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She rolled into the grass, a quiet hissing sound bringing her to look up at the snake—a plain, purple-black thing now whose body filled the path. Empty and hungry. Just an animal. Its slit eyes turned on her, and Ryn cast it a weak smile as it arched over her body. What a pathetic, powerless worm it was.

It opened its mouth, and her tired eyes watched as it swooped down toward her.

An arrow pierced the snake’s left eye, split through its head, and came out the other side.

Ryn winced as black blood splattered over her face, her arms. The snake rolled over and hit the wall, unsettling one loose stone that tumbled down and crushed its head.

Ryn angled weakly to look in the direction the arrow came from.

A young Prince moved out from under the thorn canopy, his bow still raised. His wide golden eyes were fixated on the snake, his blanched cheeks growing even paler in the moonlight over a hard jaw. His red lips quivered as he drifted closer, gaze glittering with unshed moisture. When his attention drifted down to Ryn there, he no longer looked like a child.

“Prince…” The greeting was hardly a sound from her mouth. She had no strength left to ask him questions, but he seemed to read Ryn’s mind.

“I whispered that name into the night. El Tsebaoth,” he said. Prince Emad’s throat shifted, his jaw hardening again. He cut a look back toward the snake. “And he replied.”

A weak smile pulled at Ryn’s dry lips.

Prince Emad’s face fell, his head whipping around as the clattering of spears filled the Outer Rings. Lights glittered beneath the canopy of thorns, illuminating the faces of guards who would take Ryn back to her scheduled end, unless she never made it out of these Outer Rings alive at all.

So, this was why El had broken her out of prison. It wasn’t a task for her own nation, but from beneath half-closed eyelids, she settled her gaze on the young Prince. A month ago, she would have never seen or believed it. But perhaps there was hope for the B’rei Mira Empire after all.

It was a beautiful end, and Ryn felt one last hot tear break free, gliding down her face into the grass. Her stomach felt warm with blood, her hands no longer working, her legs void of feeling. Her head rolled to the side, and somewhere far in the distance, she could hear Prince Emad’s soft voice calling her name.

“Adassah? Don’t die, Adassah, please… Adassah?”

Adassah Cahana.

False gods had tried to convince her she was someone else.

But that was who she was. Deep down, she’d always known it.

25

XERXES

The human mind is the most powerful thing in existence.

A mind is capable of altering the earth and everything in it. Just a few spoken words from one with a sound mind can build up another, inspire a hundred souls, or cause dry bones to get up and dance. It can raise a battle cry that shakes the chains off a kingdom. One resolute mind can be the difference between peace and war. It can cause an entire nation to either fall at the feet of deception or allow the truth to shake up the foundations below their feet. It can set the course for death or a mighty, bright future. Therefore, the state of one’s mind is everything.

Xerxes should have never let himself hope for a maiden he wasn’t permitted to have from the very beginning. His finger tapped the armrest of his throne in a slow, quiet beat as he waited. Sunlight glowed across the room, the windows turning it into a scatter of rainbows that hit his gilded chair atop a dais of glass, in a palace where magic had once scrubbed the walls clean. Now it was clean for different reasons.

It was strange sitting in such a large building entirely empty of souls. Every servant, every Folke, every citizen, gone. It was so quiet, Xerxes thought he was sleeping sitting up. Just the muted sounds of birds outside the windows made their way in every so often.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His finger counted beats, creating numbers he added up in his head.

A squeak sounded down the hall, and his finger stopped. Xerxes relaxed his arm, slumping back to sit against the tall chair back specially designed by King Draco for moments such as this. Thirty city artists had been hired to plan every inch of this throne, including the four crystal feet it rested upon.

A man appeared in the archway of the navy Throne Room. His hollow, golden eyes flickered over the space, settling on Xerxes sitting there. War boots hugged his muscled calves, and a kingly scarlet cape was clipped to his shoulders. Sand from his journey still sparkled on his cheeks, on his arms.

One thousand, six hundred, forty-one taps. That was how long it had taken Alecsander to arrive since the lookouts had sent word he’d been spotted crossing the border, the news barely reaching the palace ahead of him. That was how long Xerxes had been waiting with fabric draped over his head. Alecsander’s gaze narrowed on the crimson veil, not quite sheer enough to see the features of the person beneath it. Xerxes released a small grunt as he imagined the panic inside this fool’s head as he wondered if the Gold Maiden was still alive, was here, waiting for him, despite the fact that news of her completed execution had flooded the Mother City days ago. Alecsander would know she was already dead, but that might not stop the flit of fear that perhaps she was back by some unusual, magical, godly means.

Xerxes reached up and dragged the veil off, settling his sharp eyes on the War King. The foolish King of B’rei Mira had come to slay the Per-Siana King alone. Xerxes reached behind him and dragged out a gold mask. He ran a thumb along the gilded feathers on the sides, turning it over and studying the holes where brown eyes had once looked out at him. A mask that belonged to a suit of armour sent home with the Per-Siana negotiation team weeks ago now. “Perhaps you’d rather fight me in this,” he said, placing the Gold Maiden’s mask over his face.

Alecsander’s eyes darkened, his mouth twitching behind his black beard. But he remained quiet, and Xerxes lowered the mask to his armrest. He set it there, then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His stare sliced up to the man standing in his archway.

“Or maybe I want you to see my face when I put you in the ground on my soil.”