I huff. “I don’t need to be coddled like—”
“You’re not yourself,” he says abruptly.
I wave my human hands in front of his face. “Erm, you think?”
“Very witty.” He continues to look at me, like he’s trying to find something. “There was a moment, as you were becoming human, right before the tether between us snapped. You felt different. Not different like you were human, but different like you were not quite you. I didn’t like it.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” I say defensively. “Are you saying you don’t like who I am now? Because if that’s the case, I don’t know what to tell you. I had to adapt.”
“That’s not it,” says Kirrin. Still, that searching look. “How do you feel? Do you feel different?”
I stamp my foot. It’s remarkably satisfying. “Of course I feel different! Every single part of me has been transformed!”
Interfering, impudent little shit.
“Excuse me?” Kirrin says, his face an almost comical picture of shock.
“Did I say that out loud?” I ask in horror.
“Rather loudly, yes.”
A part of me is aghast at the wave of anger that prompted the outburst, but another part of me is rather entertained by Kirrin’s reaction. I turn away, pressing my fists to my forehead, trying in vain to streamline my thoughts into some kind of order.
“You’re right,” I admit reluctantly. “I don’t feel like me. I keep thinking and feeling things that don’t make sense.”
“To be fair, that sounds quite human,” Kirrin says wryly.
I turn back to him. “It’ll settle down, won’t it? I’ll feel more like myself once I’ve had a chance to get to know this new body and my new life, won’t I?”
He doesn’t answer. The wary, searching look on his face unnerves me, and I suddenly want to get away from him.
“Maybe I can help you figure it out,” he says at last.
You can’t trust him, a voice in my head warns me. He’s the god of tricks. Don’t forget that.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, a little too sharply. “I just need time to get used to who I am now.”
As soon as he’s gone, the anger drains out of me. Feeling much better, I make my way to the palace kitchens, where the cooks are always happy to supply me with an endless amount of the most delicious food.
Food is, easily, the best thing about being human. I thought it would be the ability to touch, to be able to hug other people and feel all kinds of textures on my skin, but that was before I understood the magic of food. Over the years, I’ve seen people eat countless times, of course, but I always understood it as a necessity for survival, like sleeping and breathing. Yes, sometimes it looked like they enjoyed what they were eating, and sometimes it looked like they really, really did not, but nothing could have prepared me for the sensory delight of actually eating a meal myself.
No one ever told me about the joy of cold, sweet tea trickling down my throat, or what it’s like to let chocolate melt on my tongue, or how it feels to take a bite of spicy, perfectly seasoned roast pork on a skewer. Since I changed, I have eaten everything that’s been put in front of me and stolen things off everyone else’s plate, too: salted vegetables, ripe fruit, deliciously fat kaju sweets, fluffy rice, every kind of meat there is, and a dizzying array of desserts that make me wake up in the middle of the night with a craving for more.
“Ah, little bird!” one of the cooks calls out, his plump face splitting into a smile. “Come, come! Look at this most beautiful, most perfect lemon cake! What do you think? Here, have a slice. No, no, a bigger slice! It’s best when it’s fresh out of the oven.”
As I sit in a warm, snug corner of the kitchens with a plate of the moistest, gooiest lemon cake on my knees, some of the unease returns. I’ve forgotten something and, for some reason, it’s really, really important that I remember it. But what it is? What have I forgotten?
It doesn’t matter, the voice in my head says. Finish your cake.
So I do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Esmae
It takes me sixteen hours to fly to Ashma, following a map of constellations Titania programmed into my starship. When I find it, I’m surprised by the fact that it’s cold, bleak, and still, somehow, beautiful. I don’t know if it’s the cold clarity of the stars here, or the darkness that feels like calm instead of chaos, but it’s lovely when I didn’t expect it to be.
