Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Beneath my mask of gold filigree and flame-colored feathers, I watch the dancers twirl like exotic birds in flight. The masquerade fills our grand ballroom with swirling color and laughter that echoes against the vaulted ceiling.
Light glints off jewelry and sequined masks, off goblets of wine and the dewy skin of revelers who’ve danced too long without rest.
But everything is a beautiful, joyous lie.
This is our wedding reception, and we can’t even dance after the inaugural number. We’re stuck on the dais so the guests can come greet us and everyone can see.
Beneath this celebration, time ticks steadily toward tomorrow’s confrontation.
My heart counts each second with painful precision.
Sterling stands beside me on the raised dais, resplendent in his pure white suit and simple silver mask.
Swan and phoenix. Two birds who mate for life. One of fire, the other of water.
The music swells, a complex melody played by musicians positioned in the gallery above. Beneath them, our guests dance, drink, and laugh. Nobles from distant kingdoms, merchants wealthy enough to purchase invitations, and representatives from every corner of our world.
Many wear the wings of Tirene’s people as part of their costumes, a flattering mimicry that nonetheless causes my own wings to shift restlessly over my gown.
And then the air changes.
It’s subtle at first.
A thick bending of light that makes flames in the wall sconces waver. The music continues, but the notes seem to hang longer in the air, stretched like taffy.
My skin prickles with warning.
Something is coming. Something not of this mortal realm.
“Lark.” Sterling swivels his head, searching for the danger. My hand instinctively seeks his.
The air between us and the dancers ripples like heat over stone, and reality itself seems to fold inward, creating a space where no space should exist.
From that impossible fold, a figure trailing starlight like a cloak steps out, his perfect features arranged in an expression of amused contempt.
The Guardian.
Warden and protector of the realm of the gods. Not fully divine himself, but more than mortal. Someone who chose to serve the gods rather than humanity. His beautiful eyes hold the cold light of distant stars, and his golden hair seems to glow from within.
Around us, the ball continues, the dancers apparently oblivious to his arrival. A bubble of altered reality separates us from them. We can see the celebration, but the guests cannot see or hear what transpires on the dais.
“Clever.” The Guardian’s disdainful gaze drifts to me before immediately returning to Sterling, his dismissal obvious.
Dickhead. I summon a smirk. “We’re very clever.”
“Is that why you’re fighting your lover to the death on the morrow?” His tone is full of mockery.
My body stiffens, wings pressing hard against my gown. Sterling strides forward, positioning himself between me and the divine messenger in a protective gesture that prompts the Guardian’s lips to twitch with mirth.
“Or maybe you’re not fighting him…” With a casual flick of his hand, he tears the fabric of reality.
From the resulting rift, he pulls out a scroll that glimmers with the same starlight that clings to his form.
“I intercepted your encoded messages to the Northern Kingdoms. They were hidden in trade manifests. Shall we discuss?”
My heart stutters, and I go still. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my lips until Sterling squeezes my hand.
We sent those messages through our most trusted channels, and encoded them in ways that should have been impenetrable.
No one outside our innermost circle should have known about them.
No one.
“Or perhaps,” the Guardian shoves the first scroll aside and pulls out another, “we should talk about the supplies you’ve cached along the Western Ridge? The boats waiting in the cove?” With each revelation, my heart sinks even more. “The prayer strikes?”
All that we planned, every careful preparation, every contingency…he knows it all.
Everything.
Around us, the festivities continue in eerie silence, the dancers waltzing to music we can no longer hear, chortling at jokes we cannot share. Only a few feet of space and an unbridgeable gulf of knowledge separate us.
The Guardian’s power, or another’s?
He fixes his mocking glare on Sterling. “Such a waste of potential.” His voice drips with false regret. “By aligning with the gods as a guardian, you come closer to the divine.” His perfect features contort with disgust. “Instead, you choose to debase yourself with these mortals.”
His gaze flicks toward me, and I realize it’s not because he thinks I’m unworthy of attention. It’s because he doesn’t want to risk engaging with me directly. He’s wary. Despite everything, this emissary of the gods fears what I might do.
The realization sparks a small ember of hope in the frozen landscape of our compromised plans.
“You have until sunrise.” He tucks the scrolls away again, hiding them in the rift.
“Stop this foolishness, or I reveal everything to my masters. Zeru’s reaction will make Rivlan’s threats seem gentle by comparison.
” He turns as if to leave, then pauses, looking back over his shoulder at Sterling.
“Do you know why they chose Lark as your opponent?”
I’ve never had a shiver get stuck halfway down my spine before. It’s just as unsettling as the Guardian’s words.
Sterling says nothing, his posture rigid with barely contained fury.
“Not because she could beat you.” As expected, he answers his own question. “But because she’s the only one you’ll never beat. You’ll never destroy her.” His starlit eyes narrow. “You’ll surrender. Ergo, Zeru’s gods win.”
As if we didn’t already guess the reason. The gods really do think we’re fools. Apparently, so does the Guardian.
His assessing gaze weighs me. “Though you’re not without power. Dragons. Phoenix fire. You guard much.” His smile twists. “The gods hate that.”
“The gods hate a lot of things.” Sterling finally speaks up, his voice steady despite the rage radiating from him.
The Guardian’s expression sharpens. “You shouldn’t worry about what they hate.
You should worry about what they fear. Mortals using their brains…
free will…magic.” He practically spits out the last word.
“The more magic mortals have, the less you need the gods. Honestly, Rivlan offering to return magic was counter to the gods’ interests.
You mortals might say he’s a ‘good guy.’ As good as a god can be. ”
“And you?” Sterling raises an eyebrow, his voice lethally quiet. “Are you as good as a guardian can be?”
The Guardian’s face hardens, and he snaps his gaze away as if the mere question scalds him. Without another word, he disappears through the portal he came in through.
The bubble of altered reality dissolves. Sound rushes back. Music, laughter, the clink of glasses, the rustle of fabric.
My gaze slides to Sterling, and in his eyes, I find the same cold, heavy understanding that’s settling in my stomach.
The Guardian is going to expose us—or worse, he’s going to destroy us, our friends, our allies, and countless others—in the most devastating ways possible.
The Champions Match is only hours away, and our carefully laid plans are unraveling before our very eyes.
“What do we do?” I whisper, though I already know the answer.
Sterling’s hand grasps mine, our fingers intertwining with fierce pressure. “We stick with our plan. We fight. We reveal the truth about the gods. We break their hold on this world.”
“Even if it’s the last thing we do.” Last time I died—or thought I did—I did so with quiet acceptance. Going out screaming and fighting sounds like a much better way. More…me.
He nods, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that halts my breath. “Even then.”
Around us, the ball continues, the dancers oblivious to the war being declared in their midst. Tomorrow, Sterling and I will face each other in the Champions Match, not as the pawns the gods intended, but as rebels determined to expose and end divine predation forever.
It’s no longer meticulous strategy.
It’s desperate defiance.
But maybe that’s what we always needed. Not calculation, but the reckless courage to stand against gods with nothing but truth as our weapon.
The last night of the world as we know it stretches before us, filled with music and laughter and the quiet knowledge that by this time tomorrow, everything will have changed.
For better or worse, the age of gods feeding on mortal devotion is coming to an end.