The acrid smell of burning flesh assaulted Ponto’s nostrils. He gritted his teeth, eyes locked on the scene below.

  “Hey!” he said as another elbow jostled him. The impact was enough to break his concentration; he saw the man who’d done it pass by, heading for the nearest exit. And he was far from the only one. All around the arena, others were filtering out, chased by the lingering cries of the priest.

  It’ll be over soon, Ponto told himself. I have to stay. Until he goes, at least. Ponto resumed his vigil, ignoring the sounds coming from those leaving.

  Priest Itan’s voice gave out soon after. His thrashing died slowly, until he was still. The black skirt of Elysa’s dress flared as she finally turned to leave. Ponto – not quite sure what he was planning to do – moved forward, ducking under the length of rope meant to separate the audience from the spectacle.

  The two guards who’d lit the pyre moved to stop him.

  “Damn it,” the fancy-clothes man said. “Let the boy through. Don’t you remember him from the trial? Let him pay his respects.”

  They moved aside, allowing Ponto to walk up to what remained of the pyre. Blackened skeletons of wood and bone; the body of Itan remained on the charcoal of the platform, a layer of burnt flesh hugging the effigy of his torso.

  Ponto heard a shuffling from behind him. “It was a sham trial,” the fancy-clothes man said. “In all my years as magistrate, I’ve never seen a group of witnesses that were so clearly manipulated against someone. Including you, I know. But you have to understand, my primary duty is not to a single man. My primary duty is to maintain order in the city. If I had declared him innocent – or worse, nullified the testimonies – we would have had chaos. And he would have suffered far worse.”

  “I don’t know how,” Ponto said quietly. “This seems like the worst thing that can happen to someone.”

  The fancy-clothes man tensed. “Don’t act like it’s all my fault. You have your share of the blame too, you know. I saw the hope in his eyes when we brought you to testify. And I saw it leave when you claimed to have no memory.”

  Ponto looked away from the man, unable to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t go against everyone else. Especially not Elysa. They would’ve killed me.”

  “Ah, so you bowed to the hungry mob as well. It’s a decision we’ll have to live with, you and I. I’d imagine we’re the only ones who feel guilty about it.” He sighed. “An unfortunate ending to his tale. He seemed a smart man.”

  “Not smart,” Ponto corrected. “Kind. He was true good. That whole thing at the bakery? It happened just like he said. Everything did.”

  “Yes, I believe that. He told the truth plainly, and suffered for it. You lied, and will suffer for it in a different way.” The fancy-clothes man squeezed Ponto’s shoulder. “I’ll order the men to leave you alone to say your goodbyes, lad. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday.”

  Ponto grunted an acknowledgement of the words. As the guards walked past, he realized everyone else had left the arena. The wind howled, carrying away a portion of the remains of the pyre as gray-and-black dust.

  Against his better judgment, Ponto sought out the sense Priest Itan had awakened within him. A part of him thought it might bring him peace to see the man’s soul had escaped his body, that he might talk to it directly instead of the husk standing above him.

  But when he saw the faint blue light, all he felt was a rush of sorrow. Sorrow and regret. I killed him, he thought. The fancy-clothes man said so. His throat constricted. And even before that, he killed Elysa’s husband for trying to kill me. It’s all my fault.

  A new rush ran through him, carrying with it a revelation: I can fix this. Ponto inhaled deeply, reaching out to Priest Itan’s soul as Elysa had taught him to do with feral souls. It fought hard, resisting his efforts to coax it toward his outstretched arm. But little by little, he forced it to move.

  The light reached his hand, disappearing into his body. Ponto began to smile before the nausea made him fall to hands and knees.

  Jolts of pain thundered through his mind, lancing like daggers. His hyperventilating breath was the only thing that seemed real. He battled stars in his vision. He couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t smell the pervasive aroma of after-fire that moments earlier had been clear as day. All he could do was sit and wait for it to pass.

