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“My grandfather told me of the day of our arrival,”the scholar wrote, speaking of his interview with an ancient dragon called Mirastis.“He said that he woke in a ruin of fire and brimstone—a crater that stretched a good hundred meters wide, along with a dozen others. Similar craters were scattered all over Hearthfyre, each with their own dragons, amongst the ruins of towns and villages and big cities alike. But there were no fire fae in the whole of the realm, no matter where they searched. And they had no memory of who they were, or how they had come to be.”
I shook my head, confusion brewing like a storm behind my eyelids. How was that possible? And where were all these supposed craters? He’d never seen or heard of them before—had his ancestors covered them all up, built new towns and cities atop them and buried the evidence of their arrival? And how was it they had neither memory of where they’d come from, nor of what happened to the fire fae? Was there some larger force at play?
Sighing, I closed the book, then organized the texts so I could come back to them another time. The hour was getting late, and I needed to visit the primal stone mines and get out of the Deadlands before the sun went down.
Even with my newfound shadow magic immunity, this place was not safe for a dragon alone.
18
Adara
“Well,” Quye said on our fifth day in the God-King’s palace. “We've managed to avoid being assassinated so far, but if something doesn’t happen soon, I might just die of boredom instead.”
I snorted, turning away from the book I was reading. Well, reading might have been a bit of a misnomer, since I couldn’t actually understand the text. But since Quye and I were trapped in the suite of rooms the palace steward had assigned to us, I’d requested that the servants bring me any picture books the royal library was willing to lend. The one I had in my lap seemed to be a collection of historical figures, filled with portraits of important warriors, generals, and rulers throughout the ages.
“I think you can hold out for one more day,” I said, glancing to where Quye stood by the window, staring longingly at the gardens below. I had to admit they were breathtaking-rows of palm trees, fragrant flowering bushes, and intricate topiaries lined the pathways leading to the palace, the ground was covered with lush green grass, and elegant fountains and small ponds filled with koi fish were scattered throughout.
I couldn’t blame Quye for feeling put out. We’d never gotten the opportunity to explore the grounds, or even get a good look at the God-King’s palace from the outside. High Priestess Anuket had insisted that we be taken to the palace via the network of catacombs that ran through the city, so that we could avoid any assassination attempts by the dragons and the Crocodile Cult priests. It had been a rather morbid journey, walking through tunnels surrounded by the bones of the dead, but after five days of being cooped up in these rooms, I almost wished I was back there instead.
Quye was about to respond when the door flew open, and our servant, Musat, rushed in. Her eyes widened at the sight of us in our dressing gowns, and she clapped both her hands to her face in dismay.
“Great spirits!” she cried in thickly-accented fae. “Did no one tell you? The two of you must get dressed at once!”
“What’s going on?” Quye asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are we finally going to meet the God-King?”
“Yes,” she snapped, yanking on the bell pull near the door. “He’s moved the trial to today.”
My stomach lurched. “How much time do we have until it starts?” I asked, my hands flying to my rumpled hair.
“Less than an hour.”
Three more servants rushed into the room, and the next thirty minutes passed in a blur of scrubbing, primping, and fussing. The servants dressed us in fine gowns of silk—Quye’s an ivory embroidered with silver thread, and mine in blue damask. I felt stifled by the high collars and long sleeves, and the servants wound my braids so tight around my head that my temples ached.
“Is this really necessary?” I demanded as a servant applied some kind of red powder to my cheeks.
“Yes.” Musat inspected my face, her brow furrowed. I flinched as she patted both of my cheeks, hard enough to sting. “You don’t want to appear before the God-King looking like a corpse. He’ll think you’re a ghost from the afterlife, here to haunt him!”
“One would think a king descended from the gods would be able to tell a real ghost from a fake,” Quye quipped. I snorted, but we both fell silent beneath Musat’s death glare. The woman might have been all of five feet tall, but she had a way of cowing us both into submission with a single look. The one time I’d tried to sneak out of our rooms to snoop around the palace, she’d been waiting right outside, hands propped on her ample hips. The expression on her face had been so terrifying, I hadn’t even tried to explain myself. I just turned around and shut the door in her face, then pretended like nothing happened when she came to help us dress the next morning.
