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A pause. Slight, but there.

“Of course.” Rivlan’s voice is smooth as polished stone. “All precious things require proper care.”

“Proper preservation, you mean.” I spin back around to face him. “Like frost on a window. Like crystals in a temple…or a portal.” I wait a beat. “Like frozen devotion.”

The temperature plummets.

Water droplets materialize in the air between us, suspended like perfect little beads of glass. Rivlan’s expression shifts into something more inhuman. His smile stretches too far back on his face. A reminder that beneath his careful mimicry of mortal form lies something powerful and ancient.

“Clever. But that’s why I chose you.” He gestures dismissively. “What does it matter now? The die is cast. The decisions made.”

“Let me spell it out for you, Rivlan. You may be a god, but I hold the dice.” I set down the shield with deliberate care. “And I know everything. I know you harvest devotion. I know you stockpile it like winter preserves.” I step closer, my magic responding to my rising anger, ice materializing beneath my feet with each step. “Tell me, do we taste different when we’re fresh versus frozen?”

The god pales. “Don’t be ridiculous⁠—”

“Is that what I’m being?” I cut him off, my voice dangerously quiet. “Because I’ve seen your crystals pulse. Seen them feed.” The hanging water droplets between us begin to crystallize, reflecting our faces in countless miniature mirrors. “You didn’t just want a champion. You wanted a guardian’s devotion on tap. Premium vintage, is that it?”

Rivlan shivers like sunlight on water. Something flashes across his features. Frustration, perhaps. Or fear. “You need me. The other gods⁠—”

“Are worse?” My laugh sounds harsh in the confined space. I point to where the stands are on the other side of the heavy canvas walls. “Maybe. But at least they didn’t pretend to be my ally while planning to feed off my power.”

“I gave you a gift!” Rivlan expands, filling more of the tent with his presence. The walls grow damp. “The gift of magic⁠—”

“You gave me a larger storage container!” Water explodes from nearby vessels. The washing basin, the drinking pitcher, even the moisture in the air freezes into jagged patterns around us. The tent walls creak under the pressure of sudden ice. “Were you going to tell me? That if we used those diamonds in the future to restore magic, I’d be feeding you too?”

Rivlan draws himself up, dignity settling across his features like a familiar mask. “The diamonds have naught to do with devotion. They are clean. Crystals can be used to store many things.” His voice softens, attempting to soothe. “And I gave them at great risk to myself.”

The crowd outside roars again. Someone important has arrived. Lark? One of the gods? We’re running out of time.

“How much risk?” My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. “Being killed? Killing someone you love? Fighting the woman you love to the death?” I invade his space, each question landing like a blow. “Was it that risky? The only risk you took was that I would reject your offer.”

“You cannot see all things, Knox.” Rivlan’s voice takes on the resonant quality of deep water, a reminder of his true nature. “And I am not bound to explain them to you.”

I consider my next move carefully. The ice spreads farther across the ground, climbing the central support pole in delicate, translucent patterns.

My magic has never flowed so freely, never responded so instinctively to my emotions. “Exactly how much power does a guardian have?”

Rivlan blanches. Or whatever the equivalent is for a being made of water and divine essence. His form becomes less distinct, the edges blurring as if he’s preparing to retreat.

This, I realize with sudden clarity, was always the risk the gods took.

Not that we would discover their feeding. Not that we would resent it. But that a mortal would actually seize the power they have access to through their connection to the divine.

I am that mortal Or close enough.

Moving to the weapon rack in the center of the tent, I lift a massive sword that glints in the dim light. It’s ceremonial, meant for show rather than actual combat, but it emphasizes my point. The blade catches what little light filters through the pavilion walls, tossing it back in cold flashes.

“You’re going to fight.” It’s not a question. Rivlan’s form settles again, resignation evident in his posture. We both know the stakes haven’t changed.

“Oh, I’m going to fight.” The sword is light in my hand, as if my newfound understanding has altered the physical world itself. “But not as your champion. As Tirene’s guardian. As Lark’s husband. As myself.”

Power thrums through my veins, not borrowed or gifted, but claimed. I see now what the gods have always feared, why they needed the devotion of mortals. They’ve forgotten what humans are capable of when not constrained by artificial limitations, by divine manipulation.

“The diamonds—” Rivlan begins, a note of urgency entering his voice.

“Can stay frozen.” I turn away to gather my final pieces of armor. “Like all your carefully preserved power.” I glance back over my shoulder, offering him a smile sharp enough to cut. “Better hurry. I hear there’s a famine coming.”

Rivlan’s form flickers, indecision evident in his constantly shifting appearance. For a minute, I think he might attack me. Preserve his plans through force. But that would reveal too much too soon.