  Instead of passing, the sensation became worse. Trapped as he was in the pains, he didn’t notice his limbs had begun convulsing for several minutes. Ponto reached out for souls around him, seeing none and feeling none. There was nothing left, no way to save himself.

  Ponto awoke under the shade of a wall. He rolled onto his knees, focusing on slow breathing to avoid causing another attack. Green shoots had been pressed into the earth where he’d been laying, compressed to the point there was no chance they’d be able to recover.

  He pressed a hand against the stone wall, using the support to help him regain his feet. When he took a step back, he realized he recognized the building, as well as the garden he’d been laying in: the tomato garden of the mortuary temple.

  How did I get here? he wondered. The arena where he’d been was halfway across the city, too far for someone to have dragged him. He doubted anyone had carried him, either.

  Ponto made his way inside, hoping to find a hint about how he’d travelled so far. It was exactly as he remembered: when he checked the kitchen, the vegetables he’d been preparing weeks ago were still there, decaying in shades of green and white.

  His heart raced as he ascended the stairs to the second floor, seeking out the window Elysa’s husband had tossed him from. The shutter remained open; dust and dirt had fallen on the floor below it, carried in by the wind. When he looked to his right, he saw stains of caked blood he decided must have belonged to Elysa’s husband.

  There were no clues about what had happened to him that day, though. He sighed, grinding his teeth at a piercing flare of pain as he headed back down the steps.

  A sound in the main room of the temple made him stop dead in his tracks. “Ponto?” The voice belonged to Elysa.

  She must have brought me here, Ponto thought. He gathered his courage and continued down the steps, finding her at the bottom.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Her brow knitted with confusion. “You asked me to come, did you not?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm.” She studied him for a moment, seemingly trying to determine whether that was a lie. “Maybe someone got the message confused. But we’re here, at any rate. It’s a good sign you’ve returned. Are you ready to become a full-fledged priest of Solus?”

  Ponto was silent as he chewed on her words. “Priest Itan wouldn’t want that,” he finally said. “Where’s Padme? Why wasn’t she at the trial?”

  “We’ll get to her. I promise.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, and as she did Ponto noticed the knife belted to her hip.

  “What are you doing with that?” he asked, nodding at the weapon.

  “What? Oh, this.” She chuckled. “This is nothing. I’ve been wearing it since the death priest threatened my life, and I guess I forgot about it.”

  “Did he really do that?”

  She knelt down to look into his eyes. “Oh yes, child. He told me he was going to kill me if I kept helping you with your affliction. Made me promise never to speak with you again.” She cleared her throat. “Now, the next step in becoming a priest of Solus will be to travel to the lands of the Synod. It’s quite a journey, but I can arrange for a carriage to take you and Heck most of the way. When you arrive –”

  “Tell me where Padme is,” Ponto said. “You made me agree to not say anything about Priest Itan. Did you try to force her, too?” And did she refuse?

  Elysa pasted on a fake smile. “No. Of course not, child. You heard what Magistrate Nur said at the trial. She’s nowhere to be found.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Ponto squared his jaw. “I think she would have told the truth. I think you knew that. So you stopped her.”

  The woman took a slow, deep breath. She closed her eyes, and when they opened again the irises had grown darker. “I wish you could have kept your faith in me, Ponto. I wish you’d all stuck with the plan. But that accursed death priest had to go and ruin things, didn’t he? I can see in your eyes you no longer trust me, and I don’t believe there’s anything I can say to change that.”

  “No, there isn’t. I’m never going to trust you again.” Ponto’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “So why don’t you tell me what happened to Padme?”

  “Alright, if you’re determined to make yourself into a lost cause. I’ve run out of energy to convince you.” Elysa straightened, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “Padme betrayed me. She led the death priest to my home and nearly got me killed. Which might have been forgiven – I’ve made my share of mistakes in the past. But she insisted on standing witness to all that had passed between us. You understand, don’t you? Her testimony would have unraveled all of my hard work. It would have cast doubt on the testimony of the other witnesses I brought forward. Perhaps it would have even been enough to sway the magistrate.”

