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The problem, Zera had said, was that Achlys and Melinoë didn’t care about anyone’s grief but their own. And that was not me. That was fundamentally not me, because Creon had told me I’d rather drive myself to insanity than hurt anyone else. There may be darkness inside me – but I’d let her escape, that violet-eyed fae female at the Golden Court, despite knowing how she might hurt us.

I wasnotthe evil I was fighting.

My hands had stopped trembling when I picked up my wine again and cautiously took another sip, savouring the wry sting of its flavour on my tongue. Believing myself helped. I doubted I had it in me to lie for power, to persuade Zera through smooth yet empty promises – but I could tell my truth.

Which was that I was frightened. But determined.

The weight of choices would be there. But I’d made my choice to stop hiding Creon, too. So perhaps I could learn to handle that, strengthen my heart the way I’d grown muscles to fight; perhaps I could slowly learn to carry a heavier burden. And this might be training in itself – the choice between easy cowardice and power with responsibility.

I drank more wine. The tang of sourness oddly sharpened my thoughts, lent unexpected clarity to the sun-streaked world I saw through the small windows.

It would take time to convince a goddess after centuries of fears. The others might be looking for me in the meantime, might think I’d run off and hid myself to avoid the battle on Tolya. But our bargain mark would tell Creon I was alive, and as long as he could read my feelings …

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel deeply triumphant for the first time – to realise to the marrow of my bones that I had found a goddess, that I’d beenright, that I was sitting here and rewriting the history of the world as we knew it. And because he felt emotions stronger when they were aimed at him, I called up the memory of his quiet smiles and reassurances, of every single time he’d told me I wasn’t mad to hold hope, every single time he’d promised me it would all be well.

You were right, too.

That should do.

I poured the last splash of wine down my throat and jumped to my bare feet, limbs buzzing with the prospect of work to do. Out of the door and down the garden path I trotted, nearly stumbling over a fat chicken without any sense of self-preservation.

Zera knelt between a handful of cart-sized pumpkins. She broke off the quiet melody she was humming as I approached, looking up from her weeding work with twinkling eyes.

‘Once again,’ she said dryly, ‘you seem to have found me.’

I came to a standstill beside her with half a laugh, too agitated to feel the sting of pebbles beneath my bare soles. ‘I’m going to try to change your mind.’

‘I know, dear.’ She sighed, but there was nothing but compassion in the pale green of her eyes. ‘I know.’

Chapter 18

Thedovesarrivedasevening fell.

I was sitting in the open doorway, gobbling up a plate of mashed potatoes and grilled chestnuts dripping with herb oil, when the loud flapping of wings broke the peaceful silence. Zera, who had eaten perhaps a third of the serving she’d given me, was already back in the garden, dragging her unwieldy bag with her wherever she went.

She looked up just in time to watch them soar down from the peach- and purple-flecked sky – three chubby birds, cooing excitedly as they landed in the grass.

I forgot for a moment how hungry I was.

The doves only vaguely resembled the grubby brown specimens that lived on the islands of my youth, the birds that had filled my waking dreams for months until I finally gave up on that blessing I was chasing. These were larger than the scrawny birds I knew – not as monstrous as Sizzle the dragon, but large enough to prove they too had been subjected to a generous dose of divine magic. Their sounds were sweet and low, nothing like the shrill cooing of the doves I was used to.

And they were white. A flawless, snowy white, not a speck of dirt staining their feathers.

A full day of weeding and relocating slugs may have left me ravenous, but not ravenous enough to prioritise dinner over more myths come to life. I shoved my plate aside, jumped to my feet, and hurried over to where Zera was tickling the largest bird in the back of its neck.

‘So they’rereal?’

The doves looked affronted.

‘Of course they’re real,’ Zera said, turning to face me with a chuckle. ‘And so are the blessings, before you ask. As I said, I’m notentirelyuseless even without my powers.’

I ran a hand through my hair, which was a little sticky with sand and sweat. I would have to take a bath in the lake soon, if Sizzle didn’t try to eat me. ‘How do you bless people if you no longer have your powers?’

‘Oh, I let the recipients do the work for me,’ she said dryly.

‘What?’

‘The blessings were never more than a confirmation. The doves don’t change anything. They just tell the people they visit they’re on the right track to happiness.’ The corners of her lips quirked up into a conspiratorial smile. ‘Interestingly, that is usually the only thing they need to stay on that track for the rest of their lives.’