Queen Xanthe walked me from the hall. Courtiers backed away from our path, guards dipped their heads. Andiya watched me go, rooted to the spot under Death’s night sky. I tried to reassure her with a small smile. I spoke to where the bond should have been.

“Death will not hurt you. I swear it.”

Almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

I followed Queen Xanthe through the palace, trailing smoky night from the star in my hand. We left the palace walls, walking an ancient cobbled path through the surrounding deep jungle trees. The air thickened with the humidity of a hot spring. Vines and leaves whispered in the gentle wind, creatures rustled in the darkness. I caught pops of eyes blinking at us from the boughs of red-wooded trees, fleeing as we got too close. Pinpricks of light twinkled around us: tiny mushrooms, bunches of bright ferns, puffs of floating seeds, all emitting a subtle glow.

The path stepped sharply, and I struggled to keep up with Queen Xanthe, who hopped up from rock to rock as delicately a feather on the wind. The trees ended, and we came to a crater-like, deep valley of waving dark grass.

In the centre of the valley, standing alone, was the bones of a massive tree. If it were still living it would have matched the Korongorod in height, the base of it so wide it could have held a city block. But its bark was black, dead, shattered to a stump as though struck by a bolt of lightning. Hulking, splintered boughs laid on the ground around it, decaying.

Queen Xanthe sat on a boulder at the valley’s lip, gazing down at the shattered tree. I sat quietly beside her. The shadows pouring from my palm lessened, then stopped, the star once more a simple piece of quartz.

“It is a rare thing, for the divine to touch our world,” said Queen Xanthe. She seemed to be somewhere else, her eyes dreaming. “An even rarer thing, in this era. There are some who say the Creators do not care for our world any longer. That they saw us only as a game, and when we were no longer amusing, they threw us away.”

“But what do you think?”

“I think that my people are young. In their hubris, they forget that they are only long-lived. They do not understand what it means to be eternal, as the Creators are. They do not recognize their inflated sense of grandeur, of being a bigger part of this universe than they really are. They do not remember a time when the mortal and god walked this earth together as one, revelling in the magic of a new world. They do not remember the splendour that such a bond created.”

“Wait. Do you?”

Queen Xanthe’s lips pulled in a tired smile. “My mother did. She was one of the last few to live amongst the Creators. To hear her tell of it, tales of power and laughter and wonder … there has never been a sound more beautiful to me in all my life.”

I followed her gaze to the tree. Like Queen Xanthe, there was an odd magnetism to it, as though the forest around it were only a blur. My hands wanted to reach out to it, place my hands on its bark.

“This is where the Creators are said to have first touched this earth,” Queen Xanthe continued. “Their magic brought life to our world, spread through the ground by these roots. Once, the top of this tree vanished into the clouds, its leaves pouring light into the sky. But as the eons passed, and the Creators drew farther away, its magic faded. It has been millennia since this tree held any life—I am the last amongst our people who remembers it as it once was.”

“Your Majesty … if I may ask, how old are you?”

“Older than Kaelta,” she said, and it sounded almost like a laugh. “And far older than anyone else you’ll ever meet. I can guarantee that.”

“So you’ve seen everything. The Creators, the destruction of the elvhen, the war between us and the daemons …”

Queen Xanthe’s head cocked. “And what do the human legends say about the destruction of the elvhen?”

“The legends vary. Some believe that the elvhen were a cruel people, and so the Creators decided they were no longer fit to rule Itrera. Some say that the elvhen freed the daemons from hell, and for it the daemons killed them.”

“What do you believe?”

“I don’t know if I believe any of it, anymore. I’ve learned that very little of what I once knew is true at all.”

Queen Xanthe nodded slowly. “The elvhen were a powerful, incomparable people. They had an unparalleled curiosity: a thirst for art, for music, for spiritual awakening. Much of their lives was spent in deep thought. Their scholars worked tirelessly to unlock the secrets of the arcane. Their artisans fused their tools with magic, so they might build something eternal. And their sorcerers spoke to the magic of the earth, melding it with their own souls. I had a great many friends amongst the elvhen …” Her voice quieted. “And a great many enemies. The elvhen’s powerful emotions were their strength, but also their weakness. They were capable of great goodness and cruelty in equal measure.”

“Could you tell me what happened to them?”

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Queen Xanthe’s gaze pierced me, taking every part in. Her irises were an odd, pale silver, as though made of smoky glass. Her eyes narrowed slightly and fell to the quartz in my hand. “I expect you’ll understand soon enough,” she said, her tone almost sad. “But I did not bring you here to speak to you of the elvhen. I brought you here to give you a warning.”

Her gaze returned to the tree stump, and so did mine.

“The love of the Creators is no fickle thing,” she continued. “You were chosen with purpose. You are blessed, indeed, but now shouldered with a terrible burden. Death’s favour will allow you to move mountains. You will tear kings from their thrones. You will watch the seas rise and fall at your very word. Your name will fill the pages of history. You may become as a god on earth.” Her hand fell to rest on mine. “But I was once touched by the gods, as was this tree—and look at us now.”

*

I was given free reign of El-By-Sea. Guards bowed as I passed, a flat palm pressed to their hearts. I was no prisoner now, but a conduit for the Creators. They would not hold me anymore.

