Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Behind me, Lark’s anger boils with the heat of a volcano. Her patience with these fanatics wears dangerously thin. Moments ago, her hands were nearly as hot as branding irons.
My boots sink into the sodden earth as I stare down at the woman kneeling before us.
She has brown hair, brown eyes, and chafed cheeks. Her expression bears the serene arrogance that all Devoted seem to cultivate. Mud streaks her face in the spot where one of our guards was less than gentle, but she doesn’t appear to notice or care.
The male Devoted kneels a few feet away, similarly bound but with a split lip that glistens with fresh blood. His pale eyes track our every movement.
I’ve experienced that look before. Cataloguing weaknesses to report on later.
The eyes of a prisoner merely biding their time.
“Our faith has been rewarded.” The woman attempts to gain her feet while pitching her voice loud enough to carry. “Magic will return to all the world, not just your selfish kingdom!”
Your?
This woman is Tirenese too. But she clearly only identifies with her faith now.
Lark shifts her weight, twigs snapping beneath her boots. I can picture her expression. The tight jaw and blazing eyes.
Ready to spit nails.
She advances until we’re shoulder to shoulder, close enough that I can smell the smoke that still clings to her hair. “I’m getting really damn tired of the narrative that Tirene somehow wants to hoard magic from the world. We’ve never wanted that.”
Visible tension shows in Lark’s hands. The slight curl of her fingers indicates that she’s resisting the urge to call forth her fire. The accusation of selfishness cuts deep for Lark and pisses me off. She’s devoted her entire reign to healing, rebuilding, and protecting.
She was willing to sacrifice herself to save the world, for fuck’s sake.
“Haven’t you?” The woman lunges forward again, but Rafe drags her back. “Your borders remain closed. Your magical knowledge locked away. Your scientist-priests refuse to share their discoveries—”
“We’ve spent the last few days doing the exact opposite of that.” Lark crosses her arms over her chest. “Rafe, these prisoners are useless. They know nothing.”
The male Devoted’s harsh laugh is akin to stones grinding together. “We know war is coming again, regardless. But this time, you won’t be the only ones with power.”
Lark pushes into his space. “No shit. Everyone knows that. We sent out decrees warning about it.”
Watching Lark—this fearless, incredible woman—refuse to back down stirs something primal inside me.
Rafe edges around us to confront the Devoted himself. Mud cakes his boots to mid-calf, but somehow his guild robes remain pristine. “Where are the scientist-priests?”
The man’s expression shutters closed. A vein in his temple pulses. “I wouldn’t know.”
“I told you.” Lark releases an exaggerated sigh. “We’re wasting our time.”
The female Devoted sneers and makes an obscene gesture with her bound hands. “And that just proves how wrong you are. By now, thousands have witnessed our power. They’re flocking to our temples, begging to learn.”
I don’t miss the specific phrasing. “Our power.” Not the gods’ power, as they usually claim. An interesting slip.
Heavy footsteps announce Bastian’s arrival. He emerges from the tree line, hazel eyes grave beneath furrowed brows. “That part is the truth, at least. There have been reports of magical displays in every kingdom while you were here, fighting the grove.”
My stomach tightens.
Lark rolls her eyes.
Suddenly, I understand what she’s doing. Without asking a single question, she’s using their pride in their cause to provoke them.
A brilliant strategy. She’s brilliant. Fanatics love preaching about their ideals.
“See!” A swift and triumphant smile touches the female Devoted’s mouth before she masks it.
“You planned this?” I gesture around us. “The grove, the moving temples. It was a distraction, wasn’t it?” I glance at Lark.
She shakes her head and starts to turn away.
“Think of it as a test.” The man throws himself forward, only to be grabbed by the guards. “One you failed spectacularly. Did you truly believe you could breach the gods’ realm without consequences? The stars saw your presumption.”
Agnar moves to stand in front of the male prisoner and narrows his eyes.
“So did the big guy we talked to. We weren’t sneaking.
