Page 23

RYN

Tranquility rested upon the Abandoned Temple of the Adriel God.

The birds overhead sang in their softest voices as though they knew the power moving through this space was divine.

Ryn sat cross-legged in the shallow water with her eyes closed.

To anyone watching, she would have appeared to be meditating. But she was listening.

She’d arrived at the Abandoned Temple at first light, tired and ready to fall asleep right there in the water after creeping from the King’s quarters before he woke, bringing the harp with her and returning it to its decorative pedestal in the hallway.

She hadn’t planned to study the King’s face before she left—lying there in absolute serenity; his cheek smooshed against his pillow, his mouth parted, his eyes closed, his black hair splayed.

But she’d wanted to see his dark lashes up close.

He didn’t look crazy as he slept. In fact, he didn’t actually look like a king at all.

Just a young man who’d found a moment’s peace.

She could have sworn that last night in his room, she’d caught him smiling at her.

Ryn’s eyes flashed open in the temple when she realized what she was thinking about.

Along with it came visions of how desperate the young King had looked when he’d begged her to keep playing music in the other temple, and after that when she went to his chambers, obeying the unspoken orders she wasn’t sure he even knew he’d given.

In that moment, she didn’t know what had come over her when she saw the desperation in his eyes.

It reminded her of a starving child in the street looking for a morsel of food and a warm place to sleep.

It was strange to see that in a king, of all people.

She wondered if King Xerxes had any idea he was in danger. That B’rei Mira had numbered his days. She pictured him sleeping again, his face relaxed upon his pillow. She imagined an assassin sneaking up on him that way and…

She shivered.

“Sorry,” Ryn whispered into the Abandoned Temple. She adjusted her legs and closed her eyes again. Then she said, “Why must I do this each morning though?”

“You’re like a Scarlet Star,” El whispered. His voice brushed along her mind, settling into her soul.

Ryn pictured the flower; the layered green stem, the deep red shoot at the top that made the blossom. It was only due to Kai’s flourishing garden that Ryn even knew what a Scarlet Star was.

“The cup in the flower’s bloom must always remain filled, or it will dry out and eventually die. It’s the same with you, Adassah.”

“I’m like a flower.” She made a face. “Warriors aren’t like flowers. They’re like smoke and fire and chaos.”

“And when a warrior goes to battle alone, he dies amidst his smoke and fire and chaos.”

Ryn’s mouth twisted to the side at that.

“I want to hurt people,” she admitted. She bit her lips. “I want to take the Weylins down. You said you had great power, so can’t I do that with your power in my hands?”

“You’re not fighting a battle of flesh and blood. It’s not people you’re after.”

Ryn sighed and folded her arms, struggling to keep her eyes closed.

She felt an itch on her back. “It sure seems like it’s people I’m after.

” She thought about the neighbour who brought the false charge against her mother.

She thought about all the other Adriels across the city in prisons for unjust reasons.

She thought about the rule that Adriels weren’t even allowed to set foot in the palace, simply because of their ‘tainted’ bloodline.

Yes, people were exactly who she was after.

“Just be still.”

Be. Still.

Easy.

Ryn disobeyed the instruction almost immediately—she reached around and clawed at the terrible itch on her back. “Sorry,” she said again. She returned her hands and clasped them together so she wouldn’t do it again.

“Your hands aren’t to blame. It’s your thoughts that must be still.”

Ryn peeked one eye open and studied the decaying statue that had once represented a god. She wondered if El really looked like that statue. She wondered if any mortal had actually seen the god face to face.

“El Tsebaoth,” she said one of his names.

When she spoke it, warm wind flittered through the temple, rippling over the waters and shaking the curtains of ivy spilling from the ceiling.

So, she said it again. “El Tsebaoth!” This time, she gasped as wind surged against her, brushing back her hair, spiralling into her stomach.

She huffed in disbelief.

“Do not use that name irresponsibly, Adassah.”

“Sorry.” Ryn bit down on a smile. All she was doing was apologizing, but she had fairly warned this god that she was not the ideal, devout, religious kind of person he should use, nor was she a warrior, nor was she the best candidate to summon godly power.

“When will I get to use that sword again?” she asked.

“That sword represents my spirit. It’s for fighting the darkness,” he said. “Not people.”

