It was shockingly easy to lie to the King.

Perhaps because of his reaction. When I told him Rashika's Resistance planned to attack the Holy Shrine of Rashika the following night, his eyes twinkled with delight even as he murmured horrified admonishments. The lies flowed from his lips so gracefully — so unobstructed by conscience.

Or perhaps because when he congratulated me on my findings, I suddenly realized the scraps of approval had only ever been enough to string me along like a half-starved puppy. I could never repay the debt of my own life, and I could never earn his love.

Or perhaps because Honey watched us from the loveseat beside the King's desk with glazed eyes and a bright smile, and for the first time, I noticed the imperfections. The subtle droop at one side of her lips, the slight tick of one temple, the flash of something sinister occasionally breaching the surface of her eyes. A smile that said, I'll serve you today and stab you tomorrow.

A smile I now wore as well.

* * *

My footsteps echoed all of the way down the long, dark corridor where Queen Romalda slept. Uniformly-sized gold-framed paintings of dreary landscapes decorated the walls at regular intervals. Lanterns spaced evenly between the paintings appeared to sway in the dim light and shifting shadows. I leaned forward and clenched my calf muscles to pad along on the balls of my bare feet, fingers trailing the wall to guide my way.

I passed one, two, three metal doors on the left, vacant cells for the Claimed she had never bothered to take.

At the end of the corridor, I slipped the keyring off of my belt and slid a tiny gold key into the lock of the Queen's door. Then I paused, remembering the day my trainer had entrusted the keys to me, demonstrated opening every door in the palace, and left me with a stern warning.

You may enter these rooms only in an emergency.

I doubted this qualified as an emergency in the eyes of my trainer or any other member of the Royal Guard. In fact, I knew how the Royal Guard would view my current actions.

Betrayal.

The faces of the few Royal Guard members I knew filtered through my mind, hazy and distant as though in the dark... or maybe in this case, washed away by too much sunlight. My trainer and Pamil would be horrified if they could see the thoughts spinning dark webs through my mind. Pim... well, Pim would be perplexed. Worried. Maybe even heartbroken.

The metal of the key dug into my fingers. Could I really betray everything I had ever known?

I pressed my left hand over my gut, and the tender bruise from Izra's fist throbbed in response, carrying with it her voice.

You know nothing.

With a gentle chink of key latching in lock, the door slid open.

Everything had shrunk in the years since I had last seen the room, and the once frightening paintings of barren landscapes now only looked forlorn. Centered against the back wall, a rickety single bed drowned in a swath of animal hide from some furry beast poached in the snowy northern mountains of Busk or Bund. A large jar of clear liquid perched on the bedside table.

I remembered the severity in the Queen's tone when she reprimanded me for my last uninvited visit, brow furrowed and hands splayed over hips not as skeletal as her current frame.

Stay away from my room, Epsa — and most of all, never touch that jar.

I craned my neck to cast a glance back toward the open door and empty corridor beyond. Then I stepped up to the bedside table and twisted the lid off of the glass jar.

The surface of the liquid shivered as though in anticipation, just a bit more viscous than water and just a bit more sinister. I had seen Queen Romalda drink the sleep potion every night for years, yet the sight of the forbidden liquid still spilled unease into my gut.

What would Queen Romalda do if she caught me? I would certainly lose my position on the Royal Guard for this abuse of rights and theft, but if anyone suspected my more nefarious plans... while the King and Queen had never loved me, they would not want me tortured or killed. Would they?

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. My possible fate mattered not. If I failed, the fate of the captured Lesser God Worshippers was certain.

They will all be killed.

I fished a glass vial from my pocket, unscrewed the lid, and poured the water into the jar. The gentle splish of liquid seemed to echo through the room and down the corridor. I clenched my muscles, anticipating footsteps.

Silence.

I plunged the now-empty vial into the jar and watched air bubbles rise to the surface like final breaths, extinguishing to a tiny trail as the vial filled. Then I plucked the vial out of the water and fastened the cap on both the vial and the container. With a slow, controlled exhale, I tucked the vial back in my pocket and started back down the corridor.

My feet padded along the cold corridor floor, stickier and heavier than before, weighed down by the tiny vial in my pocket. However, no one entered the passageway, and no one stopped me when I left the corridor and headed toward the liquor storage room to snag a bottle of prak.

In the corridor nearest the back exit, Roki and two other servants kneeled before a statue of Goddess of Rashika, heads bowed, eyes closed, and lips forming silent evening prayers. I steadied my gait and breathing as I strode by their feet.

