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P haedra was absolutely certain that both the high priestess and the avatar were full of shit.

The princess’ blood boiled as she watched that boot-licking temple rat play the hero for Aurora, putting his hands all over her with unearned familiarity, whispering in her ear. He’d come riding up on a white steed, its curling horns glowing like mother-of-pearl, as he gifted them all with a smile on his pretty face. Lies, all of it. He had no right to hold Aurora as closely as he did, no matter that they were sharing a saddle. A good friend would have his hands cut off for the offence. It would be but a trifling matter. She’d ordered worse punishments for lesser crimes, after all.

Did they think Phaedra would just allow the temples to use Aurora in this way? Every last word that came from Orithyia’s mouth was to be viewed with suspicion. The old hag was a leech plaguing the imperial family, whispering in the empress’ ear since she was a girl, directing matters of state through her bloody signs and omens. She had her fingers in every pot.

Aurora was too indebted to the old hag to see that she placed people like pawns, as deliberately and cannily as an empress might. Now that the cycle of calamity was upon them, Orithyia was placing Aurora on the front lines, along with the supposed hero, no doubt three steps ahead of them all.

Phaedra eyed him, taking his measure. He was Aurora’s type, and, if she were being honest, hers as well—at least when it came to men. Neither short nor hulking, striking features, an excellent smile and an air of confidence typical of those who had trained their whole lives in some martial skill.

Was it any wonder she suspected him? What better way to entice a woman to her death than to place a pretty face in her way to lure her? Because there was something Phaedra was absolutely certain of: Aurora was no warrior. Anyone who expected her to fight as one had only one true aim—to use her without a care for her wellbeing, or to kill her.

So was Aurora truly meant to save Trisia, or was she supposed to bait Drakon out of hiding so that someone else could? Had she been told of her vital importance, and then given the cruellest of false hopes, in order to keep her compliant until the moment of betrayal? Phaedra would be thrice-damned before she allowed anyone to harm her dearest friend, no matter if the whole of Trisia was at stake. What good was being a princess if she could not protect who was most important?

But perhaps she could help Aurora see this ruse for what it was. If she helped her friend truly question this madness, perhaps she would be less willing to do as she’d been told. Phaedra knew nothing of Aurora’s supposed role in the cycle, but the boot-licker probably did. If she poked holes in his stories, would Aurora be convinced to let this hero do his job without sacrificing herself?

There was only one way to find out.

Phaedra urged her loper to meet their pace, digging her heels into its sides and slapping the reins attached to its horns. It raced across the hard-packed sand of the Aurean desert as the night stole the last rays of deepest dusk. Luckily, both beast and rider had excellent night vision, the full moon throwing pale blue light across the rocks and cacti. Her sturdy walnut met the frantic pace of the graceful white.

“What exactly is your battle plan?”

Silvanus barely spared her a glance.

“That will depend on Aurora’s magic.”

“What have the others in Aurora’s place used as their magic?”

“I’m curious about that too,” Aurora said.

“I wasn’t informed of that.”

“Oh.” Aurora’s face fell.

“I apologise. We’ll send a messenger to the temple to contact the High Priestess on your behalf. If anyone knows something about it, she will,” Silvanus offered.

“Do you have a plan for what to do if the beast catches us before she has magic she can use?” Phaedra pressed him, refusing to let him play the saviour for long.

“Run.”

Aurora seemed as surprised as Phaedra to hear it.

“So you don’t actually have a plan!” Phaedra accused him. Success.

“The plan is to safely escort Aurora to the wellsprings in Aureum, Gilvus, Roseum and Niveum to awaken her magic,” Silvanus replied.

“And the holy sword?” Phaedra gazed at it tellingly.

“What about it?” He raised a pale brow.

“Isn’t the sword supposed to seal Drakon? Isn’t that why they call you a hero even though you haven’t done anything?” she taunted him. Perhaps if she could show he was both incompetent and emotional, Aurora would see this for the farce it was.

