Hours passed. Plans slipped between her fingers as swiftly as the time, each flimsier and more impossible than the last. If she'd had any skill with blade or bow, or any magic other than her Oracle's dreams, she might have managed it. But other than her vague, useless visions, she had no powers or skills beyond governance. In a camp of warriors, Kestra couldn't so much as fight off a single one of her guards.

She'd turned instead to cunning, It would be easy to get the valkyries watching her to lower their guard, but none of them were taking their eyes off her. She'd already convinced them she was tame, docile and weak, a little girl out of her depth and far from home. But they were still watching, though she suspected it was because they were afraid of being scolded by Diaz for laziness more than anything.

Her next thought had been to appeal to their faith. They called Diaz an Isidore and prayed to the goddesses, so they clearly still followed the valkyries' religion. But they seemed convinced that Diaz was the rightful War Queen instead of Myra and that she was a pretender. What they made of the very real phoenix mark on her neck and the lack of any other Keeper Queen was unclear, but their belief was unwavering. She wouldn't be able to convince any of them that she was their true queen and she doubted there were any loyal spies among their ranks. If there had been any, they'd have warned them about the attack on Triad.

Exhaustion began to pull at Kestra's seams as the day wore on. Sprinting the day

before had taken its toll. And being knocked out for twenty-four hours wasn't

nearly the same as sleeping for twenty-four hours.

At first she tried to resist the call of exhaustion, but her thoughts muddied and swirled. Once she slept, she'd have a clearer head and she could start properly planning her escape. With this in mind, Kestra surrendered to the pull of rest, collapsing on the hard ground of the tent.

———

Kestra woke with a shock, ice-cold water splashing on her face.

She cursed herself. What had she been thinking, sleeping when she was in the middle of enemy territory? How had she ever convinced herself that it was a good idea? She was a captive at the hands of murderous valkyries. Rest was a a luxury she couldn't afford. At least they'd think her even less of a threat after this.

Her captors pushed her to her feet.

"Hurry," one muttered, low enough that she had to strain her ears to hear them. "The ceremony starts soon. The queen will kill us if we're late." Ceremony? What kind of twisted ceremony were they planning on? Might it provide enough distraction for her to break free?

"Do you think she'll be finished with the liar after this?" The other asked. Her heart skipped a beat. Had her time run out?

"Maybe," the other shrugged. "Who knows what other plans she has for her? Maybe she wants to turn her to our side. The liar queen could be useful."

"Please. She's been nothing but docile since we captured her. I bet she actually believes she's the Keeper Queen." She does, Kestra thought sharply. And when my mother wipes you off the earth, the goddesses will exact their judgement on you for holding their chosen queen captive.

They emerged from the tent. It was even darker now than before, though it couldn't be long until sunrise. Few valkyries could navigate true, pitch black.

But these ones were fine. That struck a chord of fear within her. They had to have a powerful war-gift to see so well in such darkness. Her thoughts returned to the cheetah, one of the most powerful forms. Why were the warriors under Diaz's command so gifted? Was it simply the luck of the draw? Valkyries' gifts had increased in power in the thirty years before the Crimson Wars—the goddesses' way of preparing them. Diaz must have managed to recruit most of them.

They led her through the forest for what felt like hours. The others had already deserted the tents; if not for the chains binding her wrists and the sword uncomfortably close to her throat, this would have been the perfect time for her to run. She was still mulling over it, but deep down she knew it was hopeless. If there was such a hurry with this 'ceremony' then the other valkyries would notice almost immeadietly when she and her escorts arrived late.

Regardless, Kestra quietly worked away at her chains. Myra had taught her well, but these were tricky. It would take more than a few hours for her to slip out of them. Hopefully they'd revert to the simpler rope ones when she got back from this mysterious ceremony. If she got back at all, that was.

They at last reached their destination. Kestra let out a gasp of surprise as it came

into a view. Her captors had gathered on the shores of a shimmering lake.

BrightLake. She was in BrightLake Forest, to the northwest of Triad. Not far at all—she'd expected them to be over halfway to Allia by now. If she escaped, she could still make a run for it and arrive in Traid quickly.

But she was unlikely to be found here. Few ever ventured into the forest.

The eerily glowing lake had spawned rumours of haunting and ghosts of

dead soldiers.

