Page 23 of The Veil of Hollow Gods

The sheets are softer than they have any right to be, but no amount of comfort dulls the restlessness buzzing in my chest. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, damp with the memory of too many bodies in one room.

At least it’s over.

Though I’m certain there are plenty of other banquets and balls to come, this one, at least, is behind me.

Tyr’s voice loops in my mind, sharp and unrelenting. And is that all it takes for you? A polite invitation?

I shift, turning my face into the pillow as though I can smother the weight of his words. What did he expect me to say? To do? His anger was so sharp, so sudden, it left a mark.

No, a hollow.

Deep below the surface where his words liked to settle, it carved a den for something darker to bloom.

Something I can’t name but can feel growing, spreading like shadows and lace beneath my skin.

On cue, the shadows in the corners of the room flicker, quiet but alive, and I wonder if they carry his rage, if they’ll linger longer now .

He says they don’t do his bidding, but they must. He’s the king of this place.

After some time, the room quiets, the shadows still, and for once, I let myself drift. The moment I decide to sleep, it thankfully takes me. A rare mercy, unburdened by the usual fits and starts that haunt my nights.

When I wake, the light filtering through the high, slanted windows is muted, soft. The air hums faintly with aethermagic, but the room is empty. No Sinea. No stupid green bird on the sill either.

Good. She’d have plenty to answer for, and not just for the dress.

I slide out of bed, toes brushing the lush fur carpet as I cross to the wardrobe. The aetherglass embedded in the panels gleams faintly, catching the muted light. Sinea said it would respond to me—to my touch.

If she’s lying, I’ll find out soon enough.

Placing my hand against the cool surface, I close my eyes and picture it: the blackened stone of the obsidian bathing chamber, the air damp with heat, the faint sound of water swirling.

A hum. A faint shift beneath my fingertips. When I open my eyes, the wardrobe is open. Beyond its door lay not my clothes, not the back of the closet but the smooth, endless expanse of polished black stone. The bathing chamber.

Guess Sinea isn’t made entirely of lies.

I disrobe and sink into the swirling, tepid depths.

The lights seem distant today, skating along the domed ceiling, well away from where they usually congregate around me. The shadows, too, are oddly distant, sticking like dripping honey to only one corner of the chamber .

The shadows do no bidding of mine. I’m merely their steward.

I detected no lie when the Shadow King himself said it. Still, what else could they be if not an extension of his will or power?

I let my thoughts drift where they may as the ebb of jets and colorful swirling soaps take care of my body. But my thoughts always circle back to what I should be doing.

"I need a plan," I murmur to myself.

If Sinea is bent on sabotaging me, Ashera is my next best option. But I can’t rely solely on her, especially when she sees me as a competitor.

I need allies.

I need to get to know the other potentials.

"Ah, good. You’re already bathed."

Sinea’s voice startles me, her silhouette stark in the wardrobe doorway.

"Hurry up and get dried off. From here out, you’ll dine with the other potentials."

I stare at her, mouth agape.

"What’s that face for? I said hurry."

I close my mouth, clamping down the anger rolling through me, and slowly, deliberately, rise from the pool.

The towel on the ledge nearly leaps into my hand, and I dry off thoroughly.

Silent. Unreadable.

Sinea crosses her arms, exhaling sharply. "What don’t you understand about the words coming out of my mouth? Hurry."

I finally meet her wide eyes. She’s annoyed, impatient, but otherwise, she’s acting as though nothing happened. As if I don’t have every right to be furious with her .

"If you think you can simply come in here and order me about after you sabotaged my dress and humiliated me?—"

Sinea rolls her enormous eyes and tries to interrupt.

I don’t let her.

"If you think I trust anything you say after you’ve only ever given me half-truths and full-blown lies?—"

"Amara, listen?—"

"No!"

Her mouth snaps shut.

"You listen."

I step forward, taller, broader, pressing into her space. Her defiance flickers but doesn’t falter.

"You knew."

She blinks.

"You’re too shrewd, too calculating not to. You knew that first day—when I clutched those flimsy nightclothes against my body. You knew when I hesitated to get into the bathing pool. You knew I did not have a liberal mindset around nudity, and you still put me in that dress."

That dress.

"Regal, modest, beautiful, I thought—with all that fabric. But you—" I can hardly say it. "You did it intentionally."

I don’t let her feign ignorance. I make sure she knows I see her.

"You knew my weakness, and you played into it. You put me in a transparent gown."

Her jaw tightens. A vein in her forehead pulses. Then, Sinea shakes her head, stepping back, but her gaze does not waver.