“The sword is one piece of that, not the whole of it,” he replied calmly.

She hated him for that false bravado.

“Apparently it’s the smallest piece too, if you don’t even have a plan to defeat Drakon without Aurora!”

Men always took the bait when their honour was at stake. Whether they admitted it not, shame ruled every single one of them. It was simply a matter of finding the right pressure point. Silvanus was putting on a good show, but he would crack eventually.

Except he ignored her outburst. It only made her angrier. None of these temple rats had any idea what to do. Scrabbling around in the dark, putting all their faith in omens and legends instead of sense. Their entire grand design seemed to be throwing Aurora at Drakon and praying. Useless, weak, short-sighted fools. They’d already bungled this cycle of chaos, their initiates running around from outbreak to outbreak, a day late and a step behind, no one organizing a proper response to the rise of monstrosities. Her own mother had been little better, allowing people on the periphery to remain in their unprotected, isolated settlements instead of demanding they evacuate to safer towns with temples where they could shelter during outbreaks of monstrosities.

“Just admit it! You don’t have a plan! You’re placing everything on Aurora’s shoulders and you don’t even have the decency to say it!”

Aurora looked up at the bastard as if pleading with him to deny it. For her, his mien was soft, comforting. But when he turned his gaze to Phaedra? She detected the barest hint of a glare in his cold blue eyes, the merest tightening of his hands on the loper’s reins.

“Much rests on her, but she won’t do any of it alone.”

Aurora’s worry eased a fraction, her shoulders loosening, the fear in her gaze lessening ever so slightly. Whoever this was, he knew well how to charm a woman. All the more reason to crush him underfoot.

“Save the horseshit, avatar. If you or any of the high priestesses want Aurora to survive what you have planned, then you’d have brought a whole damned army with you, not a handful of glorified gladiators and a single fucking sword.”

“A smaller group moves faster, Princess.”

“And a more organised one is safer.”

“You’re welcome to organize that fighting force, Princess. In fact, I hope you do. In the meantime, we make haste and reach the wellsprings while we know where they are.” Silvanus pushed his loper to outpace hers as Phaedra swore under her breath.

She was welcome to organize the fighting force?! Triad’s tits, she should strangle him for that alone. She’d spent months trying to force the sclerotic temples into organizing a larger fighting force, into training more martial initiates not just of Justice but of Knowledge and Passion too. There was no reason anyone with divine magic should not be fighting at this very moment, with the safety of Trisia at stake. But of course, the temples were resistant to change and moved at a snail’s pace. Their excuses were always the same, and they always made her blood boil—that it had been this way for longer than anyone alive remembered, and things had always worked out. If Phaedra had been the crown princess, instead of the fifth spare, maybe they would have listened.

The man was a brick wall—just like his temple. She hoped she’d given Aurora something to think about though. It was clear they cared nothing for her safety, their supposed saviour. Phaedra swore she would get to the bottom of their ruse one way or another. She slowed her loper. Once she was next to one of her imperial guards, she tilted her head, motioning for him to break away from the main group. Who knew where the loyalties of the ‘hero’ or the paladins truly lay? They may wear her colours, but they showed no respect, no deference.

“Your Highness?” he asked as they broke off from the main group.

“Once you can relay a message to Boreas, contact my spies. I need to know what Orithyia knows about Drakon’s fated prey and the hero. How Drakon was defeated in the past, what became of the heroes who sealed him away— everything . I don’t like any of this.”

Sure, there were legends and myths, but all of those were missing key details and embellished for the sake of plays and songs. She needed facts—quickly.

“It will be done,” he assured her.

Whatever it took, Phaedra would protect Aurora. If that meant toppling temple lies and a certain high priestess, all the better.