Far away, Bear’s ashes are scattering to the winds. I should be there to watch, but it was clear that I was not wanted at either the funeral or the cremation. It doesn’t really matter. I can see it all in my mind’s eye. I can see my brother’s soul, the shining spark that made him him, ascending into the sky. Any minute now, he’ll be crossing the shining bridge of stars to the heavenly realms. I hope our father’s waiting for him.
My footsteps don’t make a sound as I step into the Temple of Ashma, my eyes on the domed ceiling above, through which I can see stars and lightning. The temple is cool and clean, but empty: the knotted grove of trees in the heart of the room is closed tight, the revolving stone disc displaying the celestial Seven turns quietly on its own, and the doorway with the golden glow that Max warned me about is still open, still alight. I don’t approach it. After everything Max, Amba, Kirrin, and Tyre have told me about their father, Ness, I have absolutely no desire to be anywhere near him.
But where’s Ash? Why isn’t he here? If I hadn’t been told several times that there’s no way to enter the Temple of Ashma without an invitation, I would be genuinely concerned right now that I’m an unexpected and possibly unwelcome visitor.
But that’s not possible. Maybe Ash has no interest in actually speaking to me. Maybe he just wants me to return the sword to its rightful place and leave.
That suits me just fine.
I slide the starsword out of the sheath on my back and cross the temple to the revolving disc. Six of the seven sides of the disc are lit up with the silhouettes of the Seven. There’s a dark, empty space for the starsword, so I slide it into place. The seventh side of the disc lights up immediately.
As soon as it lights up, something thumps to the floor.
I jump, looking skittishly around me. What was that? What did I do wrong? Should I have waited for Ash?
As the disc continues to revolve, I see that a different space on it has gone dark. I frown at the symbol, stepping to the side to follow it as it revolves, trying to figure out which of the Seven it is. It’s not a bow, or sword, or trident. It’s not a chakra, spear, or staff.
Which leaves—
Well, shit.
“The astra.”
I yelp, turning. A god stands half a stride away, in black battle gear, his eyes crackling with the same lightning I saw through the domed ceiling.
If I thought Amba had a stern face, it’s nothing compared to Ash. He is severe and untouchable, with none of the human qualities Amba and Kirrin possess. His thick, straight brows are drawn together as he studies me, his dark eyes assessing and unforgiving.
“Thank you for returning the starsword,” Ash says, his voice deep and quiet.
I take a step back, then glance once more at the empty, darkened space where the most powerful of the Seven was just a minute ago.
I clear my throat. “What happened? Where did it go?”
“It came loose when you restored the starsword to its rightful place.” Ash holds up a hand and a lightning bolt materializes in it. It’s about the size of a long dagger and his fingers close around it like it is a dagger, but daggers don’t radiate energy like this. I can feel the astra’s power, pulsing like a faraway song that’s almost too quiet to hear.
Ash and I look at each other in silence. I finally dare to ask, bewildered, “Are you going to smite me with that?”
“The astra is not for smiting,” he replies, looking slightly affronted. “It is a holy and powerful weapon that must never be wielded lightly. I, as the destroyer, am charge
d with its protection and its use. The astra can end the world as you know it.”
I really don’t like the sound of this. When Kirrin and Tyre told me about the Third War, didn’t they make it clear that Ash never intended to use the astra? Why, then, did it come loose from the disc? Why is he speaking of it as if he’s actually considering using it?
“Why would there ever be a reason to end the whole world?”
“Perhaps the world is corrupt, rotten, and shattered,” says this dark, ancient god. “Perhaps there is nothing in it worth salvaging. That is when the astra is to be used, to unmake every mortal realm so that Bara, the creator, can start anew.”
Still holding that terrible lightning bolt in his fist, Ash walks away from me, to where the grove of trees has opened. He sits down on a throne of knotted roots and branches. His eyes never leave my face.
“Why did it fall out of the disc?” I demand, following him. “Why isn’t it still there with the others?”
