Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Dawn’s pale, hesitant glow crawls through my sitting room windows like a thief. I’ve sat here for hours already, watching night retreat while trying to define the churning sensation in my gut.
Not fear exactly, but something close.
My fingers tap against the wooden table, tiny sparks following each impact. A rebellion is brewing, and since yesterday’s revelation, my fire magic has started reacting to my emotions more strongly than ever, as if our new knowledge somehow amplified my power.
Or maybe that’s just rage.
Pure, clarifying rage over being used as fodder for divine appetites.
The door opens, and Leesa enters, her face drawn with worry. Lately, she’s struggled with morning nausea, though she tries to hide it. Pregnancy doesn’t seem to care about celestial conspiracies or impending death matches.
“I was told you wanted to meet for breakfast again?” She drops a kiss on my cheek before settling into a chair near mine. Her hand moves instinctively to her stomach, a protective gesture that squeezes my heart. “You look like you’ve been up for hours.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I offer her a weak smile. “Apparently, plotting treason against the heavens isn’t conducive to rest. Who knew?” The teapot no longer steams, but the tea remains warm as I pour her a cup.
Bastian joins us shortly after, bringing with him a collection of the scientist-priests’ journals.
Judging by the messy hair, rumpled clothing, and sunken eyes, he spent his evening the same way I did.
He nods to me and sets down his burden before immediately stationing himself behind Leesa to start massaging her shoulders.
I snort at the blissed-out expression on my sister’s face and slide a second cup of tea over. “Any new insights?”
“Several.” He pauses to yawn. “I’ve been cross-referencing the journals with older texts. This topic’s been debated for years and frequently arises during times of calamity. Always linked with the growth of those crystals.”
Agnar and Rafe arrive together, deep in conversation. Agnar’s unbound waves cascade to his shoulders, giving him an almost feral look when combined with the dangerous brightness in his blue eyes. Rafe, by contrast, is meticulously put together, though the rigid set to his mouth betrays his anger.
“Your Majesty.” Agnar greets me with a formal bow that transforms halfway through into a conspiratorial wink. “Ready to overthrow some assholes?” We’ve all agreed not to use the names of any of the gods so as not to draw attention to ourselves.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Bastian cautions, though a smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
A maid enters with breakfast. Platters of fruit and berries, fresh bread, cold cuts of meat, cubes of cheese, and pitchers of juice. We fall silent as she arranges everything on the table, and I dismiss her with a sincere thanks.
“We need to be careful.” I reach for a piece of bread more out of obligation than hunger. “Even mentioning our plans where anyone might overhear—”
“Could result in prayer.” Bastian offers a glass of orange juice to Leesa before pouring one for himself. “A single prayer of concern from a loyal servant, and they might know exactly what we’re plotting.”
Helene sweeps in, her black braid twined perfectly around her head. As always, her snooty expression suggests she just smelled something unpleasant, but a new intensity gleams in her eyes.
I’m about to greet her when Sterling emerges from our bedchamber. My heart performs the usual flutter at the sight of him, but I cock my head when I take a closer look.
Today, something’s different about his bearing, almost as if he vibrates with coiled energy, like a spring compressed to its limits. “Good, you’re all here. We need to plan carefully. My ‘sponsor’ will be keeping tabs on me.”
“And mine, too, most likely.” I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder at the hearth, which remains unlit for the first time this season. “We need to give them exactly what they expect to see. And discuss the plans in ways that are less likely to draw their attention.”
Another servant appears with a fresh pot of tea. We again pause our conversation, exchanging pleasantries about the weather until she leaves.
Once she vanishes, Sterling checks the corridor before closing the door. “This is how it’s going to be. Everything we say in public must support the narrative that we’re reluctantly accepting our roles as champions. In private,” he gestures to our small group, “we plan our real strategy.”
“Which is what, exactly?” Rafe grabs a piece of bread. “We know they feed on devotion, but how does that knowledge help you avoid fighting each other to the death?”
I flatten my palms on the table. “We turn their weapons against them. The match will draw massive crowds, thousands of witnesses. What if, instead of fighting each other, we use that stage to reveal the truth?”
Bastian cuts an apple and slips the slice onto Leesa’s plate. “The truth about their feeding on our devotion?”
