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CHAPTER NINE

LORE

King Lucius Arceneaux once tasked the Burnt Isles guards with taking a census at the beginning and end of the year, to see how many prisoners on the Second Isle survived. There were nearly five hundred fewer inmates when the final census was taken.

No investigation was deemed necessary.

—Fabien Triou, Gods and Guards: A History of the Burnt Isles , 478 AGF

I t figured that when Lore actually wanted to dream, she couldn’t.

Ever since seeing that glimpse of Alie, she’d tried to make herself end up on that beach every time she closed her eyes.

But her mind kept sending her mundane dreams instead, anxiety scenes of being naked in a city Ward or quizzed by Val in some nonsense language.

Lore was on the verge of trying to knock herself unconscious with her pickax, just to see if that would make a difference.

But tonight, finally, she ended up on the beach.

It was the Burnt Isles; she recognized it now. Before they were burnt, before the catastrophe of the Godsfall left them in perpetual ruin. This was the beach as she’d seen it in Nyxara’s memories, all white sand and blue sky, gray cliffs and silence.

And no Alie.

“Shit.” She sat down on the sand, staring out at the endless ocean.

Any ideas? She prodded at the back of her mind, where Nyxara slept. But the goddess was quiet. In fact, the goddess seemed nearly gone, just a dark space left behind.

Apparently Nyxara couldn’t speak in these dreams. Interesting.

A moment, then Lore lay back, mindless of the sand working its way into her hair. Her eyes drifted closed. At least she hadn’t actually knocked herself out.

“Lore?”

Finally.

Lore scrambled up from the sand, already running as soon as she got her feet beneath her.

Alie wasn’t a mirage, wasn’t some filmy ghost; she looked as real and solid as Lore did, standing at the tide line in a white gown with a relieved look on her face.

She had to fight to keep her balance when Lore slammed into her, hugging her like she was an anchor in a storm.

“Gods, Alie,” Lore stammered, “I’ve been so worried about you, I can’t believe I left you there—”

“Not like you could have done anything different.” Alie patted her hair. “You were rather incapacitated when they shipped you off.” She pushed Lore gently away, feathering her fingers over the scar on Lore’s temple. “Looks like you healed up just fine.”

“How are you?” Lore didn’t want to talk about her scar. “Are you safe? Have you gotten away?”

“Yes, I’m safe; no, I haven’t gotten away.” Alie gave her a weak smile. “I have a lot to tell you, and I don’t know how long we have. So listen closely.”

Lore did. Lore listened to Alie tell her what this place was—the Isles pre-Godsfall, like she’d thought, but mostly just a constructed place where they could dreamwalk—and how Bastian was able to break free of Apollius, sometimes.

Alie told her of the shards of the Fount, how they had to find them and make them whole again, how she was certain one was in the Burnt Isles and another in Auverraine, and then a third somewhere else on the continent.

Lore listened quietly all the way up until Alie mentioned Lilia.

“Wait.” She waved a hand, as if Lilia were something she could reach out and grab. “You met my mother?”

Alie shifted on her feet. “She wants to help us, Lore. She’s the one who told me to find the shards of the Fount, make It whole before we can restore Its power.”

“She could be lying.” The idea that her mother would suddenly want to help her was almost laughable. Yes, she’d had a change of heart, telling Lore to run rather than let herself be killed, but Lore still couldn’t think of her as an ally. It would hurt too much when she was once again proven wrong.

“Why would she?” Alie shook her head. “No, don’t answer that, I know why you think so. But Lore… she doesn’t want Apollius to be the God of Everything. She doesn’t want the world He’s bringing.”

Seasons scrambled, dying crops, churning storms. All the little ways the earth had been dying since the gods stole the power of the Fount, some Lore had seen with her own eyes, others she’d only heard of secondhand.

Lore looked away from Alie, toward the ocean. “Fine. Say you’re right, and Lilia does want to help. How in all the hells are we supposed to find this Fount piece? And even if we can, how do we get it to the Golden Mount?”

“Bastian thinks he can break into Apollius’s mind, the same way Apollius did to him,” Alie answered. “If he can search Apollius’s thoughts, he can find where the piece is hidden.”

“That would be a stroke of luck,” Lore muttered. “Almost too much luck.”

Alie shrugged. “We’ll take what we can get, at this point.”

Lore chewed at the inside of her cheek. “How is he?” An ache in her voice, too acute to hide.

