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Most of all, I keep an eye on Sterling, on the way his dark eyes track to yet another decorative fountain.

When his gaze briefly meets mine, I raise my eyebrows in silent question. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. The small gesture promises that he’ll tell me later.

We proceed through the enormous dome of a greenhouse and a temple garden that should be lush with pre-harvest offerings but instead stands withered and neglected. The soil is cracked, the plants shriveled. No one tends the sacred spaces anymore. This is the third empty garden we’ve seen.

The bare fish markets come next, stalls swept clean of their usual morning catch. Even the weather-shrines stand abandoned, their offerings of colored glass and polished stones scattered by the wind, or perhaps by desperate hands. Trade caravan wagons cluster together in defensive circles rather than spreading out to display their wares.

Unable to contain my growing unease, I finally turn to Queen Maeve. A ruby-studded clasp sweeps her dark hair off her face. “Why do you think this is all happening?”

For the first time since we began our procession, the queen’s composure cracks. She doesn’t quite meet my eye, her obsidian gaze floating somewhere over my shoulder. “The loss of magic has scared people. They cluster in small groups to hide and build defenses.”

Fear sounds like an understatement. They’re acting like cornered prey. Boxing themselves in. This creeping dread has reshaped an entire kingdom’s behavior. Tír Ríoga isn’t just troubled.

It’s terrified.

Is this my fault?

This is what we’d helped create. What I’d caused by destroying Narc’s bones. The act meant to free us from tyranny has instead unleashed a different kind of oppression. One born of uncertainty and powerlessness.

This is why Maeve won’t meet my eye.

Never in my life have I worried about not having magic. My magic has always been too strong. As a Tirenese child raised by Aclarians, my first accidental attempts at using my fire element were wild and uncontrolled. For most of my life, my mother forced me to consume tablets that weakened and managed my power.

Now these people have been stripped bare of their abilities. They’re having to relearn life without the magic they relied upon.

We climb higher, and the Divine Commons finally comes into view, rising atop Emraldae Keep’s highest hill. The enormous amphitheater’s black stone gleams in the morning light, the unity of its design now feeling like a hollow promise. Massive stairs sweep up in three curved sections, each representing one of the great visiting kingdoms and meeting at a columned entrance hall.

“It’s stunning.” Sterling’s voice is laced with awe.

Maeve accepts the compliment with a dip of her chin. “This was built two centuries ago when Tír Ríoga positioned itself as neutral ground. Our ancestors wanted to promote religious harmony.” She sweeps her arm toward the structure, jangling the gold bangles on her wrist. “All the gods honored in one place.”

King Mihel nods, love and respect for his wife shining in his eyes.

The queen is right. As we approach, I can see how the architecture pays homage to the pantheon. Stone and marble pillars for Hallr, the God of Stone and Mountains. Constellation markings on the archways for Zeru, who governs the stars and heavens. Fountains flow in graceful arcs to honor Rivlan, God of Water. Neglected gardens that once showcased flowers and fruits for Viridian’s climb both horizontal and vertical surfaces.

We begin ascending the wide, curving staircases, then we pass through a high-ceilinged entrance hall. The space should feel sacred, solemn. Instead, it harbors the breathless tension of a room where something valuable has been stolen, but no one wants to acknowledge the theft.

As we near the heart of the complex—the central, open-aired stadium—a strange glimmer catches my eye.

Crystalline growths, strange and intricate formations that glimmer with an almost grotesque beauty, creep up the walls and pillars. Most people breeze past without noticing. Or perhaps they’re choosing not to.

My stomach clenches into a knot. The formations are identical to those from the wedding fountain in Tirene.

Sterling picks up on my hesitation and tracks my gaze. His body goes rigid beside me. “Those fucking things again.”

I grip his arm tighter than I intend. “What are they?”

The shimmering structures crawl up the shrine wall like frozen lightning, beautiful and wrong at the same time.

Before Sterling can answer, we’re swept into the vast amphitheater ahead of the crowd of citizens.

The curved tiers of seating already hold thousands. Smaller worship spaces appear between sections, each one dedicated to different gods. The central platform gleams with ritual objects, censers for incense, bowls of sacred water, ceremonial daggers, and offerings of grain and wine.

For a fleeting moment, as we take our positions, hope flickers.

The high priestess comes forward, her dark purple robes swirling with embroidered symbols of unity. Her voice rings out across the amphitheater, calling for peace, for cooperation, for a return to harmony between the kingdoms.

I almost let myself believe this could work.