It was all for nothing. Rust Hollow. The cursed women. They’ll be reduced to nothing more than free labor until the day they die. And no matter how hard I try to remind myself that I stopped Calista from her reign of terror, the despair within me gets louder with every passing second.
If I’d never entered the Trial, another Champion might have proven strong enough to challenge Zyrel and actually defeat him.
Seraphina would have, the voice inside me snarls. She was made towin. The only reason she was forced out was because Ryker chose me out of guilt, after learning the truth. If I hadn’t been there….
If I had just accepted my fate, Seraphina might have become the Archpriestess instead of being locked inside her own body, slowly dying or already dead. Kaelzar would have stayed with his people. Saved them. Calista would still be trapped in her realm, forgotten. The women of Rust Hollow would still be alive. None of them would have been turned to slaves.
The guilt is overwhelming now.
“You did your best,” Micheline says, placing her soft hand over mine, which I just now realize is trembling. “Whatever made you give it all up, I believe you had a good reason,” she whispers conspiratorially, as if it will make my failure bearable. And then she adds, “There is another way to fix it all, and you will find it. Soon, Ray, you will change everything.”
There’s something knowing in her expression. Not hopeful. Certain. An irritating prickle of suspicion slithers at the back of my neck, and I hurry to dismiss it. What could Micheline know that I don’t, and why would she hide it?
It must be the aftershock of Kaelzar’s betrayal, staining every relationship I’ve ever had, turning them into something impure and not to be trusted. The thought of him makes my chest seize, and I bite my lip to hold back a sound that could be a scream or a sob or a curse.
I nod in response, not trusting myself to speak.
Micheline slides something across the bar. “This came for you while you were gone.”
I blink, recognizing the handwriting. Eva. A flickering beat of something warm still stirs as I reach for the letter. “Thank you,” I murmur, tracing the edge.
I’ll go to her next. Tell her everything. She’ll help me see the side of all this that isn’t crumbling. Her, I can trust.
I grab the bottle, knowing that the barmaid left it on the bar top near me intentionally, and head back upstairs.
I sit by the window,where I have an unobstructed view of the entrance below and of the dragon sprawled in the sun. Sunbathing? I shake my head in disbelief, still uncertain what task she is meant to fulfill in this realm, and why she remains here with me instead of attending to it.
I suppose I’ll learn soon. But not today. Today, it is difficult to care about anything beyond my sister.
A heavy numbness spreads through my body, as if my mind is granting me a moment’s mercy before the next wave of sorrow crashes over me.
I unfold the letter. And the instant I begin to read, the air inside me stills.
I tracked down the merchant from Maraneethos who brought you those concoctions and colored your nails. Archer won’t be pleased when he learns the fortune I paid him, but he’s finally admitted what it was you smelled among his things.
Apparently, when Sparkfins are kept in saltwater tanks, their electrical charge causes sodium metal to collect at the bottom. If that metal is dried and mixed with powdered Luminestone, it becomes highly flammable, completely invisible when dusted onto objects. It ignites instantly when it’s exposed to heat.
That’s why Sparkfins are sacred in Maraneethos. Not for the spiritual reasons we assumed, but because they can be used to create one of the most dangerous weapons imaginable. When combinedwith dragon bones, which apparently emit toxic vapors when burned, the result is devastating.
The merchant uses the specks of this tincture for magic-show tricks, to bewilder his clients. Though he assured me he didn’t have any on him, for safety reasons, he claims unless properly cleaned with solvents, the scent lingers long after one was in contact with it. And that’s why his box still had that scent.
It’s illegal to smuggle the eels out of Maraneethos, and the nation guards the secret viciously. That’s why he was so reluctant to share it and why he was surprised that you recognized the scent. Most people mistake it for rusted, wet metal.
I’d love to know how you came to recognize it, too. Perhaps we can talk when you have a moment. I didn’t want to intrude at your temple before the last challenge, especially after what happened at Rust Hollow, but I know you’ll end up at the inn sooner or later. Send for me, and I’ll come at your invitation.
I also have a special congratulatory gift, because we bothknow you’re going to win. I believe it will pair perfectly with that fancy whip of yours.
— Eva
I reread the letter, slower this time, and the strange, disjointed pieces of information begging to move, snap into place like a puzzle.
The Archpriest’s death rises in my mind, illuminated by understanding. He had stepped into the open plaza under the full blaze of the sun, his robes carrying that same strange metallic scent I had noticed and dismissed at the time. His clothes must have been dusted with the inflammable residue, and when the sunlight touched him, the mixture ignited.
It wasn’t the gods that ended the Archpriest, girl. Though someone tried very hard to make it seem so.
The words of the stranger, spoken to me during the second challenge make sense at last, now that I understand the mechanism behind them.
And then I remember Mael.
