Stop it, before you get both of you hurt, the rational part of him tried to argue, but Arn brushed it aside. He reached the market, long rows of shops intermixed with stalls propped up between them and at various curves and alcoves of the long, winding thoroughfare. Arn walked it, lost in thought. He had a decent amount of coin on him, given to him by Thorda to ensure he was never wanting should a mission go wrong and he must hide for a bit. So what to spend it on? He dismissed most of the clothes, for he wanted to surprise her, not have her come be fitted. Perhaps the hats, though? But a hat wasn’t personal enough. He wanted to reward her! She had saved his life at Stasia’s wedding, damn it, surely she deserved something more than a pretty hat.

  Shop after shop, Arn debated. What in the world could he get her that compared to whispering Velgyn, or having her father craft him such magnificent gauntlets?

  “It’s hopeless, is what it is,” he muttered aloud, fingers pinching his lip as he eyed a seashell necklace. He’d spent an hour now, browsing, each new place less promising than the last. The shopkeeper, an older woman with two moles on her left cheek, smiled broadly at him.

  “I recognize that look,” she said. “A man in love, aye? Come then, you want to look at what I keep safely tucked away where the sticky fingers can’t reach.”

  Arn apologized instead, his excitement finally starting to dwindle. He exited the shop, scratched at his face, and pondered. Gods, what was wrong with him? Was he really some lovesick teenager again? What he should do, what an adult man like Arn should do, was go talk to her. Make sure she was ready for something more than a quick joke and a kiss while both were filled with alcohol. Far better that than misreading everything and then humiliating himself showing up with some expensive trinket or painting.

  “Right,” Arn said, clapping his hands. “Mari is… she’s special, Arn. We do this the right way, for once.”

  He turned for home but walked only three steps before slowing. The mood in the air had gone wrong. People looked nervous. Following their glances, he looked left, then right. He heard no cries of alarm, but the sight was a familiar one. The crowd was parting wordlessly, hoping to avoid the attention of the man striding through their center with his gauntlets clenched and his armor shining brightly.

  “There you are,” said Dario Bastell, approaching in full paragon armor. “Did you think you could escape?”

  Arn spun, but his way was blocked. Rihim stood in the heart of the now-panicking crowd. His lips pulled back to reveal snarling white teeth. In his clawed hand he held Arn’s broken gauntlet, still stained with dried blood. Behind him rushed over two dozen soldiers wielding spears, shields, and most worrisome of all, rope.

  “So your hound tracked me at last,” Arn said, slowly turning in place. “But did you bring enough to take me alive?”

  Soldiers rushed from around the same corner where Dario emerged, their armor shining in the afternoon sun. Dario clacked his knuckles together, and his smile was brimming with confidence. The ringing metal sang.

  “I made a promise, little brother. Today, we begin your road to penance.”

  CHAPTER 41

  KELES

  Keles stood before the door to the castle armory, counted backward from five, and then stepped inside.

  “You summoned me?”

  Galvanis vin Lucavi stood before racks of swords and spears, looking them over with a thoroughly displeased expression. As always, he wore his armor. She wondered if he ever took it off.

  “Your Grace,” he corrected. He did not turn from the weapons. “You should refer to me using the honorific Your Grace, particularly as a child of a heathen land.”

  Keles dipped her head and swept into a bow.

  “My apologies. You summoned me, Your Grace?”

  The Heir-Incarnate brushed his fingers along the edges of a row of spears. He showed no care for their sharp tips, for they could not scratch the soft skin of his fingertips. Flesh it might appear to be, but Keles knew it closer to sculpted marble.

  “I have learned about you, Keles Lyon… or should I say, Keles Orani?”

  Keles flinched despite her best efforts. This was bad, very bad, but she didn’t yet know the extent. So far he only acknowledged her bloodline. That alone would not condemn her.

  “I am not certain I understand,” she said. Feign ignorance. Discover more.