His eyes are so dark and bleak. “I was asleep,” he says. “I would have slept for another ninety years. But your war has become such a cataclysm that my niece and nephew felt they had no choice but to wake me. Had they left me in my Sleep, this could perhaps have been avoided. But they did not. You, your brother, and every other mortal who has played a part in this war over the generations forced their hand and, in doing so, forced mine.”
Suddenly, that expression on Max’s face, back when we were in the starship flying to ambush Sorsha, makes a whole lot more sense. He looked at me like he wanted to say something, but either couldn’t or chose not to. And then what he said, about needing both rage and hope—
He knew. He must have.
“You can’t.” The words come out before I can think better of them.
Dark brows lift. “I think you’ll find I can.”
“But gods can’t harm us without losing their immortality! That means you can’t harm us.”
“Bara and I wove that limitation around the gods after the Second War,” Ash says. “After watching them fight each other and the rakshas over the course of two terrible wars, we decided to take the necessary measures to protect the mortal realms. But Bara, Ness, and I came from the old world before it burned. The limitation does not apply to us.”
“You have no right.” I don’t know about hope, but there’s absolutely a whole bucketload of rage in me right now. “You don’t get to decide the fates of millions of lives while you watch from the safety of your magical celestial realm. You don’t get to just end us. You have no right!”
“This is more than my right,” he replies. “It is my responsibility. It is my sacred charge. If I do not end your world, instantly and mercifully, you and other mortals like you will end it anyway. Except your ending will be pain and ash and horror.”
“But we wouldn’t do tha—”
Those dark brows go up again and I stop. Not because I’m afraid of him, though I am afraid, but because I know what was coming out of my mouth was a lie.
“You are brave and unflinching enough to see the truth,” says Ash, nodding. “You know what you are capable of. You know that you wanted to destroy everything around you. This war will be the end of your world, Esmae Rey. It would be a violation of my deepest oath not to end it first.”
“It shouldn’t be up to you.” I take another step forward, into the grove of trees. “It’s our world. What we do to it, good or bad, should be up to us. We should get to choose.”
“There was a king who murdered his three wives and nobody stopped him,” Ash replies coldly. “There was a queen who cut her own daughter’s throat. There was a teacher who betrayed his devoted student. There was a princess who swore she’d burn the world down for vengeance. There have been curses, sacrifices, and treachery. Death, war, and cruelty. The lives of servants and conscripts sacrificed for the ambitions of kings, princesses, and prime ministers. And that is just what you know of. I could tell you ten thousand other stories of ten thousand other evils.” Lightning crackles wildly above us as Ash shakes his head. “No. You do not deserve to choose.”
“But maybe it’s not about what we deserve,” I say desperately, thinking of what Max said to me. “Maybe it’s about what we need.”
Ash cocks his head to one side as if considering me. “Go on.”
“I—” I falter, the words drying up in my mouth. “I don’t—I don’t know the answer. I just know that destroying us isn’t it. I wanted my mother and brother to hurt for what they’d done and now they are hurting, worse than I ever planned, and it turned out I couldn’t make that happen without hurting myself, too. So I know that we’re reckless and spiteful and cruel, I know that. I know why you think there’s no hope for us. Every time I start to feel hopeful, something terrible takes it away. I imagine you must feel like that sometimes, watching us destroy ourselves, our planets and even some of you. Valin and Amba lost their places in the stars for us. I’m sure you haven’t forgiven us for that.”
Ash watches me, not speaking. There’s not a flicker of a reaction on his face, just that same severe, assessing look.
“I don’t know what we deserve or need,” I admit. My throat feels raw, my chest tight.
“Do you believe it’s possible for you and every other mortal in the world to stop destroying yourselves? Do you believe it’s possible for your kind to choose peace over your pride? To choose kindness and the greater good over your own desires? Because I have seen otherwise, time and time again.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t have any answers. I just know that using the astra wouldn’t be right.”
“That is not your judgment to make,” he says.