She’d tried very hard not to think too much of Bastian, how he had to be suffering.

It hurt too much, to know his pain and be unable to do anything about it.

At least she knew Gabe was in charge of his own body.

“Not well,” Alie answered. “But he’s broken through Apollius’s hold more than once.”

Bastian was strong-willed. Maybe he could beat the god back once and for all.

Hope was an improbable seed, rooting without soil, without water.

“So if everything goes well, Bastian can find the location of the shard in Auverraine, and I’ll bring it to the Mount,” Alie continued. “Somehow.”

“And I find the one on the Isles.” Ideally without having to tell Dani what she was looking for. The other woman might be a temporary ally, but Lore still didn’t trust her. “And Gabe looks for the one still on the continent, I’m guessing. Can you talk to him like this?”

“You can, too,” Alie said softly. “This space is shared by all of us, as long as we’re using power from the Fount. If Gabe is channeling fire at all, he’ll show up here eventually.”

“And we just have to hope we’re all dreaming at the same time?” Two steps forward, one step back.

“It’s certainly not an exact science.” Alie was fading. Lore could see the cliffs through her torso, her friend turning ghost. Waking up. “You’ll see him,” Alie promised as she disappeared. “And if you do before me, tell him to find the shard.”

Then she was gone.

Ridiculous, how much lighter Lore felt with a plan, even one as far-fetched and unlikely as this.

Part of her thought they were deluding themselves, thinking they could find the shards of the Fount scattered all over, somehow bring them to the Mount.

But it was better than nothing. Better than helplessness.

Lore lay back on the sand, the warm water washing up over her ankles. She waited to wake.

The next day, Lore got up long before the dawn.

She had no pallet to bundle up, having used hers as a burial shroud for a dead monk, so she had a few minutes before it was time to head to the mine.

She used them to stand at the shoreline, the water washing up over her still-bare feet, the anemic light of morning a thin scrim over the horizon.

The guards up by the barracks kept a wary eye on her but didn’t say anything.

She was almost certain they had orders to keep her alive, but as long as she didn’t walk into the sea, they’d leave her alone.

So she had to find a piece of the Fount, then get to the Golden Mount.

At least one of those things seemed slightly doable, now that Dani was her ally.

The closest thing she had to one, anyway, and that connection was nearly as anemic as the sunlight.

It didn’t sound like they had the same end goal—hells, it sounded like Dani’s end goal was the annihilation of everything—but Lore could use her.

If Dani truly had a way to get off this island, a way to find the Golden Mount, Lore would play along with her nihilism.

You have more patience than I , Nyxara said in response to the thought.

Lore ignored that. You wouldn’t happen to know where the shard of the Fount is, would You?

The goddess paused. I know it’s somewhere on the Isles. But I don’t remember which one I hid it on.

You hid it? Lore supposed that shouldn’t be a surprise.

During the Godsfall , Nyxara said. When I had… had a moment.

And You didn’t think that was something You should tell me?

One piece of the Fount is useless. It cannot hold the whole of Its power again unless all of them are found. I didn’t want to give you false hope.

As if that wasn’t the only kind Lore had.

The sun was starting to rise, a weak glow filtering through the ash.

Without its constant cover, the heat would have been punishing.

You’ve been quiet lately , Lore said, hurrying before the full light of day pushed the goddess too far back in her head to speak.

This is the most I’ve heard from You in days.

I’ve tried to speak to you. Nyxara already sounded distant. It’s… harder, lately.

What is that supposed to mean? But Nyxara was already gone, hunched into the darkness behind her thoughts.

“I know You can still hear me,” she said grumpily, but she didn’t try to further engage her parasitic goddess.

Lore rubbed at her tired eyes. Then she turned and walked up the beach, grabbing her boots from the cave before heading to where a queue of prisoners already gathered, waiting to choose their pickaxes for the day.

She pulled the cloth from her pocket and started wrapping her preemptively stinging palms.

“No need for that.” A familiar slender figure appeared at her side, almost as if she’d conjured herself out of the fog. Dani, pulling the cloth from Lore’s hands. “You aren’t mining today.”

“How do you figure?” Lore snatched her bandages back. “We work or we get beaten.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “We’re still working, Your Majesty.” She gripped Lore’s arm and steered her away from the crowd. “But we’re working in the lighthouse.”