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An elderly woman’s fingers tremble as they close around the provisions I’ve handed her. “Your Majesty is too generous.”

“It’s my pleasure.” I squeeze her shoulder gently. “Hopefully this will help get you through the winter.”

Behind me, several of the guards distribute larger packages. Sacks of grain, bundles of firewood, carefully wrapped vials of medicine. I’ve ordered them to spread out so we can cover more ground.

Efficiency, I’d claimed. In truth, I just want to be able to breathe without their hovering. Even Elijah, who’s only recently joined Windmyre’s royal guards, watches me with an intensity that prickles my skin.

Despite the early hour, the street teems with life. Merchants hawk their wares from makeshift stalls. The smell of fresh bread battles with the less pleasant scents of a waking city. Children dart between adults, their laughter a counterpoint to the serious business of survival.

This part of Tirene doesn’t see royalty often. The cobblestones are uneven beneath my boots, the buildings lean into each other like drunken friends, and the gutters…well, I’m careful where I step.

I reach into my satchel for another bundle as a young mother approaches, a baby strapped to her chest and a toddler clinging to her faded skirts.

“My Queen.” She attempts a shallow bow, cautious not to disturb the sleeping infant. “We’re honored.”

“Please. You don’t need to do that.” I wave away the formality. “How old?” I nod toward the baby, who has more hair than I’ve ever seen on an infant.

“Three months, Your Majesty. Her name is Scarlet.”

“A beautiful name. And your children are precious.” I add another blanket to her bundle. “Babies need extra warmth in the winter.”

My gaze drifts up to the rooftops, where out of season greenery pushes through gaps in the tiles. Even in the most unlikely places, life finds a way.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice the figure until it’s nearly upon me. A shadow slides into my peripheral vision. When I spin around, I find myself face-to-face with a person in dark robes.

My heart stutters before I force it to steady. Dark robes aren’t that unusual. It’s what peeks from beneath them that has me on edge. Constellation marks trail up the figure’s wrist, disappearing underneath billowing sleeves.

The Devoted.

I glance around for my guards, but they’re exactly where I wanted them. Several paces behind, distributing goods to a cluster of families. Elijah’s back is to me as he passes a sack of grain to an elderly man. In a handful of months, he’s gone from entitled aristocrat to a palace guard handing out charity to refugees.

“Your Majesty.” Though a hood obscures their features, the rough timbre of the Devoted’s voice sounds masculine. “What a blessing to find you among the people.”

The Devoted aren’t technically outlawed, but they’ve been linked to enough disturbances that their presence jangles my nerves. I’m particularly incensed over the one involving the missing scientist-priests.

I incline my head, keeping my posture open but alert. “I try to be where I’m needed.”

He steps closer, just inside the boundary of propriety. The intimidation tactic won’t work on me. “Indeed. I wonder if I might trouble you with a question. About the…changes we’re all experiencing.”

I immediately know what he means, but I force him to spell it out. “Changes?”

“The magic, Your Majesty.” His voice drops, becoming conspiratorial. “The way it’s fading. Like the gods themselves are abandoning us.”

“The court mages are investigating. We have our best minds working to figure out what’s happening.” In other words, royal bullshit for, We’re clueless.

While they claim to honor the whole pantheon, the Devoted worship Zeru above all other deities. This man seems genuinely interested in my response.

His head tilts just so, his body language conveying openness.

But something’s off.

The way he leans a little too close. The way his gaze never strays from mine, not even for a blink. He’s waiting for something. An opportunity. With his trimmed, clean nails, I suspect his hands have never seen hard work. They’re folded but loose. Ready. For what?

He takes another step, and an herbal aroma I can’t quite put my finger on wafts off of him. “But you feel it, too, don’t you? You, with your fire magic. Rumor is you’re the strongest in generations. Surely you’ve noticed the diminishment.”

My shoulders tense. How does he know about my magic’s strength? It’s not exactly a state secret, but it’s not common knowledge either.

Has he seen me use my power? Did he lurk in the shadows when I practiced merging with Sterling? “Magic has always had its ebbs and flows throughout history. This could be a natural cycle.”