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BELORME

“We shall destroy her!”

“Make way for the gods of mortals!”

“Revere the great goddess, Nyx! Revere Boreas, Helios, and Iris!”

“We come with a rage!”

Belorme clutched the wall, his hand pressed over his heart.

He lifted his gaze to the chandelier in the atrium where it rattled as a magnificent wind tore through.

The guards shrieked as windows smashed and curtains ruffled behind them.

Coldness brushed past every soul, causing servants to drop their trays and nobles to fall to their knees as though trying to duck from something swooping overhead.

The lights flickered. Lanterns went dark.

“The Celestial Divinities are angry!” someone shouted over the atrium. “We have committed a great sin!”

Those in earshot crumpled to their knees to beg the stars for mercy. The entire palace filled with the chaotic sounds of pleading and shouts. People pulled mourning satchels from their belts and sprinkled ashes over their heads as they wailed.

Belorme turned and marched from the atrium. Anger coursed through his veins as his mind spun, as he plotted. Who would dare stand against him? Who might have the audacity to send the gods into turmoil under his rule?

He swept into the Celestial Divinities temple, but he stopped short when he found someone already there. Belorme studied the sage uniform. The man’s long hood turned, and in the dimness of it, he saw Damon.

“What’s happened?” Belorme asked his apprentice.

Damon didn’t answer, and it was only then Belorme noticed the sword in his hand. Drawn.

“Kill the failure,” the voices urged.

Belorme released a sound from the back of his throat. Were the gods angry because Damon had failed to be caught scandalously with Estheryn Electus? Because the sage failed to get her executed? No, Belorme could not kill Damon over that.

“Kill him now.”

Belorme tilted his head, listening carefully. Damon took a slow step toward him, and it was then Belorme realized the voices were not speaking to him.

He slid a step back. “How have I failed?” Belorme demanded of the gods. “I have followed every sacred order of the heavens.”

Damon finally opened his mouth to speak, but the words came out strangely. Darkly. “You cannot control the King. And now a follower of the God Original has infiltrated the palace and done an unspeakable thing,” he seethed. “An Adriel walks among us. A powerful one.”

Belorme was sure Damon was delusional. Belorme had carefully watched every soul who’d gone in and out of the palace for years.

The only Adriel was that crazy High Priestess he’d managed to silence long ago.

And Adriels only became powerful when their eyes were opened to the truth—no one knew the truth.

“The gods must restore order. Starting with you. You have failed the Divinities,” Damon said to Belorme.

The blade came swiftly, and Belorme gasped, a thousand thoughts rushing into his mind all at once. His blood ran hot from the puncture in his stomach, soaking the temple floor. Damon retracted his blade, and Belorme fell there, lying beneath the statues of his gods as they watched.

“Save me,” he begged the Celestial Divinities. “Save your servant!” But his pleas became too difficult to utter as his mortal life slipped away.

His eyes closed, his face pressed against the ice-cold floor, and his mind went to a little boy he’d raised.

A boy who had tugged on his pant leg and asked him all sorts of questions which Belorme had answered with true love and laughter.

A boy who had been curious about everything, who had pointed to clouds in the sky and seen shapes among them.

A little boy who’d had a big smile once—before it was taken away.

A boy who had been asking Belorme for help for a long time. And Belorme had told him to go read by himself. Figure it out by himself. Belorme had told him to go be alone.

A tear broke loose from Belorme’s closed eyes. As he died, Belorme prayed one last time to the Celestial Divinities he had served. “Please…” His voice shuddered. “Please spare that boy…”

And the Divinities answered.

“No.”