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“You—” He swallowed, starting to panic. “You killed the functionary! You, you kill de functori de harea a gabanna.” He’d gone off, gibbering in Aleterian.

“How do we get out of here?!” Revni repeated, pressing the sword point to his throat. Sulvi skirted them and picked up the knife.

“Revni. Revni! It’s not the prefect.”

“What?”

The young guard had stopped talking when the sword had pushed into his skin, but his eyes flicked to Sulvi.

“That’s the functionary. The mouthpiece.” Sulvi pointed to the dead body. It had slumped over, one ear in the water. Red was spreading into the corners. “He’s not the man in charge.”

Revni cursed again, then turned back to the guard, pressing the sword in more firmly. A red bead welled on his neck.

“Where do I find the prefect?”

“Revni, we should turn back. The guards will come any second. We need to go!”

But the god was humming in Revni’s veins. She’d gotten it wrong. She’d killed the wrong man. Mistake after mistake. “Not without the prefect.”

“But—”

Sulvi looked torn, and frightened, and emotion swelled in Revni. This was her vow. Sulvi was her people. Not Eavus. Not the ones that had abandoned her, or rejected her. Her family had raised her to be a weapon, and the gods had tested her, over and over. Listen, they had begged. Do you hear? And now⁠—

Shouts had grown outside. Bells clanged in her ears.

Eavus. He must have arrived.

Here she had been, so torn whether killing the prefect would help or hurt him, when he had simply been proceeding. Handing it over, the way he’d handed her over. Letting things happen.

The god reared in her, all the bodies that were responsible, and this time, she didn’t try to clamp it down. Eavus’ message had demanded tribute and surrender. It would take days, weeks, even, before more decisions would be made. If the prefect did have his message—what did that change? It only made her task more urgent. There would be guards and soldiers swarming the palace now. She wouldn’t be able to slip in quietly as she’d hoped—but had she really? Was that how you earned a famous name?

Revni, Worthy of the Gods.

She had a moment’s hesitation—was this why she was doing it? But the bells and the shouting—something happening outside—drowned whatever that was out. The gods had sailed her through storms. They had found her the way to Eaborik. They had kept her alive. And now this god, he asked things of her. Things she knew how to give.

This was what it was to be called.

“Sulvi,” Revni said steadily. “We came for a new life. We can make a new world.”

And here it was: the god choosing Revni to be the instrument. Because she saw the gods move in Sulvi, too, the shift from fear to understanding, from distrust to faith. Revni could fix it. With the right god at her side, Revni could fix anything.

Sulvi nodded. Her lips moved.

The sword in Revni’s hand was not her sword, her hand not her hand. It slashed, and the god opened its mouth. A goat on an altar. A prayer. A sacrifice. The body thumped.

The god’s approval spread.

“This way.” Sulvi was determined now. The gods rewarded strength.

Only now, one of the slave boys stood between them and the door. The other one was still hiccupping and crying in the corner, but this one— His eyes were wide and red-rimmed, but he stood straight.

“No.” The word was barely intelligible.

“Move,” Sulvi begged. She was holding the knife like it might cut her back. The boy glanced at Revni, and his eyes widened.

“Move,” Revni growled.

The boy sprang away. Only Sulvi’s quick leap for the door and “Come on, Revni!” stopped her from murdering him, too.