Kestra scanned the congregation of valkyries. Fifty or so warriors had gathered here—no wonder the tents were empty. Diaz—she could tell it was her from the War Queen's blue cloak she wore, a defilement of their sacred colour—was at the centre. A fire pit stood, unlit, near the lake.

Her captors dragged her forward. As she stepped into the light, a few of the valkyries noticed her. A few sneered hatefully, others laughed and jeered. She didn't so much as flinch. A hundred Kallian captives had spat at her in her days in the rebellion. A thousand angry elves, humans and valkyries like these had mocked and raged at her when they'd formed the Alliance. These people, these traitors, were nothing to her.

They stopped a scant metre before the pit. Someone lit the pile of wood and to her shock, it turned a vivid green. An impossible colour. Chemicals, she thought dismissively. That must have been what they were throwing into the fire. A bit of voodoo meant to scare me. I will not be so easily shaken.

A lone girl stepped forward. She couldn't be older than eight or nine. Her hair was golden—golden as sunlight and daffodils, two things that seemed far away in this moonlit, cold place.

Who was she? She felt vaguely familiar. Had Kestra seen her before? The girl's eyes caught hers. Her heart skipped a beat. Those eyes—pale, pale blue—so pale they were almost white. The colour of frost, of ice, of fear.

It's her, she thought with cold dread. The girl from my dream. This is the fire pit. What I saw—it's happening. Right now. She's about to shift into a basilisk.

"Anastasia Isidore, the chosen one!" One of the valkyries cried. Isidore, Kestra thought. Ridiculous. Who's this one meant to be? The Keeper Heir?

"The true Keeper Queen!" They continued. "She has reached her ninth year and so she will now discover her animal elkor, aided by the holy fire!" The holy fire, Kestra silently mocked. There is no holy fire. Holy fires are for humans. The valkyries worship the ocean. And this girl is not the Keeper Queen.

But then she saw it. The black phoenix mark on the girl's neck. A tattoo,

she thought dismissively. For someone who calls me a liar queen, Diaz doesn't seem to be fussed about branding some poor girl with a phoenix mark and dressing her up as the Keeper Queen.

Anastasia walked ever closer to the fire, undeterred by the high column of flame that sent Kestra sweating. Was she actually going to reach her hand into it, like she did in the dream? Anastasia' eyes darted back and forth rapidly, finally resting on Diaz. The traitor gave a single confirming nod and when the girl seemed like she would hesitate, her stare turned harsh.

Anastasia drew in a deep breath and plunged her hand into the blaze.

Kestra held back a scream as the fire climbed from that outstretched hand to her arm and to her shoulders, swiftly surrounding the girl in a bubble of flame. But she wasn't burning. She didn't even seem to be in pain. In a bright green flash, the fire receded and the child was gone.

In her place was a serpent, long enough to wrap around the pit twice over. It was a dark, vivid green, just like the flame. But instead of being made of scales, it was feathered like a bird. Sharp teeth glinted in its mouth and upon its head was a crown of golden feathers, glimmering as brightly as the girl's hair. A dark black mark was branded upon the basilik's neck. The phoenix mark. How had it stayed, even in her new form?

The most powerful forms they got now were leopards, tigers and cheetahs. Certainly not basiliks. This girl didn't have the power to kill with a single look, as the true creatures did, but was she was still extraordinarily powerful. Basilik forms were things of legend, belonging in the Ancient Times when goddesss could grant them far more powerful gifts. But now...how was this even possible?

As if in answer, Diaz's voice rang again:

"The sacred flame, born from an Ember of Power from the High Temple—one of the last four on earth—has granted our Keeper Queen one of most powerful forms in history. An elkor second only to a dragon. Behold, the mighty basilik!"

The Temple was shrouded in mystery. She'd heard rumours of the priestesses knowing of ways to communicate with the goddesses and bearing talismans with the power to enhance magical gifts—all of them belonging to a time before time. But Embers? What were they?

Just as she was about to dismiss it all as nonsense, she remembered hearing a legend, once, whispered when she was but a child:

"There are rumours the Kallian Empress has been asking after the High

Temple," Viktoria mentioned, trying to sound casual. Kestra yawned. The High Temple was boring. Kallias was boring. She didn't want to hear about the empress or the Lords and Ladies of Asriel or all the viziers at court. She was only eight. Why did she have to learn these things now?