The prak bottle sloshed in my left hand, and I winced, awaiting the glance my way and inevitable question.

No one looked up.

I stopped at the supply closet just to the left of the back exit and fitted another key into the lock. My toes clenched against the cold tile of the closet floor as I lit the lantern on the wall and pulled the door shut behind me. Then I popped the plug out of the prak bottle and dumped in the contents of the vial. The clear liquid clouded the amber neck of the bottle before spreading and disappearing.

I stepped up to the hip-high wooden crate at the center. A sudden anxiety crackled in the pit of my stomach. What exactly would the crate contain?

An experimental tug on the side failed to budge the wood, so I snagged the dagger from my belt and slotted the tip through the crack. Then I shoved down on the handle, prying the wood open a crack. I slid the crate's top away, revealing a coarse wool blanket.

A sigh of relief brushed my lips. If the prison received shipments of fresh blankets, perhaps prisoners were treated more humanely than Izra had suggested.

I plucked up the bottle of prak, peeled the blanket back to bury the bottle...

And gasped.

Beneath the blanket, metal instruments of varying shapes and sizes packed the crate — saws, pliers, drills, forked pokers, and barbed tools I had never seen before. Dark mahogany crusted the handles.

For several seconds, I stared at the tools, nausea swimming in my gut, skin stretched too tight over my scalp, and the bottle forgotten in my hand. My own plan suddenly felt hopelessly inadequate and terrifyingly fallible. If the King did not send enough guards to stop the false attack or if the guards in the prison did not accept my gift, the night could end with more prisoners instead of fewer.

The night could end with these tools marring Izra's flesh.

With a deep breath, I slid the bottle of prak in among the tools. Then I replaced the blanket and lid and slipped out of the room.

The several hours I stared at the ceiling in my bedroom passed achingly slowly. First, I listened to footsteps and the occasional murmur of voices from servants' rooms around me as they prepared to sleep. Then silence hung heavy over the room, the stark absence of sound a crushing pressure on my eardrums and the images in my mind searing my retinas. Though Rona, Honey, and Izra each crumbled a piece of the ground under my feet, a tiny platform of denial had remained.

The sight of the wicked metal tools shoved me into freefall.

Finally, I drew myself to my feet, tucked a boot under each armpit, and crept barefoot out the room into the corridor.

A few Royal Guard members remained on duty through the night, but I cut through back corridors to avoid their posts. I tiptoed down a flight of stairs, turned left, padded across another corridor, turned right, and reached a door partially obscured by a shelf — the secret exit.

Even the other guards did not know of this exit. King Makapu had shown Prince Makandi many years ago, warning him the exit was a family secret he could tell no one. The very same day, Makandi had shared the secret with me.

You are practically family, anyway, he had told me with a nonchalant shrug.

I inched the cabinet aside and pushed the door open. Dark cobwebs greeted me like the inside of a broom closet. I stepped forward and grappled at the right wall until my hand bumped the railing. Then I descended the stairs into the cellar.

At the bottom, I hopped over the crooked step I had always stumbled on as a child, and my bare feet slapped the frigid cellar floor. Then I tugged on my boots and jogged to the ladder at the other end of the cellar. As I gripped each rung and planted my feet carefully, I remember Izra's grace scaling the side of the bluff, her elated smile, and her solemn voice.

You're the first person I've brought here.

And she was the first person I had betrayed.

But not the last.

I shoved open the trapdoor and clambered up over the edge. The cool night air sifted through my hair, and the dim light of the stars and the moon revealed the staggered treeline of the woods surrounding the palace. I broke into a jog, zigzagging through the trees toward the agreed-upon meeting location, the only location outside of the palace I had visited more than a few times. The ground soon sloped up and the tree cover fell away, revealing the Mount of Truth.

The Three-Legged Lion constellation above spilled dim light over a massive gold statue of Goddess Rashika at the apex. According to ancient legend, Goddess Rashika had fought the Fallen Gods here on the Day of Challenge. When she claimed victory two days later on the Day of Truth, the Lesser Gods gathered to declare Goddess Rashika supreme.

Rashika's open palms splayed to either side, acknowledging the statues scattered around her. Lord Acrador and all of the other Lesser Gods bowed so deeply their faces submerged in grass and kissed the dirt, demonstrating absolute deference.

All but one.

My eyes caught on the catlike two-headed goddess, Valavira, and I realized for the first time that while one of her heads grazed the dirt, the other swiveled to the side. I had never given any of the Lesser Gods a second glance before, but I suddenly found myself captivated. While one head submitted, where did the other look?

