Though at first, nobody believed him. They had no reason to; he was just a disgraced minister who hadn’t even reached the rank of Aralagio yet, an angry zealot wearing silver robes and drawing pictures of the sun. So instead of aiming big, he started small. He proselytized in the poorest parts of the city, targeting those the clergy had neglected and winning them over with the promise of shelter, food, and wine. It took years for his sigil to work its way out of the slums, but once it did, hundreds of sacred stars suddenly began to appear around Sarotuza. On walls, on shopfronts, on pamphlets that preached his message and bore his likeness, saint-like portraits that always depicted him with a kind smile and a gold-lit crown. A cult, the Church had called his congregation, even as it continued to turn a blind eye.
Right up until the day it couldn’t anymore, when he commandeered one of their own houses.
There was no more ignoring him after that.
Then once he started bleeding Shades, the Council took notice, too; they set every guild to the task of tracking the Meridian down.
That was six months and ten dead Shades ago, and still, no one has been able to get within striking distance of that man.
Until today.
It takes a long minute for the blood to stop pounding in my ears, for my breaths to slow their gasp and my heart to find a steady rhythm.
“You can let go of me now.” The moment I realize Ezzo’s arm is still wrapped around my waist, I push away from him, cursing the iron that’s keeping us connected, how it’s constantly finding new ways to force him into my space. “They’re gone.”
“Any idea whotheywere?” The heat of his body—of the In-Between he’s casting—instantly disappears. “Because not a word of that made any sense to me.”
“Yes, actually.” Even if I can’t quite believe it. “That was the Divine Meridian. Head of the fringe group that broke with the Church.”
“Wait—the man leading the Shade-killing cult is aShade?” Ezzo’s brows disappear into his hairline. “And you didn’t think to mention that?”
“I didn’t think to mention it because he’snota Shade.” The idea is downright ludicrous. “The Divine Meridian is obviously a—”Typic, I almost say, before the truth of the matter catches up to me.
The Divine Meridian can’t be a typic.
We just witnessed, first-hand, what the shadows do to typics, and even then, the protracted display we saw should have been impossible. That girl should have shattered the second she was phased into the Gray, not a bell and a half later, and no amount of cryptic ramblings about street urchins and tributes can change that. We’re right back to: this doesn’t make any sense.
“Hue is far more likely than Shade,” I say instead, recalibrating my thinking. “It would explain his vendetta against the Council and the Church.”
“But it wouldn’t explain why he’d risk drawing so much attention to himself.” Ezzo’s tone is dismissive. “When your whole life is illegal, that’s not something you do.”
“Maybe it’s not somethingyoudo.” I reject his lack of imagination. “But you have to admit it’s smart, hiding in plain sight.” Hells, by sheer virtue of aligning himself with the Gods, the Meridian
ensured that everyone would leap to the same conclusion I did, assume thattypicis the only thing he could be. “You know what—why are we even arguing about this? Just use your gift.” I kick myself for getting sucked into this inane discussion.
“Fine, I will.” Ezzo blinks into the magic, though the heat pinking his ears suggests that he, too, forgot that was an option. Clearly, the shock of discovery is making us both a bit dim.
“Well?” I prompt when the whites of his eyes begin to clear. “Is he a Hue or a Shade?”
“Neither.” The word is an exhale, a breath laden with disbelief.
“What do you mean,neither?” How in the name of all three Gods isneithereven an option here?
“I mean, the woman he was with was a Hue; I could see her trail clear as day. Emerald, perfectly solid, exactly the kind of signature I expect. But his was more like . . . an absence. Not like he’s masking his presence—I wouldn’t have seen anything if that were the case—but more like the shadows are ending around him. Like he’s swallowing them up.”
“Okay . . . so then what does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” Ezzo drags a hand through his hair, sounding every bit as confused as I feel.
“How could younotknow?”
“Because being a Hue doesn’t come with instructions, Raya.” He throws both arms up in the air, almost jerking me off my feet. “We don’t live the same charmed life as you do, okay? We don’t go to a fancy academy or learn to cast from a who’s who of professors or a sprawling archive of books. My own mother couldn’t teach me the ins and out of my power because your Council has spent four hundred years suppressing any and all information about our gifts. So, I’m sorry if you don’t like my answer, but it’s the only fucking answer I can give.” His anger is hot and righteous, a flame that kindles both my embarrassment and my cheeks. I’ve never spared a thought forhow his kind learn to use their magics; only for how their existence might one day come to threaten me, my magic, if their numbers weren’t kept in check.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I say, and it isn’t a lie. “But the woman with him—the Hue—you said her trail was visible?”
“Yeah.” He deflates like a pricked balloon, as though a fleeting flare of temper was all he had in him. “Why?”
Because I’m starting to understand why the future sent me to find him at the Golden Stag tavern, and why it helped us escape together, and why it’s choosing to only answer my questions when they somehow involve him. Because—judging by the conversation we just overheard—the appalling horror that played out in this house is about to cycle and repeat. And I’m pretty sure the future wants us to stop that from happening.