  “So you kidnapped her?” Ponto asked.

  She shook her head. “Oh, child. Your innocence is a thing of beauty. No, I didn’t kidnap her. I had her killed, of course.”

  A fire roared to life within Ponto. He took a step toward Elysa, only to be brought low by splitting pains that eclipsed the ones that had assailed him in the arena earlier.

  Itan gasped fresh air into Ponto’s lungs. Through the boy’s mind, he saw the pitted tile floor, felt the hated hands of Elysa on his back. Blood throbbed through his veins, a raging pain he embraced as an old friend.

  In a single motion, he grabbed the knife from the woman’s belt and buried it deep within her breast. She gasped in surprise. Blue light surged through her, but before it could reach the wound he placed his hand over it.

  Itan directed the soul light into Ponto’s body instead of the wound to prevent Elysa from closing it. With renewed focus, he pushed her body backward, driving her to the ground. Blue light continued to flow through her to him, the equivalent of several hundreds of souls. As it did, her skin wrinkled and her complexion turned a sickly ochre.

  Three seconds later, the last of the souls contained in her flowed through Ponto’s hands into his body. The light dissipated. Her body lay motionless. Itan searched for the soul of Elysa, but couldn’t spot it anywhere. The absence filled him with a passing dread he shivered away.

  And now, to escape. I will get Ponto out of the city safely – out of the Ma’isan Protectorate entirely – and then I will let him have this body. His body. The thought of dying a second time made Itan feel sick, but he pushed the feeling down.

  He liberated Elysa’s knife from her body with cold indifference, slipping off the belt she’d worn and placing it around his own waist. He closed the doors to the mortuary temple, affecting a calm demeanor as he strode toward the city gates.

  Elysa’s voice echoed in his mind as he entered the city slums. Did you think you could win so easily, Death Priest?

  Chapter 25

  Joji

  Joji stood in the shadows of an alley, his eyes flicking back and forth as he waited for the arrival of the one who’d asked for a meeting. The late hour – paired with the absence of torches in the plateau’s shadow – hid all but the most general details from his eye. While he could see the sweep of the rooftops above, he couldn’t make out the windows or walls; while he could see the turn of the road, he couldn’t see the patterns of packed dirt it had been formed out of.

  The scene made him feel half-asleep, and for a moment he imagined he’d dreamt the urgent message requesting a rendezvous in the alley two blocks down from the Wolves’ hideout. The buildings had been practically emptied, reduced to a third of what they’d held before the raid on the Tevulun rangers’ compound.

  Joji leaned over to spit out the crushed remains of the leaf he’d been chewing. A figure he hadn’t noticed before made a disgusted sound. “Do you have to do that?”

  “’s an old sailor’s trick, ma’am. Keeps us alert when we have to be up past the were-hour.”

  “Fine.” The woman –Joji recalled her name as starting with a V – sighed. “You’re probably wondering why I called this meeting.”

  “Among other things. Yes, ma’am.”

  “How do your men fare?”

  Joji glared at her for a moment before deciding darkness caused the expression to be lost on her. “The ones who’re still breathing, you mean? I’ve led men into hopeless causes before – sailed into squalls taller than that plateau behind you, battled against pirates who numbered twice those at my command – but I’ve never felt like I betrayed my men. Not until yesterday.”

  “You didn’t betray them. Your men did what they were supposed to. If Calamity had been there –”

  “But she wasn’t.” Joji reached into one of his pockets, fishing out another leaf to chew on. “Priestess, you can lie to those other boys you call leaders, but you’re making a mistake if you think you can deceive me. We never stood a chance of finding Calamity there. The only question is what made your master so desperate as to send us to our deaths.”

  The priestess’ weight shifted like she was folding her arms across her chest. “Desperate, yes. If you want me to speak plainly, I’ll speak plainly. But know that if you share what I am about to tell you, I will deny it ‘till my last breath.”