I caught Verahai in one of the gardens. “I want Andiya released,” I said. He only nodded once, his glare cold as ice, and walked away.

The next morning, the sun rose as it was meant to. As warm orange light climbed up the horizon, I leaned against the palace’s sea wall to catch my breath. My head pounded. I hadn’t slept at all. Death had spoken to me. She’d chosen me. Queen Xanthe’s warning rung like a harsh whine in my ears. Was that what I would become? Would I burn brightly, only to fizzle away to a husk? Would I become some frail, broken thing, so weak I would blow away in a strong wind?

A scarlet-nailed hand covered mine.

And Andiya was beside me, adorned in silk and jewels, a princess in all but name. But dark circles ringed her eyes, as though she had not slept either.

“I will not thank you for my release,” she said. “I will not assuage your guilt.”

Waves crashed below. A light breeze caught her scarlet hair. New dawn lit her face. All I could do was stare at her, marvel at her, my heart in my throat. I placed my hand on her shoulder, drawing her in. She let me pull her close, resting her cheek on my chest. In that moment, I let everything else fall away. Whatever the future held, I could face it with Andiya in my arms.

“I’m sorry, Andiya,” I murmured. “I shouldn’t have kept any secrets from you. I will find a way to make amends, I swear to you.”

“Make amends now.” She drew away slowly. Her face was still guarded, her brow tight. I’d lied, and I’d hurt her, and only time could heal that. “Throw the star away. Now, into the sea. Reject Death’s gift.”

“I can’t. Queen Xanthe said that I was chosen. She said that the Creators had a purpose for me. I can’t turn that away, even if I wanted to.”

“You can, and you will. Death is a monster. There is a price for her help, and we shall not pay it.”

“I don’t have a choice, Andiya.”

“You do. We can do this without her. We don’t need her.”

“Her favour is the only reason Kaelta is helping us. The queens were never going to accept our offer.” I took a deep breath. “Did you know? Did you know the queens would refuse us?”

Andiya blinked in surprise, frowning. “What? Why the hell would I come here to be turned away?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“This is ridiculous. I crossed half of Itrera to bring you here. I did that to find out that you lied to me. How long have you known you could free Khalid? And when were you going to tell me?”

I leaned against the wall. The doubt Verahai had sown vanished. I’d have heard if Andiya were lying to me. She couldn’t hide. “I’ve known since the Korongorod,” I said quietly.

Andiya’s voice was low, forced through clenched teeth. “You did not.”

“We’d just spoken to the princess. You were weak from your injuries. You leaned on Artem … and it freed him. We don’t know why, and we don’t know how, but your touch took away Yulia’s bond. Maybe your own influence takes control. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that I personally bound you both. I don’t know yet, exactly, or how to use that to free you. But I believe there is a way, and that you are the key.”

Andiya stepped back. Pain filled her eyes, pulled at her mouth. “So when Khalid … when he said my name in the woods. That was him.”

“Yes. He isn’t lost.”

“I told you what losing him did to me. And you let me believe he was dead.”

“I did.”

“Bitch.”

“I deserve that.”

“You do. You deserve a hell of a lot more than that. I should throw you and that star both into the sea, and save myself the trouble. If you were anyone else, I would.”

“So why don’t you?”

Her fists curled. “You know why,” she growled, her cheeks flushing.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I wanted to tell you. I almost did, so many times. I tried to, on the beach. But I was afraid. What that knowledge could do … if the Canavar ever found out, they’d kill us both. Freeing bonded will ripple chaos across the entire continent. Who knows what devastation it could cause? It’s not something to be taken lightly.”

“It was more than that,” hissed Andiya. “Wasn’t it?”

My face burned. “I couldn’t control you. What if I told you, and you used your power to fight the Canavar? To kill who you wanted, destroy our fragile peace?”

“And when you knew I was no monster? When you’d finally deigned me worthy of trust?”

“By then … I’d hidden it for so long. I was afraid of telling you because I knew what I had done was wrong. I’m sorry, Andiya. I can’t tell you how much. I was coward, and I was wrong. You have every right to hate me for it.”

Andiya blinked furious tears. “You hurt me.”

“I know. I wish I could take it back.”

She moved towards me. “You will never hurt me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Swear it.”

“I—I swear to you, Andiya Mathaszai. I shall never lie to you again.”

She ran a hand up my arm. “You will never hurt me again.”

I could only watch her, feel my heart shudder. “I will never hurt you again.”

“Good.”

Her hand fell to my pocket. Before I realized what she was doing, Andiya plucked the quartz star from my coat and whipped it over the wall.

“Andiya—” I started, but the star hit the waves and vanished, swallowed by the deep.

“I’m protecting you,” said Andiya. Her fingers brushed my jaw, turning me back to look at her. “Hear this, and hear it well. You have been chosen, and perhaps my fighting it will be in vain, but I will not see you in the hands of Death. I will not see my beloved torn from me for some fate of suffering and pain. I will stand before Death herself and draw my blade before I ever let her touch you.”

She pulled gently, and I acquiesced to her touch. Andiya kissed me, just softly, quelling the shame in my stomach.

“I forgive your lies, my Rozin,” she said against my lips. “But I will not forgive them again.”