Ryn’s face soured.

“How far will you go for the Adriels?” El asked. “Will you go to the ends of the earth for your people?”

The expression fell from Ryn’s face. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Death was just a doorway, after all. Pain was just the consequence of carelessness.

“Will you lay down everything you have and follow me?” he asked.

“Yes.” She had nothing anyway.

“Will you learn how to love?”

“Y—” Ryn closed her mouth.

Love? What did love have to do with anything? She was going to be fighting against the gods, for goodness’ sake. Not throwing a tea party.

“You must learn to love even the most difficult people to love. Even your enemies.”

Ryn opened her eyes. She glared at that statue of El. “I knew this was a trap,” she said.

She climbed to her feet, sending a spray of droplets as she spun and stomped through the water toward the exit, wincing at the shooting pain in her side from her wound. She thought about offering a rude hand gesture to that statue on her way out.

She could have sworn she heard chuckling behind her as she left.

“Adassah.” Ryn was already in the hall when he spoke again. She slowed her steps, her toes squishing in her watery sandals. “Visit the First Temple in the city. Go see the priestesses.”

“Why?” she asked. Then she slammed her mouth shut and looked around to see if anyone might have heard her talking to herself.

“They need to be awakened. That’s where we’ll start.”

Ryn chewed her lip. She started walking again, around the turns, through the long halls, all the while imagining the trouble she’d be in for trying to sneak out of the palace to visit the ‘First Temple’—wherever that was.

Didn’t this god know she couldn’t waltz out of here whenever she wanted?

Didn’t he realize she had larger needs, that she didn’t even have clothes to wear?

Did he really not have insight into her situation?

She sighed as she headed around the last bend to her chambers.

An arrow spiralled past her face, and she screamed.

Ten feet ahead, a body flew out her bedroom door.

Heva marched out after him and raised her sword to stab.

Ryn shrieked and slammed her eyes closed, spinning away, but a shuffling sound filled her ears and she peeled her eyes back open.

She almost screamed again at a man in a black cloak before her, holding a curved blade inches from her throat.

Ryn staggered back a step until she noticed the other blade—the one coming out the man’s stomach.

The other blade retracted, and the black-cloaked man fell to the floor in a heap.

Xerxes stood behind, holding a silver sword. His navy coat was fastened, his hair was neat. But his eyes… His eyes went in and out of focus, not quite settling on what was before him, and his flesh had a slightly grey hue. He grabbed the side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Look out, Ryn!” Heva shouted.

Xerxes’s eyes flashed open again. He grabbed Ryn’s sleeve and yanked her toward him just as half a dozen Folke guards flooded the hall and wrestled the last man in black to the ground who, Ryn realized, had been inches away from sending a serrated blade into her back.

“Interrogate them,” Xerxes instructed the men. “Find out who sent them. I don’t care if it’s an esteemed duke or an Intelligentsia; imprison whoever paid these butchers to come here. Show no mercy.”

The Folke spoke all at once. “Yes, Your Majesty!”

Folke lifted the bleeding men and carried them off.

Trembling maids rushed in with cleaning soaps and cloths, trailed by a few wet sponges that flew into the hall on their own and began scrubbing at the mess.

Ryn pointed at one of the sponges, realizing her hands were shaking.

She forgot to speak or ask a question, and her arm dropped right back to her side.

The servants looked ready to vomit as they scrubbed up the blood. Ryn took a step toward them, her mind spinning with thoughts of helping, imagining she was in her house with Kai and there was a mess on the floor and… The vision of her house snapped away, and she glanced up at Heva.

Heva was gaping at the King, not moving a muscle even as the maids washed the floor around her feet. Ryn dragged her attention back to Xerxes, realizing he still gripped a fistful of her sleeve.

Xerxes’s gaze fell to it, and he dropped her arm immediately. Then he looked around at the mess for a moment, and he put his sword away.

Ryn didn’t know if she should dare to speak to him in front of others. If she should ask him why he was here. Her gaze flickered to two pale-faced servants behind him pushing carts of clothes and shoes.

He’d brought her clothes? Ryn brushed a hand over the tear in her white shirt where the bloodstain had turned brown. Her tights were drenched from sitting in the temple too. How did the King even know she needed clothes? And why, by the Divinities, would he deliver them himself?