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Taly dropped her prizes, flinging open the first few buttons of her robe as she claimed a spot on the front pew. Calcifer jumped up beside her, and she idly scratched his head.

Behind the main altar stood the Sacred Six.

Up close, they were massive, at least three times her height, with gossamer wings at their back and gilded horns that caught the light like molten metal.

Well, all except for Lachesis. The goddess of Time. Like most of her statues, her face had been gouged out, her wings cut off and left in pieces at her feet.

Calcifer chirped beside her. “No,” she said. “I don’t really do prayer.”

It felt too much like bowing to someone who’d done nothing to earn it. Sure, people whispered of blessings and miracles, but Taly had never seen evidence of either—not when it mattered, not when the city was falling, not when the people she loved were dying.

If any god or goddess wanted her devotion, they’d have to work for it.

Calcifer hopped off the pew and nudged her ankle with his head, then gave her skirts a pointed tug. The look he gave her said it all:Better safe than sorry.

Taly growled under her breath. “Okay, fine.” The little gremlin was right. She was already neck-deep in shit. What did she have to lose?

Rising from the pew, she approached the goddess of Time. She didn’t kneel. She didn’t bow her head.

“I’m here. You want me? Then give me a reason.”

Calcifer chuffed beside her, tail thumping once.

“What?” she muttered. “It still counts.”

Bells chimed, and a soft rustling of whispers stirred in the quiet of the temple.

There was apopof magic.

Taly grabbed the folded slip of paper that appeared out of nothing like a message from the divine itself.

She glanced at Calcifer, who mewled. “No, I don’t think this is how prayers are usually answered,” she said, letting him sniff the slip of paper.

Flipping open the note, she realized—this hadn’t been an act of the divine.

Just Azura.

Just two lines.

Taly’s stomach plummeted.

I’m sorry.

One day you’ll understand that it had be this way.

The temple suddenly felt too still. Calcifer let out a low growl.

Then a voice—smooth, male, and laced with a sinister familiarity—drawled from behind her, “I do hope I’m not interrupting.”

Taly crumpled the note in a trembling hand, clutching it tight to her chest.

Slowly, she turned.

Atop the holy dais, the figure of a man lounged in the central throne. Bright blue eyes gleamed from the shadows. Candlelight skimmed the snowy white of his hair.

Kalahad Brenin.

She knew him instantly—both the man and the thing inside him.