“Then I guess there’s no reason for me to stay here any longer.” I don’t know why he wanted me to bring the sword back to him. I don’t know why he wanted to hold this over my head. What am I supposed to do? Go home and tell everyone I love that we could all blink out of existence at any moment? “If I could stop you, I would, but I think we both know that that isn’t possible.”
As I turn away to leave, the golden glow of light from that open doorway catches my eye. I stop, transfixed.
“What is it?” Is that curiosity in the voice of the oldest god in the universe?
I turn back. “If we don’t deserve to choose our own ending, you don’t deserve to, either.”
Ash blinks. And blinks again. For the first time, the bleak, grim look in his eyes vanishes, leaving surprise behind. “I do not see how you’ve reached that conclusion,” he says.
“I know what’s in that chamber.” I point to the golden glow. “Max told me. It’s Ness, your brother. The one who devoured his children. You’ve kept him alive and asleep for hundreds of years.”
Ash’s lean, pale hands clench over the arms of his throne, his gauntlets flashing with reflections of the lightning raging above us. “So?”
“So,” I say, “You can’t let him go. That’s a very human failing.”
With a twitch of his mouth that I might have interpreted as a smile on anyone else, Ash says, “You’re not as meek or as respectful as you should be, Esmae Rey.”
“So I’ve been told.” I shrug. “Don’t take it personally. I’ve been a trial to many gods, I promise you.”
For a moment, Ash considers me in silence. Then, unexpectedly, he says, “It is your eighteenth birthday next week, is it not?”
“Yes?” It’s not really a question, because I know when my birthday is, but I’m thrown by the entirely unrelated topic.
“Go to the Night Temple on your birthday. Pray for clarity.”
“Why?” I ask, bewildered. “Will that make you change your mind about using the astra?”
“Go to the Night Temple,” he says again. “I will give you a little more time. I will watch. If you truly believe that the people of your world are capable of choosing kindness over their own desires, show that to me. Then, and only then, will I change my mind.”
“How can I show you that?” I protest. “That isn’t
possible!”
Ash’s eyes don’t waver as he shrugs. “Then perhaps you neither deserve nor need a second chance.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Esmae
I have visitors waiting for me when I return to Kali.
“Now is really not a good time,” I object.
“It’s necessary,” says Max. The expression on his face confirms my suspicion that he knew what Ash would say to me. “Believe me, I know you and I need to talk, but I think you’re going to want to see them.”
Sybilla scowls at him. “I can’t believe you let them set foot on this kingdom,” she fumes. “Have you forgotten we’re at war? You can’t just allow other heads of state to saunter in like it’s time for afternoon tea—”
“Heads of state?” I interrupt, swiveling back to Max. “Who?”
He gestures to the door of the parlor. It’s the room where Kirrin once sat, disguised as a soothsayer, and told me I was loved by gods I didn’t trust and would be betrayed by mortals I did.
He was right, of course.
I follow Max into the parlor, with Sybilla hard on our heels, and stop short in the doorway, surprised.
There are four women in the room: Prime Minister Gomez of Shloka, Princess Katya of Winter, Princess Shay of Skylark, and a woman in her late twenties whom I recognize as Queen Fanna of Elba.
Max clears his throat. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I whip my head back to look at him. “Excuse me?”
“They asked to speak to you, not me,” he says. “I’ll be right outside.”
I glower at his back as he leaves. So does Sybilla, for that matter, but he takes her by the elbow and yanks her out of the room with him.
I close my eyes, far, far too tired for this, and drop ungracefully into the only available armchair left. Fortunately, it’s the one right by the fire. Two long flights through space and an hour on Ashma have made my bones so cold that I’m almost numb.
“Okay,” I say, because as their host, protocol dictates they must wait for me to speak first. “Have at it.”
Prime Minister Gomez, the only person in the room actually on my side, clears her throat. “I believe you have not yet met Queen Fanna, Princess Esmae.”
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