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My stomach squirmed. Natural disasters were not something we could fight. That was a power no one should control.

“But your mother isn’t on their line.” I tilted my head and walked to the large table in the center of the room, surveying the map of Gallantia. A game board with pieces scattered about. “She was last seen here.” I pointed to the Fytar Trench. “When we fought her and…” I met Tol’s hardened stare, and sorrow swept through me at what I’d asked him to do.

“When was this, again?” Lyria asked, shuffling sigils about her map.

“About a week and a half ago,” Malakai said. I hadn’t seen him guide Mila down the stairs. He helped her to the table, pulling a chair out for her to ease into. “Give or take a day.” Malakai’s eyes did not leave the general for a long moment, but I swore a bit of color had returned to her features.

“That lines up with one of the quakes,” Dax confirmed, looking over Barrett’s shoulder at their notes. “There was another four days ago.”

“And when was the earliest?” Cyph asked. My mind flew down the same path.

“Weeks prior.” My stomach swooped at Barrett’s words. Cypherion and I locked eyes, his jaw hard as we silently communicated.

“It lines up,” I whispered. Cyph nodded, and I addressed the group at large. “It’s not the queen doing this.”

We explained how the search for the emblems had been progressing. How we’d found three in our time away and how each quake they’d recorded lined up with me bleeding on them.

Erista gasped, looking to her brother. “The rites.”

“Xenique’s tits,” he sighed.

“What’re the rites?” I asked.

“The Rites of Dusk. They’re sort of sporadic sand storms,” Quilian said, “but they occur in the skies. A myriad of purples and reds in a dust cloud hovering above the earth. It’s always been believed they’re tied to Artale, though the exact purpose is legend. We use them to strengthen our magic.”

“There were two lately,” Erista added. “The second was the reason I decided to travel here.” Her hand locked with Jezebel’s. “And Temy—my twin—wrote me that another occurred after I’d left.”

“What does that mean?” Amara finally asked. She had fallen into a stunned silence. Ricordan was nodding, finally understanding why we’d been so eager for Thorn’s crown.

“It means we’re again at a loss for the queen’s motives or tactics, but we have a worse opponent in the Angels and potentially Artale, too, if it all connects.” Quilian dragged a hand down his face, but something in his words did not sit right with me.

The Rites, the quakes, the trials…Spirits, we’d all been too split. Perhaps if our alliance had been communicating these odd occurrences more frequently, we’d have caught the similarities earlier.

“On the subject of the Angels,” Barrett said, casting Malakai a glance.

“You have news?”

Barrett nodded, then addressed the rest of the room. “I’ve been going through what records I have here, and only one ring can historically be tied to Bant.”

“Let me guess,” Tolek said, lifting my hand to display the Engrossian sigil ring.

“And you’ll never believe how Bant came to own that piece of jewelry,” Barrett said. “In a battle with your own Angel.”

“Damien,” I breathed.

“It seems our rivalry truly stretches back to the age of Angels. Engrossian history is colorful with descriptions of their fights, an infamous one being when Bant himself won a precious gem from his opponent at our Blackfyre and had it embedded in a ring to wear for eternity.”

“Why haven’t we heard of this?” Cypherion asked.

“History is often written by the victor,” Dax said. “Damien likely disguised the loss as something else.”

We didn’t have time to pick apart Mystique accounts for that, though. “Why does this feud matter?”

“Because,” Barrett said as if it was logical, “do you truly believe the Angels stopped feuding when they ascended?” The room absorbed that suggestion. Barrett continued, “I bet it pursued. And if our Angels are still at war, I’d think it safe to presume they’re watching ours keenly.”

An immortal investment in mortal affairs. It added another layer to everything currently occurring on Ambrisk.

“Perhaps that’s what Lucidius knew,” Malakai said. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, over that scar. “He was trying to summon Angels, searching for something and traveling the territories, obsessed with this concept of living magic.”