She held onto that anger through the hours of gruelling riding that followed, her wild magic whipping up the desert sands as the night dragged on. By the time the sadistic, holy sword-wielding task master allowed their ragged party to rest, Phaedra didn’t know who looked worse—the poor lopers, or their saddle-sore riders. Aurora nearly collapsed the moment her feet hit the ground. Once the much-reduced imperial tent had been pitched, Phaedra led Aurora inside, her friend’s legs shaking the whole time. One of the guards helped her eat and wash up, her lids heavy and face pale. The second her head hit the ground and a blanket pulled atop her, Aurora fell asleep between one breath and the next. But while her friend slipped into oblivion, the princess’ anger reached a fever pitch.

How dare that bastard pretend he didn’t know the answers to her questions. No one stonewalled a princess of Viridis. He had to be a fool a hundred times over not to even inquire about the heroes of the past. He’d travelled with Orithyia from Boreas, and never once had the thought crossed his mind? Lies. It was time to get some real answers.

Phaedra gently extricated herself from Aurora’s side, waiting until the sounds of the camps dimmed, the soft snorts of lopers and the snores of the guards and paladins competed with the crackle of the fire. She palmed the knife in her boot and crept out of the tent. The knife was just for show though. If she shed even a drop of his blood, Justice would punish her for it. But the avatar didn’t need to know that. All he needed to know was that she was serious—enough that she would court a goddess’ wrath. Soft as a whisper, Phaedra made her way to the false hero’s tent. She’d partaken in many a midnight rendezvous, enough to know how to open the tent flap without a sound. But whatever else he might be, this man was a warrior. She would have to pin him before he woke.

“You’re not my type,” he said lazily, his eyes never opening as he turned away from her.

Her jolt of surprise was quickly replaced by fury.

“No, because your type is impressionable and imperilled, isn’t it Sir Hero?” she hissed.

“Your words, not mine.”

Goddesses, this man was infuriating.

“I came for answers. If you’d like to be anyone’s type in future, you’ll give me the truth.”

He sighed and turned onto his back, looking at her with a baleful glare.

“Go to bed, Your Highness. Sunrise isn’t that far off.”

This.

Fucking.

Asshole.

Phaedra lunged at him then, blade in hand. But he was ready for her. Throwing his blanket at her, he moved with lightning speed. She barely managed to get one arm and her blade free before he trapped the rest of her body under his weight, wrapped and tangled by some filthy rag of a blanket. He reached over her, grabbing her wrist with calloused fingers, and pinched until her hand went numb and the blade fell from her grasp. He swatted it away.

“If I have to tie and gag you to get some sleep, I will, Your Highness. The choice is yours.”

Phaedra fought his hold, bucking wildly, but it was no use.

“Get off of me, you wretch!”

“Bound and gagged it is.”

She’d sooner allow herself to be torn apart by feral dogs. As he moved to carry out his threat, she reached for her wild magic. Woe to any who thought the air was the weakest element. She turned her head to see him better, and unleashed it. His eyes went wide, a hand at his throat. She threw him off her then, fighting her way out of his hold as he tried and failed to suck in a single breath. Retreating to the corner, blade in hand, she raised her chin as he doubled over. Point made, she pulled her magic back. And since she’d not spilled a drop of his blood, his goddess had no recourse to punish her.

He gasped, gulping in precious air, eyes watering. There. That’s who he was. His glare of hatred was fully unmasked now. No more impolite brush-offs or evading. Phaedra smiled in triumph.

“What happens to the heroes of the cycle of calamity?”

“I don’t know,” he wheezed.

“Lies.”

She stole his breath again, throwing up a barrier of wind when he lunged at her. She picked dirt from under her nails while he struggled. Once he was suitably exhausted by his vain efforts, she eased off.

“Do you really expect me to believe you travelled with Orithyia for what, ten days, and never once asked her? Do you have no interest in your future?”

“My fate is in the hands of the divine Triad.”

“That’s not good enough.” She narrowed her eyes.

He chuckled darkly.

“Do you think I chose this, Your Highness? Do you think I had a say when a goddess named me Her champion? Don’t be such a thrice-damned fool!”

“I couldn’t care less what happens to you. Tell me what you know of Aurora’s fate, and the fate of those who came before her.”