"Has she?" Vera asked, her mouth thin with displeasure—and worry.

"The eight Embers of Power, apparently," Viktoria answered, shrugging. "Never heard of them." Vera paled, clutching the arm of her chair tightly.

"What, Verrie? What are the Embers of Power?"

"Some things are better left unknown," Vera said tightly. "The Embers are nothing. Heresy. Legend."

"Then tell me what the legends say. I'm War Queen, Veer. You can trust me."

"Take Kestra to bed," Vera commanded.

"She's eight," Viktoria answered, raising her eyebrows. "I doubt she's going to get dangerous ideas."

"Just do it," Vera insisted.

Of course, Kestra pressed her ear to the floorboards and strained her ears as hard as she could trying to listen to them. In the end, she'd caught only brief snatches.

"...You know of the Embers of Truth?" Vera asked.

"Of course I do," Viktoria laughed. "They use them to test the queens' marks."

"They say that within the Embers are ever-lasting flames." Vera said. "That if you set a fire with one, the fire would be blessed. Holy. An Ember would be destroyed after one use though..."

"I know all this," Viktoria grumbled.

"But you don't know the rest. The Embers are not only holders of truth. They contain great power as well."

Vera had whispered even softer after that, and Kestra hadn't been able to hear her for a good ten minutes. She'd been about to give up when she finally detected Vera's voice through the floorboards again.

"No one knows about their other uses but the Keeper Queen and she's never to wield them in such a way... I've only ever seen an Ember, just before my coronation. They use one to prove whether the mark is real, ever since Elizabeth the Liar Queen, and now only eight remain—one of which will be used to test Kestra when the time comes...."

Another long period of quiet. Kestra kept listening until Vera spoke up again.

"The priestesses reported a disturbance a few years ago, something about a novice trying to steal the Embers. When they caught her, a black dart emerged from her head...the priestesses were terrified."

"But what power do they have, beyond the mark?" Viktoria interrupted.

"They say they also enhanced power, took it to a new level—but only if they were used before a valkyrie settled into their animal elkor, and the war-gift was fixed..."

Kestra listened until the conversation ended but heard no more until footsteps warned her that Viktoria and Vera were coming upstairs. She hurried into bed, closed her eyes tight and never thought of such things again.

She hadn't dwelled on that memory in a long time—not since her own mark had been tested by that holy fire. Through the lens of the future, everything made much more sense. The black dart was a sliver, the novice controlled by Medea.

She thought of the cheetah that had captured her in Triad, the two valkyries who could see perfectly in the dark. The fifty warriors who had somehow managed to overwhelm the entire city.

If they'd stolen all seven Embers that remained and now only three were left—four, if you counted the one burning in that pit—then they must have wielded the powers of the stones thrice already to enhance their forms. But to have affected so many...they must have forced the nine-year-old valkyries to keep their forms contained. To hold them back until enough were ready for burning an Ember to be worth it. Even if it was just for a few days, it was an unspeakable cruelty. Once the elkor came the first time, it pressed against a child's skin and screamed to escape, the need burgeoning with every second it was shoved down.

Yet another thing Diaz would soon pay for.

The mentions of the Embers' truth-telling abilities made sense as well. Elizabeth the Liar was a fradulent Keeper Queen who'd had the phoenix mark tattooed on her neck and had been able to rule for a year before the true queen was revealed. A fire born from an Ember had burned away her mark, and the same Embers had been used to test all Keeper Queens who'd come after—including her. And thus

the temple's stocks were slowly depleted.

Kestra was so lost in thought she barely noticed when the basilik shifted back into valkyrie form. In comparison to the great serpent, this little slip of a girl seemed tiny. Fragile. Such power was contained in her skin.

"These flames were born from a sacred Ember—an Ember of Truth and Power—and to prove it we will bring another with a false, tattooed mark to the pit." Diaz announced. Kestra expected to be dragged forth, but instead another girl stepped forward. A mark was printed on her neck, so realistic Kestra would have named her her Heir in an instant if she hadn't known the truth.

"Maddison has taken the mark not to parade as a false queen, but to prove real Anastasia's brand. She is a mighty warrior, but she is not of the phoenix. Her mark will fade in the heat of the flames!" The girl was lifted into the air and uncomfortably close to the fire.

