CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
GHOA
HER BLOOD IS A BAND OF SILVER STARS CASCADING DOWNher breast.
I don’t know why my eyes cling to this detail—why the color of the Lady’s blood is the one thing my brain refuses to accept when everything about this situation is impossible—but that silver glitter trickling through the velvety-blue is what breaks me.
I lie there, trembling with fury and disbelief, with outrage and devastation. I did everything I could have, made decisions and sacrifices I never would have. I tried to bury my pride and anger. Attempted to forgive and progress, and for what? To watch the goddess welcome death? If She’s truly omnipotent and all-powerful, She should have known this was coming, but She didn’t even move. Didn’t lift a hand to defend Herself!
It feels like a knee to the gut. A thankless dismissal of our efforts—of Ivandar’s sacrifice.
The pearly blue sky darkens, as if doused by a bucket of indigo paint. It bleeds down from the clouds as the Lady of the Sky sinks to Her knees. Coughing and gasping. Looking so much like my mother and Shoshanna, I vomit.
Father Guzan’s cry booms like thunder. Rivers of tears as wide as the Amereti pour from His earth-brown eyes. As He falls to His knees beside the Lady, the entire mountain shakes. Everything crumbles, from the boulders to the chairs to the tiles. But the most devastating fracture is inside me. It feels like someone has thrust a dagger into my heel, then strung me up like a slaughtered pig to let my blood and life—andpower—drain out.
The moment we crossed into this realm, I could no longer access my power but I could still feel it there, nestled within me. Now the cold rushes from my body like blood from a battle wound, leaving me so hollow, I wonder if my organs were made of ice. If there’s ever been part of me that wasn’t hard and cold.
The only good to come from this sudden drainage is that the last of Serik’s heat leaves me too. Relief drips across my ash-and-ember skin like rain across a dry riverbed.
Across the parlor, Enebish screams in Serik’s arms.
Kartok retrieves the other sword Serik knocked from his hands and darts toward the gods, baying with triumph.
And a small, venomous voice whispers in my ear.
Did you honestly think this would end any other way? You were a fool to let faith and hope infect you. A fool to think of anyone or anything other than yourself.
It’s the firm, unflinching voice I’ve always listened to. The mantras and mentality that kept me strong—made my armor impenetrable.
Only now, that armor is so riddled with holes, it hangs in dented pieces from my chest. Part of me wants to yield. Why continue fighting for a goddess who didn’t even fight for herself? But the stubborn warrior within me marches on. Refuses to accept defeat. Thiscan’tbe the result of everything I’ve suffered, of all I’ve given.
Of allwe’vegiven.
I’m far from the only person who’s made a sacrifice. Who’s confronted their fears and questioned their beliefs. Who’s opened up their ears and allowed themselves to hear the strains of a beautiful song they had all but forgotten.
Now that melody plays loudly, building into a crescendo as I rise up from the ground. Drowning out the voices of fear and reproach. Refusing to be silenced now that I’m finally listening.
I may not know these gods, and I may not be worthy of Their grace, but I am not beneath Their notice. There’s a reason I was taken captive into Zemya. A reason Ivandar and I found Enebish and the rebels. A reason I didn’t betray them to the imperial warriors or turn my back on them when I had the opportunity. Every step has been too deliberate to be coincidental. Someone who knows far more than we do has been mapping our course. And She didn’t lead us here to fail.
I break into a run.
Without a plan.
Without a Kalima power.
With nothing but hope burning in my chest—cleansing and enlivening instead of scorching and ruinous.
Enebish and Serik sprint toward the Lady and Father too, but I’m faster. I always have been.
Kartok is nearly to the veranda where the Lady of the Sky lies.
The Father stands and moves in front of Her.
My lungs beg for air. My legs feel like they’re tearing from my body, churning faster than they ever have. But still not fast enough to wedge myself between Kartok and the gods. Not that it would do any good. I don’t have a weapon or a Kalima power. The sorcerer would cut me down like chaff and finish the gods anyway.
Like the magic-barren warriors you sent to the front.
Perhaps this is justice coming full circle. Punishment for sentencing so many untrained warriors to certain death. Or perhaps those magic-barren warriors are the answer. An example of dedication and bravery I was too proud to acknowledge. Throwing themselves at the enemy with no prayer of glory or hope for survival but leaping anyway. Giving their lives so that the people they love might live.
