floor traveling underground, and the sunstone glows in her hand.
This is it.… I clench my clammy fists.
This is where we’re supposed to go.
“You ready?” Amari asks.
No. It’s written all over my face. But with her nudge, I take the first step, leading us down the cold stairwell.
Traveling through the narrow space, I’m pulled back to our time in Chândomblé. Like that temple, torchlight illuminates the tapered path, glowing against the stone walls. It brings me back to when we still had a chance.
Back to when I still had magic.
I touch my hand to the walls, sending a silent prayer to the gods. Please … if you can help me, I need it now. I bide my time as we descend farther and farther; sweat drips down my back though the air cools to a chill. Please, Sky Mother, I pray again. If you can fix this, fix it now.
I wait for a glimpse of her silver eyes, for her electric touch through my bones. But as I begin to pray again, the magnificence of the ritual ground silences all words.
Eleven golden statues line the hallowed dome, each towering into the sky. They rise above us with devastating height, looming like the mountains of the Olasimbo Range. In the precious metal, the gods and goddesses are carved with exquisite detail; from the wrinkles in Sky Mother’s skin to the individual coils of her hair, no line or curve is spared.
Each deity’s gaze focuses on the ten-pointed star of stone gleaming below. Every point is marked by a sharp stone pillar, sênbaría carvings etched into all four of its sides.
In the center, a single gold column is raised. Atop it, a circle is carved out. Round and smooth—the exact shape of the sunstone.
“My gods,” Kenyon breathes as we step into the stale air.
“My gods” is right.
It’s like walking into the heavens.
With each stride, I feel mighty under the gods’ watch, protected under their ethereal gaze.
“You can do this.” Amari hands me the parchment and the sunstone. She takes the bone dagger from Tzain and slips it into the waist of my uniform.
I nod and take the two sacred objects. You can do this, I repeat. Just try.
I step forward, prepared to bring this journey to an end. But then a figure moves in the distance.
“Ambush!” I cry out.
I flick open my staff as hidden men emerge. They move like shadows, crawling out from behind every statue, every pillar. In the frenzy we all bare our blades, eyes darting to find the next attack. But when the blurs settle, I see Saran, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. Then I see Inan, face pained, majacite blade in his hand.
The sight rips straight through me; a betrayal colder than ice. He promised.
He swore he wouldn’t get in my way.
But before I can truly break, I see the worst of it. A sight so alarming, it doesn’t even seem real.
My heart stops as they bring him forward.
“Baba?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
ZÉLIE
HE’S SUPPOSED TO BE SAFE.
This one thought keeps me from accepting the truth. I scan the guards for Mama Agba’s wrinkled form, waiting for her attack. If Baba’s with the guards, where is she? What did they do to her? After everything, she can’t be dead. Baba can’t be standing here.
Yet he trembles under Inan’s grip … ripped clothes, gagged, bloodied face. They’ve beaten him for my mistakes. And now they’ll take him.
Just like they took Mama.
Inan’s amber eyes trap me in the truth of his betrayal, but it isn’t the gaze I know. He’s a stranger. A soldier. The shell of the little prince.
“I assume the situation speaks for itself, but since your people are daft, I’ll break it down. Relinquish the artifacts, and you can take your father back.”
Just the sound of Saran’s voice closes the metal chains against my wrists—
I wouldn’t be doing my job as king if I didn’t remind you what you are.
He stands clothed in rich purple robes, defiance in his snarl. But even he looks small against the statues of gods staring him down.
“We can take ’em,” Kenyon whispers from behind. “We have our magic. They only have guards.”
“We can’t risk it.” Tzain’s voice cracks.
Baba gives the slightest shake of his head. He doesn’t want to be saved.
No.
I step forward but Kenyon grips my arm, whipping me around. “You can’t surrender!”
“Let me go—”
“Think of someone other than yourself! Without the ritual all the divîners will die—”
“We’re already dead!” I shriek. My voice echoes against the dome, revealing the truth I