visited by any hostile creatures.
“I noticed my brother avoided mention of how you came to ally with your sister,” Dthazi said.
Isa stiffened. She’d noted he left out the events of the nameday, a lapse that could have only been for her benefit. Dthazi would not have brought her here if he knew that she’d commanded her guard to kidnap his brother. He would not have held her hand if he knew that four months ago, she’d used it to stab Aketo in the chest.
She sucked in a breath and the words spilled out of her like a torrent. “I tried to kill Eva on her nameday. She bested me, and instead of killing me as she should have, she fled Ternain with me as her prisoner.”
“You don’t seem like a prisoner.” They were halfway around the lake now.
“I’m not exactly one. Before we came here, Eva asked me for a truce.”
“And you agreed?”
“Not exactly.”
Dthazi didn’t respond as they’d finally reached the entrance. Water lapping at her toes, Isa followed him into a large round chamber. Unlike the rest of the caves, massive crystals embedded in the rock jutted out from the sheared-down walls. Amethyst and cloudy pink quartz, the pillars longer and thicker than her arms. And though cool air blew in through the doorway, it was warm as a summer evening.
“What was this place?” Alcoves were decorated with carved crystal reliefs of lithe figures in flowing garments, hands raised in supplication. Isa traced one sharp avian face, noting its tapered ears and the braids that draped its body like a cloak.
The next carving did not have fey ears, but a fox’s ears, and instead of hands, flowering branches sprouted from its wrists. “Godlings . . . this place must be five hundred years old.”
“Try millennia,” he said, staring at the wide golden bowl resting atop a plinth in the center of the cavern.
Isa joined him, following his gaze to the center of the basin where two figures were etched into the metal. One she recognized immediately, Khimaerani, the first khimaer. Even if the Sorceryn and her palace tutors had intentionally neglected several aspects of Myre’s history, Papa had shown the girls drawings of Khimaerani in the few books on ancient Myre in the Auguri library. The other figure, a masculine one, had long locs that seemed to dance in the lifelike sketch. His bone structure reminded her of Baccha, and somehow the artist who’d created this had conveyed the power of his gaze.
Isa gaped at Dthazi as he poured nearly half the bottle into the bowl and passed it to her. “Don’t worry, it will be gone by morning. I once left dried flowers in here and somehow they were gone six hours later.”
She felt warm all over, but not unpleasantly. More like she wanted to lie faceup in the dirt and forget the world outside existed.
“Every offering requires a prayer,” Dthazi said, tapping her hand.
She blinked at the etching still visible through the liquid. Humans did not pray or set out offerings. The Godlings belonged to fey and khimaer; the Temple where they’d once been worshiped was the center of human learning and magick. “What did you ask for?”
“The same things I always ask for—safety for my brothers, joy for my mother.” His antlers cast spiky shadows on the ceiling as he bowed his head. “Freedom for my people.”
For clarity, Isa thought as she poured more in.
They sat down atop a pile of furs and wool blankets in one corner. Isa yanked off her boots and tucked her feet beneath her. They passed the now-dwindling supply of liquor back and forth.
“So you haven’t agreed to a truce, but you haven’t disagreed either, or else what would you still be doing here?” Dthazi asked.
“Eva thinks she is the only one of us with a moral compass,” Isa said, knowing full well the drink had loosened her tongue. “I wanted to see the truth for myself. My . . . the Queen never visits the Enclosures. I think she likes to pretend they—you don’t exist.”
“And what do you think?”
Their eyes met. “I can see the beauty here, but when we walked through the Aerie, I skimmed the mind of every person we passed, and everyone, besides you and Daischa, held a bone-deep fear and impotence.” It had chilled her, that dread so at odds with the warmth of their greetings. They were living in terror.
“What about the Queen? What will you tell her?”
She wished she could promise to repeat all