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“What’s she waiting for?” one of the B’rei guards beside Xerxes’s carriage muttered. It seemed the rest of B’rei Mira was wondering, too. Even the Per-Siana soldiers were leaning forward from their line on the hill, looking at her, waiting. Distant shouts and singing from the priestesses flittered in.

Xerxes jumped when something fired down from the sky. Ten enormous bodies of light slammed into the sand behind the Burn Division Twelve flag, so giant they almost touched the cloud when they stood tall, and Xerxes croaked in terror. The Gold Maiden held position with her arm up, keeping the soldiers from moving. The bodies of light sprang past her, soaring over the sand, and plummeting into the B’rei Mira army below, dragging up shadows who screamed, some diving beneath the ground to hide, leaving men below physically shuddering and brushing their fingers over their arms. The armies on both sides looked around in confusion, most still watching the Gold Maiden, waiting for her. But only when the light was finished, and most of the shadows were torn to pieces or puffed into smoke that trickled away with the wind, did the Gold Maiden throw her arm forward in a signal to attack.

A roar lifted from Per-Siana, and Xerxes watched as the B’rei Mira frontlines dragged backward a step as soldiers in navy raced for them. The Gold Maiden’s blade burst into white fire as she raced in and was swallowed into the hoard of scarlet and bronze. Xerxes followed her blade’s light, flickering in various positions as she battled through. He thought he was dreaming—he’d seen Ryn fight back at the Last Stand battle, but he thought he’d been delusional then. He was clear headed now.

“Is this… you?” he dared to ask El Tsebaoth.

“Now do you see, Xerxes?”

Other lights hovered around Burn Division Twelve and some Per-Siana soldiers, but Ryn was like a star, burning against a black night sky, screaming shadows falling around her. He had no idea just how much her god was helping her, shielding her, being her hands and feet.

“I’ll believe you if she survives,” Xerxes whispered back. But it was a lie. He’d never witnessed such an outrageous thing as a fight of light and darkness. He was sure El Tsebaoth was a real god, one that was fighting for Per-Siana. He would believe in this enemy god now, the Adriel god, whether Ryn survived or not. But even so, he whispered, “Please don’t let her die.”

El Tsebaoth didn’t reply, and Xerxes looked around his carriage, panic setting in. “El Tsebaoth?” He tried to stand, but he bumped his head. “Ow!” He rubbed his scalp and glared up at the ceiling. Divinities, did El Tsebaoth leave him? Was this a cruel joke? Did he just show Xerxes this wild show of lights and then vanish when Xerxes had asked for the one thing he wanted most?

Shouts lifted from the B’rei Mira army below, fully engaged in battle and falling over each other. He didn’t see Ryn’s blade anymore. Xerxes scrambled to his feet, keeping his head low, eyes roving over the plain of dark mist and men.

The Gold Maiden’s light blade burst from the hoard as she leapt, flying over the line of Vafat and startling horses nearby, turning the whole army into a panic at how far she’d made it as she landed in front of Alecsander. She sprinted forward, sword out to the side. Alecsander’s horse released a sound and jerked to the left, but her blade caught Alecsander’s large thigh, and it was as if time stopped.

The whole B’rei Mira army went quiet as the Gold Maiden slid to a stop, gripping her poised sword, her chest rising and falling. Xerxes wanted to scream out to her—Ryn was so close now, if she just looked up, she’d see him.

Alecsander stared down at his leg where a thin sliver of red crawled down, staining his robe. His wild eyes locked there, his mouth open, as if he’d never seen his own blood before. Five seconds passed before warriors began turning on the Gold Maiden. One sprang for her and she whipped her sword out as she spun, nearly slicing the man clean in half.

Alecsander’s arm went up, and the warriors aiming at the Gold Maiden halted. He gaped at that tiny cut on his leg, at the bright red of his own blood visible even from the low cliff where Xerxes was. Xerxes slammed his palm against a metal bar. He wanted out, he wanted to run down there and grab her. He wanted to scream at the enemies to stay back.

All of B’rei Mira and Per-Siana had stopped fighting, as if the entire desert held its breath at the realization that the untouchable War King, Alecsander of B’rei Mira, was no longer untouchable. Xerxes released a laugh, and a B’rei guard reached over and smacked the bars of his cage as if to shut him up. But Xerxes did no such thing; he bellowed over the cliff, his chuckles a medicine he didn’t know he needed.

