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And that was it.

Xerxes whirled on the man. He drilled him with his cold gaze, and he shouted, “The Celestial Divinities were never fightingforus. Can’t you see that?!” The man drew back in alarm, and the Folke in the hall held their breath. “The gods do not care aboutanyhumans. They don’t care for Per-Siana, or Messa, or even B’rei Mira. Don’t you think the B’rei Mira armies serve gods too?!” he growled. “The gods just want to see humans die. They want to seeturmoil.”

Silence was thick in the hallway. No one dared to even adjust their weight.

Until someone else spoke. Xerxes hadn’t heard anyone approach, but he turned around when Damon said, “I have insight, Your Majesty.”

Xerxes’s fingers curled into fists. “Out of my way, Sage. I have work to do.” Xerxes pushed past the presumptuous Intelligentsia—and the other two sages standing there with him. His thoughts were back on the soldiers’ report.

“It’s about Estheryn Electus,” Damon said, and Xerxes stopped walking. He silently cursed himself for it—he had no plans to ask or show interest. But then…

“She’s an Adriel.”

Xerxes didn’t hear it. His ears were faulty. They must have been.

He glared down at his treacherous feet. Why weren’t they moving?

“She lied to you about her name and her heritage. She’s been hiding in plain sight all this time, Your Majesty.” Xerxes heard Damon take a step closer to his back. “I have evidence that she was sent here by a rebel group of Adriel priests responsible for a secret uprising. That maiden came here with a mission.”

Xerxes could not breathe in the air required to speak up and stop Damon from continuing. He fought the impulse to slap his hands over his ears and run.

But his ears betrayed him. His feet betrayed him. He stayed. He listened.

“Estheryn Electus came here to kill you,” Damon said. “On behalf of her people.”

The nerves in Xerxes’s body went numb. He wasn’t sure how he was still standing.

Ryn had come to the palace because Xerxes had made a deal with her father. Xerxes was the one who brought her here.

“You’re lying,” he whispered. But as much as Xerxes would have given his own kingship to ensure this moment wasn’t real, he’d always found it strange that Ryn appeared poor. And her father had tried too hard to claim she was a noble. Her cousin had been dressed for the streets. She hadn’t known how to properly address him as the King, she’d tried to run away shortly after she arrived, she didn’t even know why ginger cookies needed to be made for a Weylin holiday.

Xerxes had helped Ryn escape.

But then she came back. She never gave him a reason why.

“I have a priest under interrogation in the palace prisons. He’s confirmed everything. I do hope this doesn’t bring you too much distress, Your Majesty.” The sage’s words were bland anddetached. Deep within them, Xerxes was sure he heard the ever-so-slight tone of gloating.

Xerxes dragged himself around to face Damon. Trying to decide if he should kill him on the spot. There were no voices begging him to. After ten years of wanting desperately to be free, right now Xerxes wanted to slip back into that monstrous flesh he’d just escaped from.

Ryn.

Was.

An.

Adriel.

28

RYN

Every once in a while, someone stopped on the Navy Road and looked a little closer at Ryn sitting on the stairs of a trade building amidst dirt and dragon scales. Sometimes they pointed, sometimes they whispered, and sometimes they took a step toward her only to realize Ryn was holding a sword, before carefully stepping back again. But even her sword didn’t stop the loud gossip passing down the streets from mouth to mouth.

“…Heartstealer maiden…?”

“Did she do this? The Heartstealer?”

“…Are you sure that’s the same Hearstealer from the banner?”