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Xerxes tsked. He scowled when another drip fell from the ceiling and he didn’t move his leg in time. An ancient Per-Siana curse rolled off his tongue as he flicked the water off. He slid an inch to the left and shot a look at the ceiling, but his face muscles softened, and his focus drifted back down. “I do believe you, actually. Against my better judgement,” he said. “I saw you defend my people at the battle. I know Per-Siana should be destroyed by now.” He looked down at his hands. “You were able to do what I was not.” He tapped his chin, then muttered, “You’re unlike the Celestial Divinities. None of them showed up for Per-Siana when it mattered.”

“Do you want to see what real power looks like, Xerxes?”

Xerxes dropped his hands to his lap. “Divinities, is this a trick? Will I be tormented or something if I agree? Will I just find myself alone all over again, calling out to different gods who don’t answer?”

“Following me isn’t always easy, but you’ll never be alone.”

Xerxes swallowed and glanced off.

“If you follow my lead, I will give you a new heart in exchange for your stony heart.”

The air in the cell warmed, a breeze shuffling in and breathing over Xerxes’s cold skin. He lifted a hand back to his chest, tapping over his shadow of a heart. “You’re not going to appear before me, reach into my chest and rip my heart out or something are you? I’ve heard of gods doing such things in Per-Siana legends.” But even as he asked, Xerxes couldn’t imagine the god that had stood guard for Per-Siana killing its King. He sighed. “Fine. What do I have to lose anyway?”

A flood of warmth made Xerxes inhale as a quiet hum slipped into his ears, into his mind. Tiredness took hold of him, relaxing his muscles, loosening his stiff back. He laid down and rolled onto his side, eyelids sliding closed, and he drifted off into peaceful slumber. A warm breeze was his blanket, a quiet music his lullaby.

The dawn rolled in, filling the hallway with light. Xerxes awoke when the warmth disappeared and cold bit at his skin again. He blinked, lashes fluttering as he took in the glow seeping through the barred window of his cell. The lyre music hit his ears, and he pulled himself up to sit, stretching with a yawn. Until he realized.

He released a revolted sound and climbed to his feet. “You put me to sleep?!” He threw a hand in the air. “I have Vafat with obnoxious powders to do that for me if I want to sleep!”

El Tsebaoth had no reply for him. In fact, the air had changed, and Xerxes did a full turn as he tried to figure out why.

The rattling of keys sounded at his door, and he twisted to see a servant pushing his way in. The servant tossed a towel over his shoulder as he moved to make way for the portable bath, but he stopped short when he looked at Xerxes. His pale eyes rounded, the black liners making him look like a racoon from the Per-Siana forests. The servant said something to those rolling in the cart, and they all rushed back out again and slammed the door shut. Xerxes followed and peered out the window, spying on the servants rushing down the hall and around the corner where the sunlight came from. He turned and studied his cell, seeing nothing startling at all.

He had to spring out of the way when the door flung open again. Two Vafat swished into the room, and Xerxes held his breath as their bright eyes stared. One took a slow, slinking step toward him, and Xerxes’s heel dragged back over a jut in the floor. The Vafat rushed and Xerxes scrambled backward as its hand slammed a palm against the wall by his face, bits of rock cracking and tumbling out, scattering over the ground. Xerxes swallowed, imagining his bones being crushed that easily.

“How did you clean yourself of our magic?” the Vafat demanded in a sharp whisper.

“speak, Xerxes son of Draco.”

Xerxes’s blood chilled, his inhale shaky as the Vafat’s pure white face came in close with the bitter scent of smoking leaves. Xerxes didn’t move a muscle. He hadn’t a clue what he’d say even if he knew what they were talking about. But when a moment passed and the Vafat didn’t leave, Xerxes rasped, “Get away from me you repulsive beast.”

The Vafat stared, and Xerxes stood a little taller.

Servants in the hall gasped as the Vafat grabbed Xerxes by the throat and pulled him toward the door. A gold chain was wrapped around his neck, and another one bound his wrists. Xerxes fell into the wall as he was jostled around in the hallway, and he set his jaw as the Vafat dragged him to the Throne Room by his leashes.

Only half the Museum of the Living royals were there, but many guards and an audience of nobles in crimson stood by when Xerxes arrived. A Vafat brought him to a silk red carpet before Alecsander’s throne, and Xerxes was dropped there.

Xerxes caught himself on a knee, his bound hands going flat against the silk. He peered out the side toward his pedestal spot. Norkin’s was empty, too. Then he dragged his gaze up to the War King’s face shadowed by a hood. The only bare flesh showing was Alecsander’s knuckles and fingers, and Xerxes realized Alecsander’s flesh was grayer than normal. The man’s golden eyes flickered as he took Xerxes in, and Xerxes’s fingers curled into the carpet, squeezing the fabric.

“We can’t explain it, Your Majesty,” the servant with the towel squeaked as he swept in front of Xerxes, bowing at his midsection. The towel slipped off his shoulder and hit the floor. “We went in to prepare him for the museum, but his soul root imprint is gone!” He picked up the towel and wrung it in his bony hands as he fell to his knees.

Anyone not staring at Xerxes before stared now. Xerxes peered back, just as startled as the nobles and guards whispering and pointing in his direction. At his chest, he realized.

He glanced down, and his mouth peeled apart.

His skin was clean. Not a speck of violet was left on his chest. He sat up on his heels, patting his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. For the first time since waking up, he realized there was no blur in his left eye; he could see every detail in the room.

“By the Divinities…” he whispered, taking in the crisp threading on the wall tapestries. He pulled himself to his feet, the chains at his neck and wrists tugging.

Alecsander remained quiet as a Vafat circled Xerxes, eyes roving. Xerxes’s shoulders prickled as it circled around his back. Mira nobles drew in closer, stepping on each other’s toes and pushing guards out of the way to see.

Whispery Vafat voices channelled together like an off-tune song. “Tell us how you broke the curse.”

El Tsebaoth. Xerxes glanced up at the golden sun on the Throne Room ceiling, wondering where that Adriel god was hiding. He shifted his footing and scratched at the tight chains on his wrists. “And if I don’t?” he challenged.

Coppery gold flickered across Alecsander’s black eyes, and the Vafat’s icy, pure white finger touched Xerxes’s shoulder, then ran up his neck where the marking used to be.

“Perhaps you wish to die, King Xerxes.” A flutter of cold wind prickled up Xerxes’s arms when Alecsander spoke for the first time.