“Yes.” My heart warms as I watch him care for my sister. “But we can’t just make accusations. We need proof. Evidence that people will believe.”
Rafe rips the bread in half with more force than necessary. “Revealing the truth at the match will be too late. We need to prepare people beforehand.”
“Seed the information.” Agnar’s eyes light up. “Make them start questioning things before they ever arrive as spectators.”
“But subtly.” Leesa nibbles on an apple peel, leaving the meat of the fruit untouched. “If the gods or the wrong people realize what we’re doing…”
“They’ll either sink or cinder Tirene.” I use my knife to strip the peel from my own apple.
Growing up in an all-female household, with mostly women visitors, I heard stories about strange and sudden cravings during pregnancy.
If apple peel is what Leesa wants for breakfast, that’s what she gets.
“So we need to be strategic. Start rumors, not proclamations. Talk, not decree.”
“And we need allies.” Sterling’s forehead crinkles with adorable confusion as I pass Leesa the peels. “Not just here in Tirene, but in every kingdom. People who will help spread the word without exposing the source.”
“The Craftsmen’s Guild.” Rafe taps the emblem on his shirt. “We have members in every town and noble house. They can circulate information without raising suspicion.”
Helene holds a grape up to her mouth. “I can use my Aclarian connections as well. After what happened at Flighthaven, there are those who already question the gods’ benevolence.”
As the afternoon wears on, our strategy takes shape.
We map out key locations, identify potential allies, and debate the best phrasing to plant seeds of doubt without triggering divine attention.
My legs ache from sitting for so long, but the discomfort is nothing compared to the growing sense of purpose in my chest.
“What about the actual fight?”
I stifle a groan. Leave it to Bastian to vocalize the question we’ve all been avoiding.
“We’ll have seconds, maybe less, before they realize our betrayal.” Sterling’s gaze slides to me, his expression grim. “That’s why the revelation needs to happen simultaneously. We need the crowd to see the truth at the exact moment we refuse to fight.”
Agnar wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “And then?”
No one has an answer. We’ve outlined how to expose the gods, but what comes after remains terrifyingly unclear.
The threat of these powerful gods is real.
Even if we sway the tide of public opinion against them, can we really stop them from destroying Tirene in retaliation? From obliterating other kingdoms?
The gravity of our course settles over the room like a thick fog. My fingers begin to tremble against the table’s surface, so I quickly tuck them into my lap. I’m their queen, their leader in this impossible fight. I can’t afford to show fear.
As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Sterling gives my hand a reassuring squeeze under the table. “We won’t be facing them alone. If we can turn enough people against them, if we significantly reduce the flow of devotion, their power will wane. Not immediately, but eventually.”
“So we’re really doing this?” Agnar is uncharacteristically subdued. “Taking on all of them?”
“Hopefully not all of them.” Sterling glances up from the map. “Not if we manage to change the rules. Those arrogant bastards have sat at the top of the food chain for so long, I bet they’ve forgotten what it’s like to go hungry. We simply need to remind them.”
Agnar’s battle-scarred features light up with a fierce joy that’s almost frightening in its intensity. “Well, when you put it that way…”
The mood in the room shifts, fear ceding to determination. Our conspiracy against the heavens is set. We will transform the gods’ greatest feast into their most public humiliation…or die trying.
I blow out a slow breath, clinging to calm while every tradition, every rule, every law I’ve ever lived under reminds me of how badly this could go. “Next steps. Knox, you send word that you’ve chosen the day and time of the match.”
Sterling nods. “Two weeks from today, at the Storm Cliffs. Far enough away from the capital that if everything goes to shit, the palace and all the refugees housed here should be safe. Not to mention the hatchlings.”
The expressions range from hope to resolve. “I’ll accept the offer to serve as champion for the other faction. Ziva will be suspicious if I seem too eager, so I plan to play the reluctant but resigned queen, accepting my fate for the good of the kingdom.”
“And while you two maintain that pretense and work on your training,” Bastian gestures to the rest of the group, “we’ll start propagating the truth. Carefully and strategically, but widely.”
“The heralds should leave today.” Rafe pushes back from the table. “The sooner word spreads about the match, the bigger the crowd we can gather to witness it.”
I rub the tingling sensation on the back of my neck. Well, I guess there’s no going back now.
In two weeks’ time, we’ll either change the world forever…or lose everything.