What was she planning?

A dark shadow flashed over my left shoulder. Then a chest pressed to my back and a blade slid over my throat.

The quick jolt of panic that clenched my gut somehow bubbled up in a weary laugh, and I raised my hands before me in a concessive gesture. "Hello, Izra. Have you changed your mind about killing me?"

A wind rustled through the nearby trees, and her chest shifted against my back. I suddenly became aware of the soft warmth of her chest against my shoulder blades. In another life, I imagined she might have tugged my hips flush against her open and ducked her head to nuzzle my neck. But in this life, her voice rang out into the dark night.

"If you come any closer, I'll kill her."

I sighed. "Izra, I am the only one here."

"I don't trust you."

"Then kill me," I said, surprised at the ambivalence in my own voice. "But before you go, at least take the key from my left pocket so you can free the prisoners."

Two beats passed in silence. Then the blade dropped away from my neck, and the pressure of her chest against my back disappeared, leaving only the night chill. Hands still raised, I pivoted to face her.

Her fist clenched the dagger near her hip, and her eyes speared the ground just past my feet. When I followed her gaze, I saw the silver statue of Lord Acrador. The grass mostly obscured his V-smile, and his four arms tucked in beneath his chest like a dead beetle.

Izra spoke softly, but ice crystallized each consonant like hoarfrost.

"Did you steal that Acrador necklace from someone you killed?"

The question hit me harder than her punch to my gut, and I jerked back a step, hands flopping to my sides. "No." My throat strangled the garbled protest, and I shook my head twice before trusting my voice again. "No, another Royal Guard gave it to me. My best friend."

Her eyes darted up to mine, the shimmering black revealing a sliver of moonlight but little else. "Your friend worships Lesser Gods?"

I hesitated. "Well, not according to his oath."

"Hmm." Her eyes pinned mine a moment longer before flitting to the pocket of my trousers. "Give me the key."

I drew out a gold-painted key and extended it to her in my palm. The moonlight flashed over the key, exposing patches of silver where the paint chipped, a facade peeled away as easily as the blanket in the supply crate. Izra lifted a hand toward mine, but I snapped my fingers over the key before she could take it.

"Izra, what if our plan fails?"

She withdrew her hand with a sharp exhale of impatience. "Did you tell the King the story we agreed upon?"

I swallowed, an efficient gulp like sweeping away a cobweb. "I told him, and he sent all spare guards to the Holy Shrine of Rashika, including the ones who take shifts at the prison. But the three regular guards will remain with the prisoners."

She arched one brow. "You thought you could incapacitate the regular guards."

I nodded. "The supply crate with the laced prak should have been delivered an hour ago, and from the rumors I have heard, the guards will already be halfway through the bottle. But what if something goes wrong? What if they capture your rescue team?"

She huffed a humorless laugh. "I am not bringing a team."

I blinked twice. "You will go alone?"

"I already told you I don't trust you, Epsa. If I go down, so be it, but I won't bring anyone else down with me."

My eyes dropped to my outstretched hand, my fingers squeezing the key hard enough that the metal dug into my palm. "Izra, I know you don't believe me." My throat tightened my voice to a rasp. "But I swear I won't betray you again. I've started to realize how the King —"

"Stop. Just stop." She shook her head. "I'm sick of believing lies."

Izra lifted her palm. With a sharp nod, I opened my fist and pressed the key into her hand. But as I pulled away, her hand snagged my own. When my eyes found her face once more, she spoke again, slow and stilted.

"Epsa, if... if you really are betraying the King right now..." Her fingers gave mine a quick squeeze, kindling warmth in my belly. "Be careful. You are not safe, either."

"What does it matter to you? One less wild boar should be a good thing."

"You're right, of course." She released my hand and yanked her own back to her side. "It should be." Then her gaze fixed on the Acrador statue once more.

I bit my lip over another warning. She knew the dangers, and nothing I could say would persuade her to trust me. All I could do now was pray. To Goddess Rashika... or perhaps to Valavira.

I dug my heel into the ground and turned to march back the way I had come. The trees passed in a blur as I replayed Izra's words, her face, the moonlight playing across her eyes. Then the trees petered out to reveal the palace, dark turrets stretching up toward the sky.

I tugged open the still-cracked trapdoor of the cellar, swung down the ladder...

And almost stepped on someone.

"Hello, Epsa," a familiar voice greeted me. "Fancy meeting you here in the middle of the night."