gods’ energeias and give them to Geoxus so he can invade the world. I won’t let them do that. We need to save him.”
“Ash—” Tor bit off whatever he’d been about to say. He looked her up and down. “Can you fight?”
He didn’t mention her lack of igneia, but it was heavy in his eyes.
She ground her teeth and nodded—though she truly didn’t know if she could fight. She had managed to fend off four centurions, but that was only thanks to Ignitus’s assistance. What would she do against Geoxus, Anathrasa, Petros, and even more centurions?
“I’ll have my guards head for the palace,” Ignitus said. “Brand and Raya haven’t yet left—they can help too. You just worry about getting Madoc. Leave the fighting to us.”
Ash bowed her head in thanks. She wasn’t sure she could speak.
What would Char say about this alliance?
Their god swept away, making for the corridor and his soldiers in the arena beyond. Taro and Spark shot aside, and once he left, they closed in on Ash, wrapping her up in a shared hug.
But Tor turned away, his eyes on the ceiling.
Ash pulled herself out of Taro’s arms. She took a wobbling step forward, surprised when she was able to catch herself and stand upright.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” she said.
He flinched but didn’t face her.
“I know you hate him,” she pressed. “I know you blame him for my mother and for every other horrible thing that has happened in Kula. And I know you probably hate me now too, for putting us in a position where we have to ally with him. But I’d do it all again, Tor. I’d relive you hating me over and over, if it meant bringing about what just happened—because talking with Ignitus, I felt all the horrible things I let happen start to heal—the war, Rook’s death.” Ash coughed, tears falling. “I felt hope.”
Ash didn’t have a chance to scrub her eyes clean before a blur of darkness and muscle grabbed her into a hug.
“None of this was your fault, Ash,” he whispered into her hair. “And I don’t hate you. Never. You’re so like your mother—but better, as she used to tell me. I’m prouder of you than I can say—and I know Char and Rook would be too.”
Ash sobbed, clinging to him, absorbing the feel of his lungs expanding and the pounding of his heart under her forehead.
Taro and Spark moved in from behind. And though she had no igneia, though more bloodshed no doubt stood between them and leaving Deimos, Ash relished this moment of calm.
In the comfort, she felt Char’s love.
She felt Rook’s strength.
She felt all of Kula swell with possibility.
Whatever Anathrasa truly wanted, whatever misguided invasion Geoxus had planned—none of it mattered.
Ash had peace in Kula within her grasp, and nothing would stop her from seeing it through.
Twenty-Three
Madoc
MADOC SPAT BLOOD onto the smooth sandstone floor. The taste of it was bitter copper in his mouth, and as his tongue prodded a gash on the inside of his cheek, the bright spark of pain centered him.
“Get up,” Geoxus snarled from his twisted onyx throne. The glossy black spikes that made up the back fanned behind him like the tail feathers of a deadly bird. “Get him up.”
Madoc was hoisted to stand by two centurions. The metal plates of their armor pinched his sides, cold against his sweat-slicked skin. He swayed, unsteady, when they left him.
“I’m losing patience,” Geoxus said between his teeth.
Madoc blinked at Petros, standing before him in the throne room. His father doubled in Madoc’s hazy vision, a pair of furious gazes circling in a slow dance. They’d been at this for the better part of an hour—Geoxus ordering Madoc to give Crixion’s tax collector igneia, to prove that Madoc had control of soul energy. Madoc refusing to even try.
A centurion or two punishing his insubordination with their metal-coated fists or the weight of a stone wall on his back.
Giving Petros igneia was only the first step of Madoc’s training, Geoxus had told him. Soon, Geoxus would summon Ignitus and the real work would begin.
Draining a god, infusing another with his power.
“Where’s Ash?” Madoc stumbled a little, then caught himself.
The end of a spear whipped through the air and struck him hard across the middle of his back. Pain seared through his flesh, the bruise instant and deep. With a grunt, he fell to one knee.
Madoc could make these guards do what he wanted—he was confident in at least that aspect of