  “Such an intriguing prisoner could not enter my castle without my knowing,” he continued. “You were brought here from afar by my sister’s pet paragon, and kept sequestered for reasons unknown. It was enough to pique my curiosity. What was so special about you? And how did my sister plan to use you against me? Then you were gifted the armor of a penitent and allowed to roam freely. So I listened, and I searched, and I read. What I discovered was most entertaining.”

  He lifted a sword from the rack and held it aloft so he might look straight down the blade. Whatever he saw, it displeased him, and he snapped the blade in half as if it were a twig and cast both parts to join several others discarded in the far corner. The ringing of the broken steel ached in her ears.

  “In two days, we will hold a ceremony to anoint Lord Agrito’s replacement. I would have you there at my side.”

  Keles swallowed down her initial question of “why.” She had to be more tactful than that. She wore the armor of the penitent. Her faith was meant to be in the empire now.

  “I must ask, why am I worthy of such an honor?”

  Galvanis smiled at her. Her insides fluttered. He was so beautiful, his hair like spun gold, his eyes the perfect blue of a summer sky. She told herself she should hate this man, hate everything he represented, yet it did not matter. There was a charisma to him, no doubt divinely gifted, and it washed over her in powerful waves.

  “The ceremony shall be attended by many merchants and lords loyal to Everlorn, and we will celebrate it with a glorious execution. During that celebration, I would have you announce your true heritage to the gathered crowd, in preparation for a later reveal to the entire island. Imagine, the true princess of Thanet, of the family overthrown by the wicked Endarius, proclaiming her love and loyalty to the Everlorn Empire? It sends quite a message, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Keles did well to hide her revulsion. When she had taken power from Sinshei, and pledged her heart to Dagon, she had done so with Thanet’s freedom in mind. Not just its freedom, but a return to the oldest of its ways, to before the people of Gadir had arrived with their boats and their gods. To have her heritage revealed, only for the people to then see her swear allegiance and servitude to the Everlorn Empire?

  It was everything she resented. Could she do it? Even if it was a lie? If she played along with Galvanis until Sinshei struck him down, Thanet still might find its freedom, yet how could she rule Thanet as its queen after such a betrayal? Would the people ever trust her? It was the forsaking ceremony all over again, this time on a far grander scale.

  “Indeed it does,” she said, simple, plain words to hide the disgust squirming in her guts.

  Galvanis finally turned from the weapons. The moment his attention shifted her way she fought back a shiver. There was something otherworldly about the shade of white to his skin and the perfection of his features. He didn’t seem like a man but the representation of one, deemed perfect by a society far, far away from Thanet.

  “I do not know what games my sister plays, but they are doomed to fail. Sinshei was born in Eldrid, and coddled there, her soul seeded with sin and blasphemies by her treasonous mother. She views herself as clever and manipulative, but it is easy to believe yourself a master of secrets when every servant and citizen must bow to your whims lest they face the headman’s ax. She is a fool, and like most fools, she is blind to her shortcomings. It will lead her astray. As much as it pains my heart, I suspect it will lead to her death.”

  Keles stood statue-perfect, her arms crossed behind her and her jaw locked shut. She would reveal nothing. Play the perfect soldier. Pray he did not realize the power that Sinshei had put into her veins.

  “Do not fear,” he said. “I will not force a confession. Your loyalties are certainly complicated and confusing, as one would expect of a heathen. Let me lay a clear path before you, Keles, so you may walk in wisdom. Sinshei has plans for you, I am sure of it, but I ask that you reject them. She is a fool, spoiled and reckless. Do not die with her. There is potential in you, I see that as clear as the blue sky above. Take my hand instead. Put your trust in me, Everlorn’s Heir-Incarnate. Help me tame this wretched island.”

  His hand brushed her cheek, pressing errant strands of hair back behind her ear. The slightest contact with his fingers was like kissing lightning. She shivered at such divine power. His blue eyes swallowed her as he leaned close.

  “And when I am God-Incarnate, I will remember the names and faces of those who aided me.”

