside beneath it. It extended all the way up to the thick walls of the castle.
As Hal and I passed through the park, we cut through a grove of apple trees covered in pink and white blossoms. Hal playfully nudged their branches with a breeze so that the petals rained on us like snow. I couldn’t help but come to a stop, closing my eyes to let the falling petals brush over my cheeks for just a moment.
“I like it when you do that,” Hal said, his voice warm.
My eyes snapped open. “Do what?”
“Disappear into that place you go sometimes.” He plucked a few petals from my hair. “It’s like you’ve found a place or a moment where you’re at peace with the world and know you belong, and you’re happy.”
Warmth crept into my cheeks. In the moments of stillness when I felt most at peace, Miriel had scolded me for daydreaming, and Ina had often grown impatient to carry on with whatever we were doing. That Hal saw more and appreciated it . . . that meant something. Part of me wanted to follow where it led, to take his hand—not because I needed it but because I wanted to, because maybe a spark would leap between us again, just as it had the first time we met.
“The entrance is ahead,” Hal said, interrupting my thoughts. He pointed to a path of cobbled flagstones leading to wide stairs climbing up the hill at least two stories to the entrance.
At the top, a cleric stood between two heavily armored guards. Behind her stood the closed double doors, with large, ornate hinges stretching across them.
“It’s a pity I can’t use my compulsion on those sworn to the spirit god,” Hal said.
“Why can’t you?” I asked, not that I wanted to risk him passing out on me again.
“Those with vows to the spirit god are attuned to emotions and feelings. They can sense truth and lies. And in a way, my compulsion is a sort of deception—a way of getting people to lie to themselves.”
I knew spirit users could turn people’s minds against them, but I hadn’t thought about truth sensing or that Hal’s gift was a kind of lie.
We climbed the stone steps until we stood before the temple doors. My mouth was dry with nerves. The cleric carried a staff of knotted wood, and her hair was braided into an intricate arrangement adorned with golden beads and bells to symbolize her
devotion to the spirit god.
“Hello, my children,” the cleric said gently. “The temple is closed to visitors without permission from the crown.”
“But I’m a demigod,” I said. Shouldn’t that give me some right to speak to the gods? One of them was a part of me. “The woman who raised me said my father was the wind god, but that has since been proved untrue. Now I know nothing about my history or parentage. This is my only hope of finding out the truth.”
The cleric’s gentle expression grew firm. I remembered a moment too late what Hal had told me about the spirit god and those who followed them.
She knew I wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“Without the king’s permission, you may not enter alone. If you are in Corovja for winter solstice, you may enter at that time to make offerings,” the cleric said.
“I don’t have that long,” I said. Winter solstice would be far too late. The more time that passed from Amalska’s destruction, the more complicated it would be to unmake history.
“Asra, come on,” Hal said, tugging the sleeve of my cloak.
“But—” I couldn’t give up this easily. “Isn’t there some other way to gain official entry? Please, if there is any way at all . . .”
“No. Not unless the king gives you permission,” the cleric said. “Guards?”
The guards standing on either side of the door moved up to flank her.
“We need to go right now,” Hal said, pulling me harder this time. The nervous expression on his face made me give in.
Reluctantly, I turned away from the cleric and followed Hal down the stairs.
“Maybe we can come back later,” I said. “Sneak in.”
Hal shook his head. “Look back.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw why he’d wanted us to leave. The number of guards had multiplied, and the cleric was speaking to them.
“They can’t have thought we were a threat,” I said, incredulous.
“It’s the most sacred place in Zumorda. Everyone knows no one is allowed in, so when someone tries to go against that . . . it draws attention. The king will probably already know about what just happened long before we make it to him, but I didn’t want us to end up getting an audience with him as criminals rather than petitioners.”
“He would treat us as criminals just for asking to enter the Grand Temple?” That seemed extreme.
“It’s better not to push our luck,” Hal said. “We should talk to the alchemist. He’ll be able to get us in to see the king.”
“Onward to the alchemist, then,” I said. Convincing the king to speak to the shadow god was now my only hope.
I hoped he wasn’t as monstrous as Ina and Nismae thought.
CHAPTER 25
THE GATE TO THE CASTLE SAT IN A WALL SO THICK that the tunnel beneath it took us at least twenty paces to walk through. The stones of the wall had been polished smooth so that it would be almost impossible to climb, and the top was crowned with a sharply slanted roof studded with snow guards sharp as the heads of pikes. Soldiers stood evenly spaced along the walls, swords buckled at their waists and small knives sheathed down one side of their chests. Though they stood still as statues, their eyes sharply watched all the foot and horse traffic heading in and out through the yawning gate.
The closer we got to the building itself, the more troubled Hal’s expression became.
“Are you worried the king will recognize you?” I asked.
“More that he might think I’m complicit in what Nismae and Ina plan to do to him.” Hal’s voice was grim.
“He might make that assumption.” I wasn’t going to lie.
“And then what?” he asked.
“I vouch for you,” I said, holding up my bad arm. “She hurt me. Given that, there’s no reason he shouldn’t trust my word. I’m not going to throw you at his feet and run to save myself. That’s not what friends do.”