Diaz's rituals were strange and backward.

Moments later, the girl was lowered to the ground, her mark gone and her neck bare.

"Anastasia Isidore will now prove the trueness of her mark with the sacred flame as witness!" One of the valkyries proclaimed. Kestra blinked. Surely Diaz wouldn't risk her lie being exposed. Why would she make Anastasia go through with this? Did she truly believe the girl phoenix-marked?

The valkyries carried Anastasia back to the pit, holding her over the flames. The tips of the fire singed her hair as they gently lowered her to the ground.

The mark was as clear as ever

Kestra froze. Anastasia's mark should have been burned away likeMaddison's. And yet it had held strong.

What if Anastasia was truly was her heir? Had Diaz managed to steal her as a child? It would have been nine years ago, just after Medea had taken control of Miras, Vera had been killed and Kestra had become the Keeper Queen.

She remembered a child being born with the phoenix mark three months later. Medea had killed her on sight, and Kestra had forever mourned for her, that queen-who-might-have-been. When she'd regained her throne, she declared the heir's birthday as a day of mourning for the lost girl...her birthday, which happened to be a day after the Spring Festival.

Hadn't Diaz said that Anastasia had just reached her ninth year? What if

Anastasia truly was a Keeper Heir?

I have to save her, Kestra thought resolutely. She's only a child. She has nothing to do with Diaz's betrayal. There's still hope for her yet.

An Heir. She had an Heir. That queen she had always mourned for—alive and well. Perhaps corrupted by Diaz, but not for long. Belle would not have chosen a weak, pliable child as Keeper Heir. Anastasia would see the truth before long. Perhaps some good would come of her mother sparing Diaz after all.

"And now, the liar queen shall face the flames." Diaz announced. The general's voice echoed, shattering through the stunned silence of Kestra's mind.

Her two captors lifted her into the air. She thought about kicking them, but she

didn't want to be dropped into the fire. This is a ridiculous ritual, she thought, but

was silently pleased at the thought of Diaz being proved wrong in front of all her followers. Because sacred Ember or no, her mark would hold. She had faced the flames before, just after the Crimson War had ended. The mark hadn't so much as smudged.

Kestra flinched at the heat of the fire. She was so close to the pit. What if they dropped her? For what seemed like hours, she dangled there.

At last, the valkyries carried her away from the burning flames and proudly placed her on the grass, her neck exposed for all to see. The mark still there.

Gasps filled the crowds. Confused shouts of elfin magic, lies, treachery.

But perhaps some would be shaken from their beliefs. Some might realise that Kestra was the true queen and help her escape.

"Stop!" Diaz shouted over the confusion. "This is naught but an illusion. Kestra Lluvia is a liar, a traitor and a false queen. Of this, we can be certain, sacred flame or no."

Now was the time to escape. Kestra's bonds had been partly melted by the flame. Desperately, she forced them closer to the fire as unnoticeably. The heat on her arms burned, but she did not stop. It was cheap metal and melted easily at the touch of flame.

It took a few painful minutes, but the chain tying her feet fell away at the centre, allowing her to run. There was no time for the ones on her arms. Kestra sprinted, hoping to go unnoticed in the chaos and uproar. Her legs burned with pain as she ran, shackles weighing her down.

Someone grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to her knees. Diaz. She'd seen her bolt.

But Kestra was done with captivity. Struggling wildly, she kicked and screamed and howled. Diaz held her in a firm grip, but Kestra raked fingernails down the warrior's arm and even lunged in an attempt to bite her. Anything, anything to be free.

"Find me the sedatives." Diaz said calmly.

No, no, no. If they drugged her, she would never get free. If they drugged her, she would die here.

But as desperately as Kestra struggled, they still held her down. Still pried her lips open and forced the sedatives down her throat.

Within minutes, the drugs swept in and all her hopes were extinguished.

———

She slept. For hours and hours. In her few moments of consciousness, the world was blurred, smudged. As though it was a fresh painting someone had thrown water over and the paints were mixing and dripping down the page.

Sometimes a blue-eyed, golden-haired girl sat beside her, watching.

Sometimes Kestra pleaded with her, begging her to see the truth. Sometimes another sat beside her, a woman with lies like daggers. Both were strangely familiar.

She was never sure if those moments were dreams or not.