But everything was different in the Outlands—even the cold. The air and the earth here were rife with ancient magic; he could feel it in his nose, his ears, his brain. Even in his blood. It threatened a nosebleed and left the taste of sugar and rust on his tongue. His ears hadn’t stopped ringing since they’d first entered this cursed place, and it felt like magic was squirming beneath his skin.
Beside him, the Wraith sighed. “Finally,” he muttered as he strode up the onyx steps and into the skeleton of the temple, his cloak snapping behind him in the icy wind. The roof of the temple was entirely gone, and marble pillars had been knocked on their sides. Near the fringe of the sparse woods surrounding the glade in which the temple stood was a collection of gravestones, the inscribed names and dates unreadable.
Killian stopped just before the temple steps; beside him, Kit did the same.
Killian glanced at the Wolf of Winter. “After you,” he drawled, gesturing to the steps.
A muscle feathered in Kit’s jaw, but he ascended the stairs, one scarred hand loosely grasping the pommel of his sword. Killian enjoyed pestering the general, though in truth he wasn’t sure which of them would win in a fight, if it ever came down to one. Before they had become unlikely allies, Killian had avoided Kit as much as possible. There was something savage and untamable crouching inside him, a silent warning that he should not be trifled with.
Only one wall had been left standing. Killian stepped closer, inspecting the letters cluttering the black surface. There were drawings too. Most had faded so they were hardly visible at all.
The most noticeable were the constellations—thirty-two of them. One for each of the primordial gods and goddesses that had also been scratched into the stone. He identified each as he scanned the engravings.
Izlia, the goddess of death; queen of the damned and the Underworld. Harlan, the god of death, stood just over her shoulder, depicted here as nothing more than a vast, faceless shadow. Etched into the stone surrounding them were various phases of the moon, along with ghost orchids, asphodel, and hunting dogs. Their sacred animal was the great horned owl.
Killian tore his gaze from the sketches, a chill spider-walking down his spine.
To the right, and slightly above the god and goddess of death, were Eagon and Hilandria, the fire deities. Their sacred animals included winged horses, eagles, and the legendary phoenix.
Hilandria…A name whispered across the realms for years after—
Killian stopped himself from finishing the thought, his eyelids sliding shut. He drew in a shaky breath, his gloved fingers clenching into fists at his sides.
Years after Sable had lit an entire room on fire and burned over a dozen men who were trapped inside it. Years after their mother had died of the injuries she’d sustained at the hands of those men, and he and Sable had been cast out of their own home.
That was the day their life had ended—and a new one began. Their parents both dead, their home—the House of Fire—taken from them. Forced from a life of blistering summers and sparkling oceans to an eternal winter.
If it weren’t for the she-wolf who’d found them when the Tyrrhenia River had washed them up at a sleepy, backwater village in the Realm of Wind, they wouldn’t have survived.
And if it weren’t for the night Balthazar and Rhea had found them howling at the moon during the worst storm to ever blow through the North, they wouldn’t have lived through the cold. If they’d managed to survive the storm, they would surely have been found by the king’s men, who were tearing their way through the woods like a pack of rabid dogs. The rings Balthazar and Rhea had given them that night had meant the difference between life and death for the coming years. Without those rings, they would’ve been sniffed out far sooner.
Sometimes he could still smell the smoke from the day Sable had lit that room on fire; the reek of burning flesh and hair. Across Elderyn, people had declared she was a goddess returned; the reincarnation of Hilandria herself. But as years passed, and he and Sable remained hidden at the House of Ice, disguised by their Wistwood rings, hope had vanished. People decided they’d died, and the gods were not returning after all. Killian wasn’t sure what he believed.
He opened his eyes. Much had changed since that day. His gaze drifted back to the engravings.
Above the pair encased in flames stood Jayr and Zola, the deities of the earth. Their sacred animals were the deer and the panther, and a willow tree was rooted proudly behind them.
A breeze ruffled Killian’s hair as his gaze slid to the white-haired Anaxi, the god of ice and the Long Winter. Beside him was Serene, his dark-haired goddess counterpart. The large wolves of the North were their sacred animals. Together they’d created the first skin-changers, and from there they went on to birth more. Now, most of the skin-changers made up the Wolf Pack. Killian wondered what Anaxi and Serene would think now, if they saw their miracles of life spilling innocent blood.
Killian moved onto the next engraving.
Reed and Visola, the deities of water, were next. Dolphins, Selkies, and foaming waves formed a circle around them.
A headache pulsed between Killian’s eyebrows. The longer he looked at these two, the more his palms itched. He swallowed heavily and began identifying the deities faster as a hollow wind howled through the surrounding forests.
Dianen and Alaina, the deities of the sky. Known for their speed and held in high regard for their luminescent wings, they were chosen by their siblings to serve as messengers of the celestial cities. Their symbol was the rainbow.
Baylen and Enyd, the deities of wind. It was because of these two that the trees had been able to carry messages for people, though now such a thing was only legend. The sparrow was their sacred animal.
Tris and Ismay, the deities of love, beauty, and procreation. Doves, pearls, and mirrors were their main symbols, and their sacred animal was the swan.
The deities of the hunt, Lantos and Davenna, brandished shields of Wistwood. The stag was their sacred animal, and flowers were woven into their hair.
Loire and Lilith, the deities of the moon, were the most feared and revered in the Celestial City. Some argued they were the oldest. Their sacred animal was the bull.
“Saol and Linnea,” Killian muttered to himself as he shuffled along. Deities of the sun.
Amaethon and Rayna. “Agriculture.”