“Only the High Priestess would know that.”

“Don’t insult me by implying you didn’t ask her about it.”

He rubbed a hand over his pretty face.

“I asked her about Aurora, her history, her personality, her martial capabilities or lack thereof. I asked about how to keep her morale up, about how best to protect her from Drakon, about all the ways in which that monster would try to harm her. I didn’t ask about her future because I knew if we failed, then no one had a future.”

“Then how do you explain knowing about her needing magic, hmm? The specifics of the past never once came up?”

“All I know is that whatever magic she awakens will be the one that will help us seal Drakon. It has always been thus.”

He was just as bad as all the temple vermin who’d refused to embrace even the merest hint of change. They would all rather stick their heads in the sand than face the reality of their ignorance and inaction. Why must they be allowed such free reign to blunder across the face of her empire when lives were at stake? When Aurora’s life was at stake?

“Which is as good as saying you know less than my fucking loper!” she hissed. He wasn’t taking this seriously. None of the temple idiots ever did. Not unless it had something to do with their rites and rituals. Fae stood, raising her chin. She would make them take her seriously. “I swear on all the gods, tangible and intangible, that if you and the High Priestess plan to sacrifice Aurora to save yourselves, I will not rest until I’ve obliterated your very souls.”

His eyes widened a fraction at her oath. She meant every word of it. Aurora had kept her sane, and given her a reason to laugh and hope and fight for a better Trisia. Without her, Phaedra would have become just another callous, ignorant, spoiled princess. If their incompetence or cowardice took Aurora from her, she would give in to every cruel, violent impulse she possessed—become a thrice-damned heretic if that’s what it would take to destroy them. And she would start with this fucking idiot of an avatar.

The temple rat shook his head and sighed.

“If Drakon prevails, then it won’t matter.”

Phaedra held back the urge to spit at him. Barely. She doubted she’d get more from him this eve. Best to wait to confront him with the intelligence her spies would dig up.

“And another thing—stop fawning all over Aurora. Don’t touch her. Don’t flirt with her. Save your deceitful charms for someone else. Aurora is too good for you, and she always will be.”

He quirked a brow.

“Are we trading in unsolicited advice, Your Highness? Then maybe you should focus on Aurora and how she feels, rather than forcing her to deal with your tantrums on top of everything else.”

Phaedra gasped in outrage.

“How dare you?!”

“How dare I? You came into my tent to attack me when my divine mission is to save Trisia!”

“In my experience, the worst enemies are born in the guise of allies. And I’m not fool enough to trust some temple rat with a fancy sword to have Aurora’s best interests at heart.”

The bastard snatched his blanket back and settled in once more, ignoring her.

“Good night, Your Highness.”

The gall of this nobody. The moment his divine mission was over, he’d no longer be an avatar. And if Aurora had so much as a scratch on her in the end, he’d pay in blood.

“When this is over, if Drakon hasn’t killed you, then I will .”

“You’ll be welcome to try.”

Phaedra exited his tent in a huff. That smug temple rat. She’d make him lick her filthiest boots before the end. And worse.

As she slipped back into her own tent and beside Aurora, his insidious remark rattled around in her head. Was she really not being the friend Aurora needed? No, that was just him trying to get under her skin. He’d found her weak spot and injected his poison.

True friends protected each other. What could he ever know about their friendship, aside from what that half-blind bitch Orithyia told him? Aurora had protected Phaedra’s heart all these years and had been her solace and her sanctuary. There was no more loyal friend than Aurora. True to her name, she was the promise of light in the darkness. She deserved to shine as bright as the dawn, to smile and laugh and love. Now, when Aurora needed to be protected from the whims of fate and scheming temple dogs, Phaedra would be her sword and shield. In her darkest hour, Phaedra would be her light.

It was some time before she could shake off his words, despite her exhaustion. Eventually, her anger cooled enough for sleep to come.

Until Aurora woke with a panicked gasp.