That moment came as Ash stood on the blood-soaked arena sands, staring down at Char’s body. The broadsword protruded from her chest.
Ash couldn’t move. She heard the crowd shouting, someone distantly calling her name.
No, it wasn’t her name—it was a word. War.
Tor set upon her, his hands like vises on her arms. “Ash, Geoxus has declared war. Get behind me—I need to get you out of this arena.”
Awareness trickled into Ash’s mind. Tor’s eyes were bloodshot, his face rigid. Behind him, Kulan guards were charging into the fighting pit.
“Halt, Nikau!” they ordered. “Surrender!”
She wasn’t resisting them. She wasn’t moving at all. There was nothing she could do that would fix anything, nothing that would bring Char back.
She let the guards rip her from Tor’s hands and drag her out of the arena.
Ignitus’s dormant volcano palace was a dark maze of magma tunnels that connected rooms of polished obsidian, granite, and peridot—stones that were made from fire, and therefore impervious to Geoxus’s control. The air was thick with ashy smoke, which made it more difficult for the goddess of air to manipulate; there were no animals, no guard dogs or pets, to prevent Biotus from spying. Ash had heard visitors from other countries describe Ignitus’s palace as dank and eerie, but she found it lovely in the same way she loved igneia. It was something her god had made; she should hate it. But it was still hers too, part of her blood and her history she couldn’t ignore.
Ignitus’s guards hauled Ash to one of the palace’s highest floors. When they pulled her into a foyer, the opulence stunned her silent. The ceiling was several stories tall, with closed ivory doors leading to other rooms, and garnets, Ignitus’s signature gem, embedded in the molding along the floor. The walls were hardened panes of gold that reflected the light of the chandelier.
Stationed next to each door, Kulan guards stood armed with live flames in their palms. Secretaries moved in and out of a few rooms, their arms laden with scrolls and books. They eyed Ash as though she was an investment Ignitus was considering. Had they heard what had happened?
That question broke through Ash’s shock, and the bottom of her stomach dropped out.
She had interfered in an arena match. She had broken one of the rules of gladiator fights, the only things the gods held sacred. Geoxus had watched through the stones and declared war.
Ignitus was going to kill her. If she was lucky.
A vile tartness filled Ash’s mouth and she steeled herself against the urge to throw up. She should have run, Tor was right—but she couldn’t think, she could barely feel her own aching feet under her, and every blink brought back the image of her mother’s body speared through the chest.
One of the guards opened a door. Ash eyed the sliver of light that crept out.
“Touch nothing,” the guard said. “He will be here once he’s done with Geoxus.”
Ash stiffly walked into the room. It was a sitting chamber with a wall of glittering Kulan glass windows that showed the late-afternoon sky and the startling, multistory drop. Scarlet and butter-yellow tapestries covered the walls, draping in lazy sweeps between golden statues of Ignitus and furniture in dark polished wood. A red padded lounge filled the middle of the room, surrounded by stacks of paper, scrolls, and books.
The door shut with a thud behind her. She was alone.
Ash’s nerves caught up to her. Her fingers started to shake, her arms, her chest. She dropped onto the lounge and braced her hands on the edge, her curled black hair falling in straggly chunks around her face as she strained in one full breath of the smoky air.
A sob bubbled past her lips, horror and rage lashing to break free.
Ignitus had gotten Char killed. In trying to stop it, Ash had brought more death to Kula.
What had she done?
A golden bowl full of water sat on the floor next to the lounge, a damp cloth over its edge. Something was odd about the water. It rippled, but Ash hadn’t touched it—
The water bubbled, frothed like seafoam, and formed a face.
Ash jerked back on the lounge. The watery eyes shifted around the room. They landed on her, and an expression like annoyance crossed the face. “I thought my brother was in Kula.”
Hatred and fear usually overpowered any sense of wonder that Ash could feel about the gods—but being so close to this water face, watching the features ripple and glisten, she was rendered speechless. She knew Ignitus communicated and traveled in fire, and only moments ago she had seen Geoxus come to Kula through stone.
Recognition brought feeling into Ash’s limbs. Brother. A face appearing in water.
Hydra, the goddess of water energy who ruled the Apuit Islands.
Ash nodded. “He’s here.”
The goddess of water glanced around the otherwise empty room. An eyebrow lifted.
“In Kula,” Ash said, dumbstruck. “Not here. Yet.”
Hydra heaved a sigh, the water undulating around her face. “Who are you—a servant? Actually, I don’t care. I’m not waiting for him. Pass along my response: I received his message. I have heard no similar rumors. He should stop worrying and leave me out of his squabbles with Biotus, Aera, and Geoxus.”
Hydra sank back into the water with a parting splash.
Ash started. Ignitus had sent Hydra a message? Why? Only four of the six gods treated their people like disposable objects; two hadn’t used their arenas in so long that they were falling into disrepair. That was only a rumor—the two peaceful gods, Hydra, of water hydreia, and Florus, of plant floreia, had long ago formed a coalition against their warmongering siblings. No one other than their own people had been to their countries in decades, as any mortal who tried to cross into either Hydra’s or Florus’s lands was immediately stopped and sent away.
Ash hadn’t heard of the other gods speaking to Hydra or Florus—though that didn’t mean it never happened. What did Ignitus want with Hydra?
A flash of orange and blue filled the room.
Ash hurtled to her feet. Her foot caught on the golden bowl and sent the water spilling across the carpet, soaking books and scrolls. She lost her balance and crashed to her knees.
Ignitus appeared, grim faced and fuming. His silken robe fluttered around him, showing strands of glass beads draped across his chest. A few torches were already lit throughout the room; five more flared to life at his presence. He eyed them, then looked at Ash, merely because she was in front of him, and he would have had to make a great show of ignoring her to look elsewhere.
Ash almost told Ignitus about Hydra. But her fingers dug into the soaked carpet, and her mouth tasted like sand.
She was bowing before the creature who had murdered her mother.
The last remnants of Ash’s shock shattered beneath the heavy drop of rage.
Ignitus may have been the god of fire, but he didn’t know what it was like to feel this kind of fire, an anger so pure and absolute that even the sun shied from it.
She wouldn’t tell him. The reason Hydra and Florus had had to form a blockade around their countries was to prevent their warmongering siblings from drawing them into fights. Whatever dispute Ignitus wanted to start with Hydra, a peaceful goddess, Ash would let him fail at it. She wouldn’t assist him in anything that would lead to more bloodshed.
“You,” he started, “broke our holy laws. Your mother lost. The Nikaus today have nearly undone their lineage’s good deeds.”