Page 83

THEY CAME TO A HALT AT THE TOP OF THE ARRENON valley where the path turned rocky, and Inara dismounted. Their warning had no one to go to. Their words were lost to nothing.

The battle had turned. Hseth had burned it back into her own favour.

The rain had stopped, the sun uncovered and spilling, fresh and golden, across the devastation of the valley.

But the fire god, glutted on pain and sacrifice, was raining flame down upon the tattered centre of the king’s battalion, tearing through swathes of soldiers as they fled.

And there, at the centre, the lightless body of a man in golden armour, the flames of his heart gone out. A man in silver, holding him, his colours shining blue.

‘Elo,’ murmured Skedi from her shoulder.

And behind him, facing the fire, facing death, were two women who knew how to hide their fear from gods.

Lessa and Kissen, swords in hands.

Can you find an escape? Inara said directly to Skedi.

He looked at her, his wings raised, but could not deny her the lie. With a press of his paws, he took off into the air, swooping around in the setting sun, the fading light, the encroaching dark. Inara stood and watched the last of her loves below, still fighting, unafraid to die.

She knew now why her mother had not wanted her to watch.

Anything?

Skedi’s silence was his second lie. He didn’t want to say no. He didn’t want to tell her they were too late. There was no way off the islet without falling into the water and suffering death by boiling instead of burning.

Her family had already chosen the way they wanted to go.

No. She wouldn’t let them. Not when she had some power. Something. Anything.

She pulled out Osidisen’s knife again. Its blade was still dirty with her blood.

It won’t work! said Skedi from above.

A roar of heat from the valley had borne him higher. High enough not to stop her? He had a shrine; he might be all right.

Ina, it won’t work.

She shook, terrified. Could she? She lifted the blade, put the point to her chest, between her ribs.

Only death can match Hseth’s strength, Hestra had said. Perhaps yours would do. Would you offer me that?

‘Gods love martyrs,’ she whispered. She hesitated, frightened. Frightened of it hurting. Frightened of dying. Not like her mother below, like Kissen and Elo who were facing death standing.

Perhaps she was just a child after all.

She tightened her grip, took a breath. Point facing in. Her heart’s blood, to summon a powerful god, surely it would be enough.

Skedi was diving down towards her. Don’t you dare, Inara Craier! he cried. It’s not enough. Pain is not enough!

‘I have nothing else!’ she cried. ‘All I have is me! And I won’t let them die! I can’t.’ She choked on a sob. ‘I can’t let them die.’

She remembered looking into the valley of her home, seeing it burn. She remembered watching Kissen fall, flaming, into the sea. She remembered encouraging Elo to fight, putting Telle in danger, watching the rose god die.

She put both hands to her blade and closed her eyes.

There were still gods in Middren. Somewhere. There had to be.

There is another way.

Inara opened her eyes, infuriated. ‘Don’t lie to me!’

But he was no longer diving towards her. Instead, he was swooping down into the valley. Towards the fire.

Sacrifice me.