  Keles turned away. Was this a betrayal? Did it even matter? What did she owe any of these rulers of Everlorn? Yet Sinshei had looked upon Keles with love after the penitent ritual. It had been genuine, hadn’t it?

  Perhaps it had been, but she should not fool herself. What did Sinshei even understand of love, with a brother like Galvanis and a father like God-Incarnate Lucavi?

  Keles would not betray her, not entirely, but she would test the waters.

  “Sinshei promised me Thanet would be mine.”

  Galvanis leaned even closer. His cheek pressed against hers. His warm breath was a desert wind. His touch burned, but his whisper was ice.

  “I can give you far more than one little island.”

  Except Keles wanted freedom for her home and her people. Galvanis could offer her all of Gadir, and it would mean nothing to her. He thought Keles accepted Sinshei’s offer out of a desire for power, and so he offered more power in turn. How else would a future god-emperor see the world? He could not imagine she sought the crown, not to rule, but to serve.

  “I remain ever loyal,” she said, unsure of how else to respond.

  Galvanis pulled away. At his withdrawal, a bit of the spell receded, his charm not so overwhelming as to jumble her thoughts.

  “Loyal to whom, little heathen?”

  The Heir-Incarnate dismissed her with a wave, not caring to hear her answer, nor judge it truth or lie.

  Keles carried her helmet as she walked. It was too hot to wear beneath the high spring sun. She kept her eyes straight on the path east, beyond the limits of the city to the bordering cliffs, and pretended no one knew who she was. No one would recognize her. Surely it wouldn’t be the Light of Vallessau in such black armor. Not a devoted paladin of Lycaena who wore the armor of an imperial penitent.

  She walked and walked, until reaching the cliff. Not far to her left was the broken pedestal where a grand butterfly had once overlooked the crystalline waters. Far below her were the Solemn Sands.

  It would be a fitting place to die.

  Keles let the great expanse of blue wash over her sight. She stared at the horizon line, where the distance stretched on forever. She stared until it was pulling her into it with an unseen string linked to her forehead. All she had to do was let it. Accept the pull. Would Thanet be better for it?

  If she refused Galvanis, he would kill her. Quickly, if she was lucky. She doubted herself that lucky. Maybe she would hang from the Dead Flags. Or maybe Galvanis would carve the flesh from her body while condemning her sins. Either way, she would be made an example to her people. She would suffer. She would die. And it would be used as a blade against the island she wished only to protect.

  “Lycaena would condemn me for this,” she whispered. “What of you, Dagon? I know only tales of your wickedness. How goes your judgment should I cast myself to your waves?”

  Such a joke, to be in service to an unknown god, without lessons or scriptures, attempting obedience despite no face to look upon nor stories to guide her. Ten lives, sacrificed to give her this power. Ten lives, wholly devoted to Dagon despite the passage of centuries and the work of priests and priestesses to denounce them and call them evil. Yes, even her beloved Lycaena had allowed it to happen, and considered it necessary.

  What did that mean for Dagon’s true personality?

  What of Lycaena’s?

  Crashing waves. Tall cliffs. The heavy penitent armor would crush her when she landed. If she lived, its weight would sink her below the water to drown. Fitting. Better. Every choice she made was a weapon against her home. Hopeless. At least she would cause no more hurt. She wouldn’t see the pain in Cyrus’s eyes at her betrayal. See the blue instead. Watch the horizon. Watch the unending line.

  Her foot rose.

  “Isn’t this a fine surprise?”

  Her foot lowered. When she turned, Keles discovered a dead man walking up the path to the cliffside apex. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Eshiel?” she asked. “What are you doing here?

  His attire was simpler than when she last saw him, a loose gray shirt above red trousers. A bit of sweat marked his brow from the exertion. If he was alarmed at her new armor, or heard rumors of her becoming a penitent, he let neither show.

  “You would ask a twice-born why he would come to the Solemn Sands? Have you forgotten your schooling already?”

  Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. That hadn’t been what she meant, yet his gentle rebuke left her flustered. Her insides already felt scrambled, now made worse at his arrival. Part of her wanted to embrace him. Part of her wanted to flee in shame.

  “I would ask how you yet live when I last saw you lost amid the cliff’s collapse,” she said as he joined her side to gaze upon the Crystal Sea.

  “It seems Lycaena had more planned for my life,” he said. “I survived the fall to the water, and once I had recovered, I made my way back to Vallessau.”

  Keles sensed that was not the full story, but she let him be.

  “I’m… I’m glad you lived,” she said.

  “So am I,” he said, and smiled. He closed his eyes and breathed in the salty air. “But as to your first question, sometimes I visit the Solemn Sands to remind myself of what I fight for. Amidst all the paranoia, the sneaking about, and the whispered prayers, it can be easy to lose sight of why we struggle. A better future. A remembered past.”

  Keles crossed her arms, but she would not join him in staring at the sea. That unending line lost its allure, and so she watched the waves crash far below. Did he know why she had come? The priest was perceptive, intelligent. Her foot had risen. Gods and goddesses help her, her foot had risen.

  “Or maybe I am here because Lycaena called me here,” he added. “Our priesthood was always challenged to be present for those in need. Is that you, Keles? Your armor. It’s certainly no design of Thanet. Do you serve Everlorn now?”

  “I do what I must,” she said, praying he dropped the subject yet knowing he wouldn’t.

  “A pity, that they wounded you so deeply. I suspect my own failures are to blame. The bleeding and burning goddess I summoned would never have soothed the hurts you suffered.”

  Keles winced at her stung pride. For him to act as if her decisions were done solely through hurt, or his failure, and not her own volition? It galled her.

  “My family once ruled Thanet, before Endarius arrived with an army,” she said. “It could be mine again. Sinshei has promised me such. Our rebellion here is hopeless, the armies of Everlorn too vast. Should they muster even a fraction of their forces, they could surround our island with a thousand warships. They could bury our beaches in soldiers, and choke our cities with the dead. The only way to survive is to make peace with them. To befriend them.”

  “And with Sinshei, you think you have that friend?”

  Keles did not bother to hide her exasperation.

  “What choice have I left to me, Eshiel? The Vagrant’s petty rebellion? A handful of skilled fighters they may be, but they are too few, and their foes too many. It’s an easy dream, a seductive one, that a hero will save us. It won’t happen. Heroes break before the might of entire nations. They win only in stories and parables.”

  Eshiel gestured toward her black platemail.

  “And so you don their armor, cast aside Lycaena, and profess faith in their God-Incarnate. Is a crown worth such sacrifice?”

  “Is Lycaena worth it?” she countered. “How do you still hold faith in a twice-slain goddess?”

  “Twice-slain you call her, yet I am thrice-born. What do life and death mean to gods? Who are we to declare when they begin, or when they end?”

  It was exactly the slippery, elusive argument always given Keles when she asked questions in the Heaven’s Wing. When a law or belief was not clear, and she questioned its authenticity or reasoning, those supposedly wiser than her would act like her questions and doubts were evidence of her own moral failings.

  “They end when their bodies are slain and our prayers silenced,” Keles said. “You should know. You resurrected a lie.”

  “Indeed I did,” said Eshiel. “And it is the same lie you now believe. The cost is too high. When you’ve finished paying in blood and cast-off faith, you will look upon the remains with horror.”

  “I will not be judged by you,” she said, a hard edge entering her voice.

  “I offer no judgment. I do offer counsel, if you would have it. Or should I give you fire instead? You serve the Everlorn Empire now. You’re one step shy of a paragon. By all rights, you should be my enemy.”

  Keles drew her sword and pointed it at his neck.

  “I am no paragon,” she seethed. “I serve Thanet. Everything I do, I do for Thanet!”

  Eshiel closed the distance between them. He tilted his head so the tip of her blade nestled just below his jaw. Blood trickled from where the sharpened steel made contact.