“Lower your weapon,” the Lady commands.
When Ashkar doesn’t immediately comply, She flicks Her wrist and His blade flies away on a gust more violent than anything a Wind Whisperer could conjure. “We’ve had more than enough bloodshed. It’s time to lay down our weapons and grudges.” She holds out Her hand. “We’re bringing your sister home.”
Ashkar stares in horror at the Lady’s hand. “But She—
“Never had a chance,” Father Guzan interrupts. The timbre of His voice shakes the walls of Ashkar’s watchtower. The rocks and mortar groan, threatening to collapse. At last, Ashkar sighs and opens the gate.
A current that feels like both wind and water sweeps us up and washes us through a tunnel of shadows. I brace for the glaring brightness of the snow and the unforgiving sting of the cold, assuming we’ll return to the ice caves, where we entered the realm of the Eternal Blue. But when my feet touch down, I’m standing on white marble steps, cluttered with singed debris. The blackened husk of the Sky Palace looms over us, and a sore battle rages across the Grand Courtyard. A melee of Ashkarians and Zemyans fight with blind rage, defending their homes and families to the death. Battling for the rights and respect they believe they’re owed from feuds that began centuries before.
The carnage is horrific; I’ve never seen such a bloody battle, not in all my years at the war front. Both sides are so consumed by the chaos, they fail to notice the gods, standing there. Watching them slaughter one another.
I glance at the Lady of the Sky, waiting for Her to unleash a storm of lightning. Or for Father Guzan to rend the earth and command their attention. Or for Ashkar to leap to the aid of His people, to ensure they defeat His sister’s followers. But none of them move.
I, on the other hand, am going to burst out of my skin if Idon’tmove. The tendrils of darkness shiver in my periphery and whisper in my ears. Ready now that we’re no longer in the Eternal Blue.
You can end this now. So easily. If the Zemyans cannot see, they cannot fight.
My fingers twitch. From the other side of Minoak, I feel Ziva’s fists tighten in response. Ready to charge with me. But I let out a long, steadying breath and uncurl my fingers. If battering the Zemyans with the sky was the will of the First Gods, They would have called the darkness Themselves.
The Lady of the Sky places a hand on my shoulder, gives me an approving smile, and whisper’s Zemya’s name. Her voice is so soft, I can barely hear it and I’m standing right beside Her. Zemya will never hear from the barren wastes by the sea. But then the Father joins the Lady, chanting Their daughter’s name. After a beat of reluctance, Ashkar adds His voice to His parents’ and the fighting instantly ceases.
Every Zemyan in the courtyard stands still enough to be frozen—arms raised, daggers slicing, mouths screaming. Tears stream from their eyes and sweat pours down their cheeks. Within seconds they are drenched and dripping, as if caught in a rainstorm, though the sky is perfectly clear. The water gathers into a puddle in the center of the cobblestones, growing wider and deeper.
“Hot-spring water,” Ivandar wheezes as the droplets seep from his skin as well.
Once the water is knee-deep, it shoots skyward like a fountain and forms the shape of a woman as it falls. Her hair is silver and white seafoam. Her eyes shimmer with the luster of pearls. And the sound of crashing waves follows Zemya as She weaves through the immovable Zemyan warriors and the equally stunned Ashkarians. When She reaches Her parents and brother, She raises Her chin defiantly. A pointed chin, which She clearly inherited from the Lady of the Sky. And Her mane of hair is undeniably from Father Guzan. And Ashkar’s eyes are sloped slightly upward at the corners, just like Hers.
Despite the stark outward changes Zemya wrought upon Her body to separate Herself from the First Gods, the family resemblance is irrefutable. It’s impossible for a tree to grow without its roots; Zemya wouldn’t exist without the Lady and Father.
“I should have known you’d intervene as soon as it became clear I’d defeat you.” Zemya flings Her arms and hot-spring water sprays the Sky Palace steps, burning like embers where it wets my skin. “How do you plan to punish me this time? How else can you weaken and debase me? Whatever it is, it won’t work. I will always recover. I will always return stronger.”
“We were wrong,” the Lady says, holding out Her hands in capitulation.
Zemya bristles, crosses Her arms, and says in a spiteful voice, “You are the Lady and Father. Creators of the heavens and earth. You areneverwrong.”
“In this instance, We were.”
“About what, exactly?” Zemya challenges.
“Many things: suppressing your drive and innovation, for presuming your magic was evil just because we couldn’t understand or control it, and mostly for pitting you and your brother against each other in the first place, by comparing your abilities.”
A shiver works through me, dotting my skin with goose bumps. The feud between the First Gods isn’t so different from the feud in my own family: some with power and some without, a constant battle for acknowledgment and supremacy. All of it unnecessary.
Zemya stares for a long moment, nostrils flared and jaw working as She struggles to maintain a tight hold on Her rage. “Unfortunately, this realization and apology are several centuries too late.”
“Is it ever, truly, too late?” the Lady presses. “Come home.”
Zemya laughs and takes a deliberate step back. “My home is with my people.”
“You are a wise and caring Goddess,” the Lady says with a proud smile. “Your people are lucky to have you. I would never take you from them.”
“Then why ask me to return to the realm of the Eternal Blue?”
“Because it doesn’t have to be a choice between your people and your family. It nevershouldhave been a choice. You can mend the rift between us and still serve your people. If an Ashkarian commander can give her life for a Zemyan prince, I think we, their gods, should be capable of reaching a similar truce.”
The swirling and crashing of Zemya’s watery form gradually slows until She resembles a trickling stream rather than a raging river, but Her voice remains fierce and strong. “And what of my magic?”
“That’s entirely up to you,” the Lady assures Her. “Continue to innovate if you wish, but I, for one, have grown weary of watching mortals abuse the power of the sky.”