  Joji spat out a chunk of stem. “Seems like you’re about to shed some light on the situation. Go on, then.”

  “Finding Calamity in this city was a surprise to us. The plan was to sneak her sister and father out before the Ma’isans breached the walls and use them to entice her into our grasp. As for the Ma’isans themselves, we would have betrayed them at the moment of their victory. In a single stroke, Death would have gained the powers of War and Pestilence for himself.

  “But Pestilence has been slain by another. And Calamity is here. Worse, she seems to be aware of our plan on at least some level. Therefore, the decision was made to lean into our alliance with the Ma’isans. If we had seized Calamity, Death could have taken on her powers without their knowledge. As it is, we’ve lost too much. We need the Ma’isans to plunge the city into chaos so we can capture her.”

  Joji’s brow narrowed as he processed what she’d said. “So this is why you asked for a meeting with me.”

  “Yes. And it’s also why Death was so desperate to capture her earlier. There is nothing he would not risk in his mission to unite the aspect powers. Unite them for the common good.”

  He was silent. After several seconds, she took his lack of response as permission to continue. “You will take half of the remaining Wolves to the city’s main gate. We will outfit you with what’s left of our munitions, which you will use to blast through to the other side. We don’t have enough left to take it down entirely, but it should be sufficient to create a sizeable hole.”

  “What of the ones who’ve lost their will to fight?” Joji asked. “The majority of those we have left would as soon tell me to leap into the bay as follow my command.”

  She took a step forward, close enough he could see two points of light reflected in her eyes. “Give me a list. Any who you think won’t be… cooperative. I’ll make sure they’re ready when the time comes.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  “Trust me, Captain. You really don’t want to know.”

  Joji’s eyes slid back to the rooftops. “What of the rest?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You said I would take half. What will the rest be doing?”

  “That’s not something I can reveal, unfortunately,” she said. “All I can tell you is – success or failure – you and the rest of the Wolves will be able to rest soon. Tonight is the beginning of the end for the Tevuluns.”

  “Rest is overrated. So long as you honor the deal I made with Jeshan.”

  He thought he saw the priestess smile, but it could have just been a trick of the light. “Don’t worry, Death is bound by his word. The Gratianos matriarch will be yours if you do as we say.”

  “Very well. I’ll rustle up the men. And about that list you asked for…” He exhaled heavily. “Don’t bother waiting around for it. I’ll find a way to convince the men to follow me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but I’m sure I don’t want to find out what you’re planning to do to them if I say no. We’ll bust that gate open for the Ma’isans, ma’am.”

  “Very good, Captain.” She slipped away, leaving him to think in silence for the greater part of a quarter hour. When the leaf he was chewing had degraded to a thick paste, he spat it out and made for the Wolves’ compound.

  Chapter 26

  Tarana

  Tarana awoke to the sound of shattering porcelain. She bolted upright, drawing her sword halfway before realizing it had been caused by Fevre dropping a cup on the floor. Her half-conscious mind accepted the appearance of the other woman, taking a moment to snap full-to.

  “Well, skora,” Fevre said. “Sorry about that. You’ve been stirring for a while, so I was about to settle in for the long haul. Tripped on one of the accursed bear rug carpets. Did you know they have one in every room? How absurd is that? The number of bears that had to give their lives so the lord of this manor could prance around pretending to be some great hunter… I bet he’s never faced down so much as a housecat.”

  “Where are we?” Tarana asked, rising to her feet.

  “Isn’t it obvious? We’re in the Riel Estate. Bilal brought you here after you fell unconscious. He and I both agreed the best way to keep you safe was for me to stay here with you and four of my best.”

  Tarana’s eyes narrowed. If Fevre and Bilal had had time to cook up a plan like that, she figured she must have been unconscious for longer than she’d initially thought.

  Fortunately, Fevre guessed the next question that came to mind. “You were asleep for one and a half days. It’s still early morning, just a little past the were-hour.”