We walked right up to the door and knocked.
Also, I’m pretty sure his name wasn’t Stars.
” He strokes the hilt of his sword, the action leisurely but unmistakable in intent.
“Want me to take him out back and see if he’s got any useful information in that annoying as fuck brain of his? ”
Lark smooths a wisp of hair that hangs loose from her braid. “Agnar, we’re already out back. There’s nowhere else to take them from here.”
He shrugs, mouth quirking into a dangerous half-smile. “Guess that means I don’t have to worry about their screams bothering anyone.”
The man’s throat bobs, and some of his bravado cracks. That pulse in his temple speeds up. Good. Fear often loosens tongues faster than pain ever could.
Lark crouches to meet the woman at eye level. “What’s the point? We’re just wasting our breath. They won’t know what happened to the scientist-priests. They’re just lackeys meant to slow us down.”
“Oh, we know what happened to them. Everything they deserved. Heretics, questioning the gods’ methods.”
The woman’s expression grows cunning. Something in her dark eyes shifts.
I tense. Here we go. This is what she’s been building toward.
“You should hurry back to your palace, my queen. Other kingdoms wonder why Tirene ignores their pleas.” She leans forward until her face is inches from Lark’s. “How long before they decide they don’t need you anymore?”
Bastian stiffens. If this was the male who’d threatened Lark, her brother would be flat on the ground already.
I would have knocked the fucker out myself.
The air between them shimmers with heat.
Lark doesn’t flinch, but I can see the tiny flames in her cupped palm. “You still don’t get it. We’re not keeping anything from the other kingdoms. The only ones controlling the flow of magic are the ones you claim to serve.”
That confuses the woman, who glances at her partner.
He scowls, split lip widening. “It’s too late for your lies. The stars are watching, and they’re hungry.”
“So are the trees.” Lark straightens, peering over her shoulder at the pacified grove. “Feed one of them to the trees and take the other one back to the palace dungeons to save for a later meal. They’re the ones who upset the sacred grove. It’s only fair for them to appease it.”
The woman’s eyes widen until the whites show. She jumps toward the man, but neither says anything.
Four guards grab the prisoners and haul them to their feet.
As they drag the two Devoted members away, the woman twists in their grip to call to us. “Wait! You can’t do this.”
“Of course I can’t.” Lark shrugs, her face passive, her tone measured. “The last time I killed traitors it took them a while to burn to death. According to you, I don’t have that kind of time. That’s why I’m delegating this task to my soldiers.”
Rafe goes a little green around the gills. He’d witnessed the fires, heard the traitors’ cries. But they didn’t meet their fates until after they managed to kill Lark’s grandfather and my mother.
I focus on the worry creasing Bastian’s brow. “Is it true? Have messages arrived from other kingdoms?”
Bastian nods, features set in grim lines. “Many. Urgent ones. The kingdoms are in chaos. While some are celebrating what they think is magic’s return, others are suspicious. Kamor is threatening to sever all diplomatic ties. Claims we’re not responding because we’re hoarding magical knowledge.”
My jaw tightens. A perfect strategy. Draw us away from the palace during a critical moment, leaving no one with authority to answer the inevitable diplomatic storm.
Lark’s face flushes with frustration. “It’s been less than a day! Do they think we sit around just waiting for someone to talk to?”
Her hands, pinned by her sides, clench and unclench. Small sparks flicker and extinguish between her fingers.
I recognize the desire to scream etched across her features, along with the effort required for her to stifle that urge.
The crown weighs heavier in moments like these.
“They’re moving faster than we anticipated.
Coordinated attacks, magical displays in multiple kingdoms simultaneously, and diplomatic sabotage. ”
She nods, her expression tight. “They’ve been planning this for months…maybe longer.”
“And we still don’t know what ‘this’ is.”
Dread sits like cold eel pie in my stomach, slick and writhing. The corrupted grove is contained, but the other horrors unleashed by the Devoted are just beginning to multiply.