Jamukha the Invincible, with his shock of scorched black hair—the only evidence that he was struck by seven bolts of lightning.
Zen the Devoted, with his hunched shoulders and gnarled hands clasped around his rope as if in prayer.
And Ciamar the Daring, with her confident smile and long gray braid, which waves behind her like a banner—so all the world could see when she leapt from her tower and into the arms of the Goddess.
I’ve dreamed of meeting these Goddess-touched warriors ever since I can remember. Eager to learn from them. To be strengthened by simply being in their presence. It’s the closest I ever hoped to come to the First Gods, and finally I’m here, standing before them. And they’re scowling at me.
Unlike them, I was unable to prove my devotion.
We failed the Lady of the Sky.
“We tried,” I cry. “So very, very hard. All I’ve ever wanted is to—”
“Don’t bother pleading your case to me, girl,” Ciamar interjects. “Judgment is reserved for the First Gods.”
“How do you expect us to follow Them?” I gesture to the palace they purposely raised off the ground.
“We don’t,” Jamukha says matter-of-factly.
I’m too upset to respond, so Serik asks, “Then what are we supposed to do?”
Zen points to the line of trees, which are quickly vanishing in the fading light. “Wait.”
And so we do.
We hunker beneath the trees with their gemstone leaves, and the longer we wait, the more they jangle and crash like shattering dishes. The darkness closes in too—an ominous, impenetrable shroud. It crushes me like a chest press, making it difficult to breathe.
“Now you finally know how the rest of us have always felt in your presence,” Serik teases as he slips an arm around my waist. He uses his other hand to light the tip of his finger like a candle, but the flame immediately sputters. With a grunt, he tries again. Weroneka and the other Sun Stokers attempt to summon light as well, but none succeed because they’re all missing the base element.
The Ladywasthe light; nothing remains without Her.
We huddle in the gloom for what must be hours. So long I begin to think thatthismust be our punishment for failing the Goddess, for entering forcibly into this realm.
Ziva whimpers, unused to feeling so out of control in the dark. I reach out to comfort her, even though I feel just as wild. I’m aware of every rigid hair on my body. My mind feels like it’s tumbling end over end—as Ghoa must have when she fell.
Just when I’m certain I’m going to explode, light flares from the palace and slashes through the garden. A beam of brightness more luminous than the sun itself. Or maybe it just feels that way compared to the dark.
I shield my eyes and stumble to my feet as the palace lowers gently to the ground. A silhouetted figure appears in the entryway. At once, I recognize the gauzy splendor of the Lady’s velvet gown, the dewy softness of Her skin. But I also recognize the hardness of Her expression and the swagger of her gait.
On the mountaintop balcony, the Lady wore Ghoa’s face like a mask while the rest of Her remained flowing and fluid. Omnipotent.
But now She is both hard and soft.
Both Goddess and Commander.
My two lost mothers, forged into one.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ENEBISH
“ENEBISH.” SHE EXTENDS AN ARM IN MY DIRECTION. HERvoice is a bewildering blend of a soft, cascading lilt and Ghoa’s authoritative clip, and it leaves me so perplexed, I forget to respond.
“It’s generally a good idea to answer when your Goddess calls,” She says, and it’s so unmistakablyGhoa,I accidentally let out a baffled guffaw as I take a small step toward Her.
Serik moves to follow, but the Lady holds up a stern hand. “Is your name Enebish?”
Serik sputters and drags his hands through his hair but, mercifully, bites back whatever he planned to say, which makes the Goddess smile warmly and nod with prim approval.