"You’re right," she says, calm and unwavering. "I absolutely did. And you know what, Amara?"

She stares at me, golden gaze hard as metal .

"I’d do it again."

I’ve never slapped anyone before—save one stupid pig of a boy who kept poking fun at Vella one summer. But striking Sinea across her angular, smug face feels just as justified.

A red mark instantly appears on her cheek, but she doesn’t coddle it. She just points a delicate finger at my nose.

"Everything I did was make sure you positioned yourself well."

"Right. Serving me up like some sacrifice of flesh to the god-kings of the continent was in my best interest."

Her face pulls taut, stony.

"You think Ashera would have noticed you if it weren’t for that dress?"

I don’t know.

"Now you’re aligned with her. And you don’t have to worry about any lesser potential coming for you in the middle of the night."

I stare at her. That’s…a possibility?

"The dress was a gift, stupid girl. And you wielded it as well as I hoped you would."

No.

"Why didn’t you just tell me?"

Sinea scoffs. "You’re smarter than that, Amara."

"This wasn’t revenge?"

She rolls her eyes. "For what?"

"For making you look bad at the banquet."

"Making me look bad? No! Priestess, you still don’t understand the game we’re playing, do you?"

And she’s ignited my anger once more. "Well, maybe I would if you’d tell me! "

She shakes her head, exasperated. "How can you be so blind to a game you’re already playing so well?"

"I’m not playing games, Sinea. Not with you. Not with Ashera. Not even with Tyr, despite his insistence on doing so. I just want to survive this."

She stares at me. Then her eyes widen.

“You refer to him by his first name?”

I shrug. "Tarenvyn is unwieldy."

She watches me for several beats before ushering us back into the bedchamber. "The goal of the Trials is to find the Maiden."

"I’m aware," I say as she helps me into the lace dress.

"Are you?" Sinea snaps as she tightens ties and laces.

"The Trials and all the events surrounding them are meant as a proving ground. You’re meant to change and bend and maybe even break to become the Maiden.

But you must do so willingly, confronting every fear, every ill-honed instinct, every flaw. "

It’s the most Sinea’s ever said on the matter, yet I’m not sure I follow her.

The dining hall hums, but too softly. Not the relaxed murmur of a shared meal, but something thinner, more fragile. Like no one quite trusts their voice to rise too high.

The air smells too rich, like winter spices I only half remember—when Father could still trade for them. It’s thick enough to choke on.

A luxury meant to soothe, to comfort.

But it clings. Like oil on the tongue, like something that won’t let go.

No guards. No wardens. Only potentials .

I slip the lace from my face.

No one notices. Good. I scan the room as I move, mapping out the silent hierarchy. Each vestige with their own table, their own invisible barriers. The three I saw in the bathing chamber whisper among themselves, glancing up only once before huddling closer.

That’s where I’m meant to sit.

I don’t.

And Ashera and Emile sit alone at their vestige’s table.

I could sit there.

I don’t.

There are other potentials whose names and faces I don’t know, who I should aim to make alliances with.

Instead, I cross the room and take the chair across from Sevigny.

She picks at her plate, pallor greenish under the chandeliers’ glow. She doesn’t acknowledge me as I sit, but when she lifts her head?—

"You’re not supposed to sit here." She barely gets the words out before swallowing hard, the gag creeping up the back of her throat.

"You need to eat lighter foods."

She glares at the pale custard on her plate. "But it all looks so delicious. I just want to enjoy it."

I tap the aetherglass in the center of the table, thinking of the simplest meal possible. Bread. Hard cheese. Clear broth. The air shifts, and two plates appear.

"Here." I slide one toward her. "We’re not used to the richness. Eat like this until your stomach adjusts."

She takes one look at the plain broth and stiff bread and turns an even deeper shade of unwell.

"If I have to choke down another?—"

I press my hand to her forearm. "I know. Another cruelty. But trust me, it will get better."

She scoffs. "How do you know? You’ve been here just as long as I have."

I nod. "You’re right. I don’t. But the Shadow King told me so himself." A pause. "And I believe him."

I shouldn’t.

I should trust nothing he says. Not his promises, not his demands. Not even the way my body reacts to him.

Least of all that.

"Go on. Try the broth." I take a spoonful myself. Bland, unseasoned, but warm. Filling.

Sev sips hesitantly, testing the temperature before taking another, larger mouthful. Slowly, the tightness in her shoulders release. She exhales, drinks more.

"Why didn’t my attendant tell me?"