“There.” Musat took a step back to survey us, clucking her tongue. “I wish we had more time, but you are presentable enough. Hurry now, you don’t want to keep King Ramsenan waiting.”
We followed her out of the room, where an escort of guards waited to take us to the throne room. Quye craned her neck as we were led through a maze of halls and stairwells, taking in all the expensive art and furniture that we hadn't gotten to see when we’d arrived under the cover of night. But I could barely focus on my surroundings, my stomach churning, my palms damp with nerves. What if the God-King didn’t believe us, and he sided with the dragons instead? Would he allow us to return to our home world, or would he have us imprisoned, or worse, executed?
We turned a corner, and I sucked in a breath at the sight of the double doors at the end of the hall, already opened to the throne room. I could already see the massive audience that had gathered within—the gallery was packed, and the sound of their excited chatter drifted through the hallway, growing louder the closer we got.
“Breathe, Adara.” Quye slipped her hand into mine and squeezed it. “It’s going to be all right.”
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and slowly pulled in another one. Quye released my hand as we passed the threshold, and I composed my features, not wanting to betray my nerves. The throne room was a grand chamber that exuded power and majesty. The guards led us down the center of the gallery, which was filled with nobles seated on colorful cushions. Their expressions ranged from curious to bored as they gathered to watch the oncoming spectacle. Behind them, the walls were adorned with intricate murals depicting the sun god and his achievements—on one side, images of him bringing light and life into the world, and on the other side, depictions of war and conquest as he raced through the battlefields on his blazing sun chariot.
The gallery opened out into a wide, polished floor, where petitioners and supplicants stood when coming to speak with the God-King. Beyond that was a grand dais, where King Ramsenan sat, elevated on his golden throne. It was a towering structure made of gold and precious stones, with intricate carving of the sun and moon on its backrest, and the male who sat on it looked as though he was born to be there. Regal and stern, he sat straight-backed as he looked down at his subjects through the golden mask he wore. His muscular body was clad in ornate robes made of silk and cloth-of-gold, with a crimson cape that draped majestically across his broad shoulders. His piercing violet eyes fell on me, and I hastily remembered to look away. Musat had warned us that looking directly into the God-King’s eyes was an act of hubris and disrespect, and to avoid it at all costs.
The guards led us over to the right side of the audience chamber, where High Priestess Anuket waited for us, along with the other high priests. On the opposite side stood a male who I assumed was High Priest Inatol. He looked to be in his mid-50s, with a thick build and a broad, weathered face sporting a hawk-nose and neatly trimmed beard. His hair was shorn close to his scalp, and he wore a white linen robe with crocodiles intricately embroidered along the hem and neckline. Gold rings set with precious gemstones winked at me as he flexed his fingers, and though his haughty expression betrayed nothing, I had the distinct impression that if he could, he would have launched himself across the room and fastened those fingers around my neck.
Next to Inatol stood the same dragon I’d encountered outside the moon goddess temple. Unlike Inatol, he made no attempt to conceal his rage—his amber eyes blazed as he glared at me, his swarthy face twisted with fury. His outfit—a set of elaborate cloth-of-gold robes encrusted with jewels—was even more ostentatious than the last time I saw him, but I supposed it was befitting of a male impersonating a god. The two pretenders were surrounded by several other priests and dragons, all united in their avarice and greed as they glared at me.
“Adara, Quye.” High Priestess Anuket smiled. “I would like to introduce you to High Priest Kidmat. He is a servant of Tomaras, the God of Knowledge, and he has a gift for you.”
“A gift?” I echoed as the priest stepped forward. He was an old man, his head oiled and shaved, his weathered face a mass of wrinkles, his eyes milky and unseeing. “What kind of gift?”
