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When they reached the open, massive doors of the cathedral, most of the Guard peeled off to line the steps they climbed. Alexei continued with them to the interior, and all the way to the frontmost pew when Seidon whispered that he should join them too.

Alexei, if she had any skill at all at reading faces, was honored nearly to tears at the request.

Arden drew in a long breath as she followed Seidon into the pew and knelt between him and Storm.

She hadn’t really paused to consider what his invitation meant on that level.

She’d felt her own discomfort, and then the surprise at realizing the king really did need a few friends flanking him.

She’d given in to her father’s command to look the part of honored guest. Still, it was odd to realize she was that.

She knew very well she shouldn’t be. Not like this.

With Papa and Mama and Jade, yes, when she would disappear beside them.

When Seidon wouldn’t even glance at her beyond the expected greetings.

But now? Like this? Directly beside the king, her hand still warm from his arm and her heart from the banter and trust they’d shared during the previous day?

She didn’t deserve this esteem. She didn’t deserve to be in the empire’s most beautiful cathedral, ready to witness the first Mercy of Waters here in her lifetime, while her sister was who-knew-where, trapped beneath the waves.

Hands clasped on the wooden railing before her, she closed her eyes and lowered her head to rest against her knuckles.

She’d already begged the Triada in the name of the Once and Coming One innumerable times to deliver Jade, preserve her, strengthen her, sustain her.

She’d prayed as she flew on Ora that he would show her the way to wherever Jade was.

She prayed it all again, and when words failed, offered up her spirit.

She stayed on her knees until Storm urged her to her feet with a hand under her arm.

Arden was surprised to see the church had overflowed while she prayed, and that Father Enoch stood at the front with his arms lifted in welcome.

She said all the familiar words along with the rest of the congregants, made all the familiar gestures.

Despite that the king stood at her other side, those first moments were like any other missa.

Until Father Enoch led them into more words she’d said countless times, but which had never struck her heart like they did today.

“I confess to you, All Mighty Triada, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned. In my thoughts and in my words; in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do.” Her voice was one of hundreds, but she spoke directly to the Triada.

She had failed to do the thing that would have saved her sister. She had failed, had sinned so many times. She had failed, and her sister had paid the price.

With the others, she raised her fist to her chest. “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.”

Her voice cracked. All the others beseeched the saints and each other to pray for them, but she couldn’t get the words past her lips. If she opened them again right now, a sob would rip out.

She sat when the others did, nostrils flaring and jaw clenched tight to keep everyone in the cathedral from noticing how close she was to falling apart.

And then Seidon picked up her hand, uncurled the fingers digging into her palms, and wove his own through them. The tears burning her eyes retreated, slowly but surely, until she could hear the friar again, see the lector as she came forward to read the Holy Writ.

The king had joked that morning that he had the power to kill someone with his magic—did he have the power to calm them too? Was it his touch that called the tears away from her eyes and brought a measure of peace? His magic? Or just his understanding?

She didn’t know. But she was grateful.

The readings sped by, as did the rest of the service. Soon she was watching the priest lift the chalice, proclaiming the wine within to be the blood of their salvation, and a thrill swept through her, all the more potent for the hollowness inside left by grief. Hollowness ready to be filled.

As per tradition since the days of Seidon’s great-grandmother, the congregants filed up from the back first, each pew going in turn until Alexei, Storm, and she took their turns. She accepted the wafer and let it dissolve on her tongue, then reached for the chalice.

The blood of my salvation . Poured out by the Once and Coming One. Never in her life had she been so aware of needing it as she was today, when Jade was missing. When it was her blood that had condemned her. Blood that made one Awakened or normal, king or commoner.

It tasted like grape and spice and water and hope. She swallowed it and moved back to the pew, kneeling beside her cousin.

Seidon stood alone in the aisle before Father Enoch. He knelt, and from where she sat, she could see that his eyes were closed, that his lips moved in prayer. Enoch approached and put the wafer onto the king’s tongue. Seidon sipped from the cup.

Waters roared.

Even expecting it intellectually, she jumped and gasped along with the others when the crystal archway, empty a moment before, turned into living, churning columns, clear water dancing and spiraling its way up to the pinnacle where the two sides of the arch met in a peak and then danced down the other side.

The columns sang. No one had ever told her about that—that it wasn’t just the sudden sound of rising waters, it wasn’t just the sight unlike any she’d seen. It was music that filled the entire cathedral and surely spilled out into the world too.

There was no help for the tears now. But they were a gentler kind, focused not on herself but on this. The gift of it. The thanksgiving.

Thank you, Triada . She said the words silently, but dozens—perhaps even hundreds—of whispers gave voice to them.

It was a long moment before the waters calmed again, before Seidon stood and dried his cheeks where his own tears had fallen.

Father Enoch touched a hand to his forehead and muttered something she couldn’t catch—a blessing, she guessed—then Seidon moved back to his seat. At her side. And reached for her hand.

She made no argument, even knowing as many eyes as could see them would be trying to.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that some might misunderstand.

It didn’t matter that she’d only known him thirty-six hours.

It didn’t matter that he was meant for someone with magic, someone far more special than she could ever be.

He needed a friend, and he’d chosen her. And somehow, the fact that this strong leader needed to borrow a bit of her strength gave her more than she’d ever had on her own.

Thank you, Triada . Perhaps together, they’d have what it took to face the tempest she knew was coming.