“You don’t really need me, Asra. You’re strong on your own. Once you get your audience with the king, you won’t need me. You have a gift that can make anything possible. You don’t even seem afraid of what it might cost you. The future is yours.” His eyebrows drew together with worry.
I tugged him to the side of the road. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll abandon you?” The thought was ludicrous after all we’d been through together. His sister might never forgive him for stealing me from her. He’d made that sacrifice for me.
“Maybe a little,” he admitted.
“I want you with me,” I said. Of course I could survive without him, but that didn’t mean I wanted to. Not now, not yet—not unless I had to when I used the Fatestone to rewrite the past. I’d grown too used to sleeping with my back pressed against his, to waking up to his smile, to the way he made up nonsense words to popular tunes to make me laugh and our hours on the road pass faster.
“You have me.” He smiled a little, and his expression reminded me of the look in his eyes yesterday morning. We approached the castle doors. I felt no bigger than an ant in front of the building. A line of people spilled down the front steps, winding back and forth and continuing around the circular drive nearly all the way to the entrance we’d just come through.
I stared in dismay. “This is how many petitioners there are?”
“Yes, and their names have likely been on the ledger for a moon. This must be their scheduled day. Follow me.” Hal led me toward a smaller gate leading into one of the gardens surrounding the castle.
The palace garden had just blossomed into summer. Rhododendrons of every color burst with flowers, and butterflies hovered around daphne bushes that carried a scent so intoxicating and rich I slowed my footsteps to linger in the perfume. Hal and I passed by a wall of green that twisted into a hedge maze filled with shadows. I hoped the king paid as much attention to protection as he did decoration.
Ahead of us a stone walkway lined with columns led to a set of double doors into the castle. A uniformed woman stood guarding the entrance, her hand already drifting toward her weapon when she saw us coming.
“This entrance isn’t for petitioners,” she said.
Hal stood up straighter and smiled warmly at the stony-faced guard.
“We are here to clean the king’s commodes,” he announced with extreme formality.
I barely held back a snort of laughter.
“Of course,” the guard said, giving in as the tendrils of Hal’s magic seduced her. “Right this way.” She ushered us through the door and then waved a casual good-bye.
“The king’s commodes?” I whispered, stifling a giggle.
“Why not? Soldiers are so easy. They’re used to being ordered about,” he said, grinning. He led me through the hallways with the ease of someone familiar with the layout of the grounds, making me wonder how much time he’d spent there when he was younger. How close had he been to the king?
Our footsteps echoed on the stone floors, which were tiled with intricate mosaics made of different kinds of granite. A short flight of stairs at the end of the walkway led down into the cavernous main atrium.
“Not much has changed,” Hal said, smiling as my jaw dropped.
I looked around in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
The ceiling towered over us, supported by dark-stained beams. The walls and floor were smooth, white polished marble laced with copper except for one notable exception—what looked like a huge pool of blood that spanned the center of the room, edges splattering out toward the walls. As we came closer, I saw that it was an illusion—just a different kind of stone. But strangely, it wasn’t inlaid. The rock was simply white and then red, with no discernible break.
Pages, nobles, and other members of the castle staff hurried about their business, paying no mind to the two of us. Calls rang out from various chambers around the edges of the room, and benches were lined with petitioners awaiting their turns to enter.
“How did they get the floor like that?” I asked Hal.
“You recall t
he first monarch?” he asked.
“The bear queen?” She had been the founder of Corovja, the first to raise her banner over Zumorda.
“The earth god took a particular liking to the bear queen, long before Zumorda was a unified kingdom. She led the queen to this very spot and gave her the power to wield earth magic to carve the rock out of the mountainside. When the bear queen did so, a perfect slab of white marble was revealed, and the bear queen declared it the future crown city of Zumorda. But before she and the earth god could so much as put walls up around the site that would one day be this castle, a challenger came for the crown—just as the first flakes of autumn snow began to fall. A snow leopard challenged the bear queen, one who not only believed this territory to belong to her but also wanted to keep the kingdom the way it was, with separate regions governed by different rulers.
“At first it seemed like the bear queen would lose. The snow leopard called on two champions to fight before her—one who manifested as a snowy owl, and the other a ram. The snowy owl pecked out the bear’s eyes, and the ram gored the bear almost through the heart. By the time the bear finally faced the snow leopard, dawn was rising. The bear was exhausted, her fur matted, her eyesight gone so that she had to rely on her other senses. But she had the favor of the gods, and that made all the difference.
“So as the sun rose, not only did the earth god lend her support, but the wind picked up and lent his hands. The fire god split the clouds with his sunlight. The water god gave the bear queen a pool in which to cleanse herself before the final ritual. The spirit god healed her wounds and gave her strength to go on, and the shadow god waited for the snow leopard with open arms. When the bear tore out the leopard’s throat and she bled onto the floor, the earth god sealed the leopard’s blood into the stone to remind all future challengers how the kingdom of Zumorda would be won forevermore—by the one with the greatest gods-given strength.”
I had heard the story of our kingdom’s origin, but not like this. Not with the evidence right in front of me. It was a stark reminder of the power of the gods, and how much they gave to a ruler. How could Ina and Nismae ever hope to stand against this without a god at their backs? It was madness. An uneasy feeling crawled through me as I wondered what they were doing with my blood. Would it be enough to make Ina equal to the king in battle?
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