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Xerxes released a long, agonized breath. “This is nothing. In fact, I’m sure my mind is completely sound for once.”

Norkin tsked and slumped back against the wall with a smirk like he thought Xerxes was making a joke.

“Tell me, Norkin. For old times’ sake. How do I get Alecsander to throw me into the Outer Rings with my Gold Maiden?”

The fellow’s blond hair bobbed when he shook his head slowly. “I don’t think your war hero will still help me escape if you don’t survive the Tribute,” he reasoned. But he tapped his knee with his forefinger. “If you want to set off King Alecsander, you need to get caught somewhere you’re not supposed to be.” He nodded toward Xerxes’s robe where he’d stashed away the keys.

Xerxes drew the ring back out. “Like where?”

It was Norkin’s turn to sigh. He shook a hand through his hair, scowling. “There’s only one place the King protects more than anywhere else. But it’s…” he shook his head again “…it’s awful, Xerxes. I’d warn you to stay away, but I have a feeling it’s exactly where you should go if you want to get caught and severely punished.”

“Just tell me where it is. I’m not afraid of anything monstrous,” Xerxes promised.

“I’ll draw you a map.” Norkin climbed to his feet, salty bits of rock falling from his lap as he retrieved a sharp stone and walked to a flat rock in the wall. He carved some pale lines and when he was finished, he tossed the rock back into a pile on the floor. “In this room, there’s a magical tree.”

Xerxes nearly choked, the phantom taste of pears rolling over his tongue.

Of course Alecsander had a tree.

“You’ve changed, even since you got here, Xerxes. You had no hope when you first arrived,” Norkin said. He closed his mouth when more shuffling footsteps filled the hall. They faded out and a guard coughed a short distance away.

“I had no reason to live anymore when I first arrived,” Xerxes said. “But now I know my kingdom still stands, and my maiden is here. What sort of King would I be if I didn’t fight until my last breath, knowing these things?”

A slow smile rounded Norkin’s cheeks. He looked like a child in that moment, like the boy Xerxes had known. Xerxes smiled back.

“I don’t really want that pretty girl to get hurt down there,” Norkin admitted. “If I were you, I’d try talking your Gold Maiden into forfeiting.”

“She won’t do that.”

Norkin grunted. “Well then, come back alive, Xerxes. Don’t bother with the Ring Cobra—it’s not the snake you need to worry about down there during the Tribute. You have to navigate the labyrinth, and you have to do it without running into anyone else. Because the B’rei Mira heroes competing are all going to try to kill you. They’ll go after your Gold Maiden, too. You’re easy targets, so they’ll band together to take you two down. And some of those heroes stare at the outer walls from this palace every day and will have the path memorized. Some will have even done this Tribute before.”

Xerxes picked at a thread on his robe as Norkin went to a large rock in the wall and wiggled it free. A scroll and several lead pens fell out of a small cavern, along with some glass marbles, drawings, a dagger, and a black and green speckled feather. He picked up the feather and rolled it in his finger, then he tossed it, grabbed a lead pen, and dragged over the blank scroll. “Here’s how to get through the labyrinth. If you can’t get out before dark, find a torch—they’re hidden in the walls. But keep in mind that when you’re holding a light, everyone can find you easily. So, stay on the path encircled with thorns. Your feet will get scratched up, but the branches overhead will hide your light.”

The keys turned to ice in Xerxes’s fingers. He stared down at the mist of shadows seeping beneath a large wooden door, behind which his ears beheld the groans and shrieks of something on the other side. It was like a leaking pool, and he feared if he opened the door, it would all spill out and drown him.

How long had it been since he’d seen a tree? He slid his eyes closed, old fears poking at his mind, wrapping him in doubt. He imagined a dark basement, rampages through a navy palace, tearing apart gardens. Voices that drove him to the brink of insanity. Golden fruit that called to him at all hours.

Divinities, Ryn was getting him into all sorts of trouble. He’d be back sleeping on the painfully hard floor of his cell right now if it wasn’t for her.

“Not to bother you, but if you can hold back these repulsive shadows, I would really appreciate it.” Xerxes dragged his eyes back open, stretching his hands, his fingers. “I’ll trust you again, El Tsebaoth. But if you really think I’m loved, after all the dreadful years I’ve endured, then you have a strange way of showing it.” He reached into his robe for Norkin’s dagger to ensure it was still there, then he let out a loud, heavy breath. “If Ryn isn’t going to listen to you, then I will.” He paused. “For the Tribute,” he clarified.

“How much do you trust me, Xerxes?”

Xerxes rolled his eyes. “How much do you want me to trust you? Trusting gods hasn’t historically ended well for me.”

“How much of you can I use? Half your heart? Half your mind?”

Xerxes released a scoff. “You want my mind? My mind is garbage. Why in the name of Boreas would you want that?” But he folded his arms and sighed. “I’m here, Adriel God. I’m a Weylin—your enemy. And I’m a shameful beast most of the time with terrible instincts. And I cannot even keep my kingdom from being taken from my hands. But if you want all that, you can do your best to try and use me.” He nodded toward the door. “Just keep those shadow gods out of my head.”

He didn’t wait for El Tsebaoth to reply. Xerxes reached for the iron lever and yanked the door open. Warmth tingled his fingertips as he marched in, stomping over shadows that swivelled this way and that. They were every bit as terrible as he expected, but he dragged his feet to a halt when he saw a thick, rough trunk with peeling black bark taking up a full corner of the room. Xerxes glanced at wiry branches sprouting out the top, embedded into the ceiling and hanging down above him in crooked fingers like a hand waiting to clasp and crush him any moment. The smell was ghastly; Xerxes plugged his nose in disgust as the fog of smoke and foliage filled his lungs, prickling his throat and burning against his eyes.

He drew his dagger, eyeing bloodred leaves dangling from the ceiling, one or two falling and spinning down into heaping piles around the room. Scrape marks covered the floor, barely visible through the lake of black shadows at Xerxes’s ankles. He guessed someone was visiting this room often to scoop the leaves up.

Searing pain hit his gut, and Xerxes dropped a hand to his stomach, the familiar evil pull making him sure the reason he came to this room no longer mattered. He had to destroy this tree. He had to cut it down before it consumed him.

He charged for it, driving the dagger against the trunk, but the silver blade pinged off and flew from his hands, tumbling over a tangle of protruding roots. Xerxes made a face and scooted back to retrieve the dagger. He lifted it, then blinked up at the tree.

“Are you with me or not?” he demanded of the Adriel god.