Below, the Gold Maiden turned, her gold mask aimed toward the cliff like she’d heard it. But Alecsander spoke, bringing her attention back.

“This battle is over.” Xerxes could only read Alecsander’s lips. But when he spoke again, his voice was loud, a thunderous sound echoing over the army. “Come to B’rei Mira,” he invited the Gold Maiden. “As my guest.”

Xerxes’s smile faded. He hoped Ryn knew to refuse. How, by the Divinities, was the border army going to defend Per-Siana if she left?

The Gold Maiden stared back at Alecsander for a long time, the armies shifting restlessly, the Vafat slinking around in silent footsteps until she was surrounded. Even the act of drawing their swords was silent. Xerxes opened his mouth to shout down and warn her, but red powder sailed into his carriage and hit the back of his throat, making him choke. “No…!” He raised a hand as his body crumpled, just as Ryn’s voice shouted back through her mask.

“I refuse. Tell me where to find my King, and I will spare you today.” Xerxes slammed his palm against his weak, angry, shredding heart.

No… Ryn. She was so close. She was right there… She was…

He slumped to the floor and the desert turned black.

He would destroy that red powder. He would burn it to ashes, curse it by the Divinities, shove it down the Vafat’s throats…

Sounds of clattering cutlery filled Xerxes’s ears when he came to this time. Choppy visions of pale sand and heat flashed through his memories as he started. He released a sound as he lifted his head, wide eyed, taking in laughter around the Banquet Hall, nobles in crimson robes and copper cuffs pointing at him. His chest expanded with heavy breaths until he registered where he was, and his heart sank. He lifted his hands, counting fingers, but it was no use trying to figure out how many days he must have been out if he was back in B’rei Mira again. He looked down at a scarlet toga and brass rope sandals. Gold glitter sparkled on his shoulders and chest and the scent of bitter flowers oiled his skin. The heartless goblins had decorated him while he was sleeping. He looked right and then left—his gaze snagging on a light blond Prince chained to the pedestal beside him. Norkin was sitting, head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed.

Xerxes swallowed, his throat dry. He dragged his knees beneath him to sit and moaned, bringing a hand to his forehead that didn’t quell the dizziness or headache. Apparently, the wretched red powder wasn’t done with him. He wanted to die.

He blinked against the blur and stole another look at Norkin’s still frame. Perhaps the fool was sleeping, though, who could sleep with all this noise? Xerxes made a face toward the table where servants handed out pastries and fruit. He slid his jaw back and forth as his mind filled with silly distant memories of the child version of the Messa Prince scowling at the sight of green vegetables, choking on them at a banquet and making Xerxes laugh until King Draco had scolded him. Then there was that time Norkin threw a chalice of pomegranate juice at his older brother in a fight and ended up splashing Xerxes instead. It was how they became friends—Norkin was forced to apologize to the whole Per-Siana ambassador convoy with his forehead pressed to the floor. Little did he know Xerxes had hidden a chalice of the same juice behind his back, and to King Draco’s horror, Xerxes flung the juice in triumphant retaliation, drenching Norkin’s bright green robe of nobility and turning the white Hema Bird embroidery purple. King Draco had been furious. Norkin, on the other hand, had blinked three times, then laughed so loud, attendants had come running into the great pillared lobby of the Messa palace.

Maybe it was better that Norkin was asleep. Xerxes wasn’t sure how he should address Norkin after all these years.

“Hello, Xerxes.”

Norkin’s eyes were still closed when Xerxes glanced over, but a smile stretched the swelling on his top lip, bringing out dimples that hadn’t left with age. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you? You look exactly the same, just old.”

“Old?” Xerxes demanded, then shut his mouth and cleared his throat. “I’m not old,” he muttered. “I don’t look old either.” He had years of maidens, council members, and nobles complimenting him for his looks to prove it, but the Messa Prince probably wouldn’t care to know about that.

Norkin snorted a laugh, his light blue eyes peeling open and dragging over Xerxes in his humbled state. “Welcome to Pyriwell, the horrible capital of the B’rei Mira empire. Isn’t it dreadful to think I actually wanted to visit this place as a boy?”