Three days before the War

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Ayla woke up at the creak of her door. She lifted her eyes enough to make out a tall figure with broad shoulders in the sliver of moonlight coming through her window. The man closed the door and walked to her bed, kneeling down with a candle in his hand.

“Wake up, sweetie…”

“Dad?” Ayla sat up and rubbed her eyes. The candlelight hit his cheeks and his forehead, leaving his eyes dark.

“I want you to meet someone,” he said in a quiet voice. “Can you get up for me?”

She sighed and nodded, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Where were you earlier?”

He stood from his crouch and walked across her dark room to the chest in the corner. He opened it and rummaged through her clothes. “Maron took me to an Illutu meeting.”

“What’re you looking for?” she asked while she stretched the sleep out of her muscles. “And why couldn’t you guys wait for me?”

“A cloak.” He pulled out a dark grey mass. He tossed it on her bed as he said, “You weren’t back by the time we needed to leave. Sorry, honey. I wanted to take you.” He lowered the candle and surveyed the floor of her room. “Where are your shoes?”

“By the door…” She picked up the cloak and folded it over in her hands. She stood, her knees cracking at her. Her muscles still felt stiff, but she took a few steps off her bed to the cold floor.

She slipped the cloak over her shoulders with another yawn. Her dad kneeled at her feet and slipped on the sandals.

“Why are you in such a rush?” she asked, running her fingers through her sleep-tousled hair to tame the tangles in her curls. “Who am I meeting?”

“The guards only take ten minute breaks.” He finished and stood again, setting a big hand on her shoulders and moving the candle by her face. He cleared his voice. “You’ll have to keep quiet and listen to me, okay? Can you promise?”

She frowned at his lifted eyebrows. She wasn’t a kid anymore. And he’d avoided her earlier question. “We’re going to the outer city? Who am I meeting, Dad?”

“It’s a… surprise.” A playful smile flashed across his face. “But we won’t be going if you don’t promise you’ll listen to me, though.”

“I’ll listen, but why? I can take care of myself.”

Her dad squeezed her shoulder. “As a competitor, you’re not allowed to leave the inner city after sunset. The College of Cardinals treats competitors like pieces of expensive artillery they have to hide. They lose you and they lose a chance to win.”

“You’re sneaking me out.”

“Yes.” He grinned and reached over her shoulder, grabbing the hood to her cloak. He lifted it over her hair. “Follow closely.”

He pinched the flame out with his fingers and headed for the door. It creaked open. She followed the sound of his swishing cloak. As they walked toward the stairs, they passed by a table in the hall. Her dad set the candle on it, looked over his shoulder at her, and held out his hand.

Ayla took it. His cold skin sent a shiver down her back. He led her down the stairs and past their guard, who sent them a concerned glance but didn’t stop them. They moved through the roads like tigers in a jungle. The unattended gate looked ominous under the full moon above, a hundred degrees from the horizon.

He directed her through the narrow streets between the buildings, and telling her to be careful and watch her step. The five-story buildings became two-story houses with flat roofs. Burlap sacks of garbage and broken furniture leaned against the sides of each house they passed.

Ten levels from the wall, her dad slowed and put a hand on her back. A tall man in a cloak leaned against the chipped sand bricks. He moved away from the wall and drew back his hood, his haunting steel eyes landing on her.

“This way,” the man said. His voice echoed through the thin street like thunder. He withdrew to stairs set in the ground leading to a wooden cellar door. He didn’t look to see if they followed as he disappeared inside.

Ayla frowned and turned to her dad. Her lips parted, a dry slink in the silent alley. Her breath came low and quick. Her dad glanced behind them, and then pressed her down the steps.

Part of her wanted to pull away and go back home. The air whirled around her, troubling and chaotic. Warm wind hit her hood, threatening to reveal her face. She tugged down on it as her dad drew her inside. He shut the door behind them.

A match flared and landed into a fireplace. It lit immediately, illuminating them in an orange glow. The small room accommodated a small square table, four chairs, and nothing else.

“Sit.” The tall man gestured to a chair across from where he stood. “You, too, Afrem.”

Her dad lifted his hood and took the seat with a hefty sigh. Ayla stared from her dad’s back to the man’s stormy eyes as she glided from the door to the chair.

“Ayla,” her dad said, his voice hushed, “this is Ishkur.”

Her breath escaped her as definite cold gripped Ayla’s chest. She surveyed his face, but it was indiscernible in the darkness besides a band of dark hair sitting above his lip and a strip running down his chin. His eyes glittered.

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A god. Another god. Did he know she’d made a deal with Ereshkigal? What would she say if he mentioned it? Her swallow echoed in her ears. Ayla lifted her hood and set her hands on the table. She weaved her fingers together, dipping her head to him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ayla.” The firelight only reached the top of his head, turning his short, black hair to a red. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She tried to smile, but her eyes slid to her father instead. Had he told Ishkur about her deal?

Ishkur smiled back with white teeth—nothing like Ereshkigal’s. The god scanned her father’s face. “Why don’t you tell her about your history, Afrem?”

Ayla’s eyes darted to her dad. She knew Ishkur, the storm god, had made Ekarkara for her dad. Loran had told her Ishkur supported the Illutu, too. Anything beyond that would be news to her.

Her dad leaned over the table. He sighed. When he lifted his eyes to Ayla, a soft smile grew on his face. “Do you remember when I told you Ekarkara was my greatest accomplishment?”

She nodded, though she’d been too young to understand what he meant.

“I made a deal with Ishkur ten years before the War, promising my allegiance for his support. Ishkur made Ekarkara on my behalf because I wanted a place for mageians and therians to live together, where I could raise you without hatred.”

She smiled at him. “Well, that worked.”

Her dad chuckled and set his hand on top of hers. “I’m glad you think so.”

Ishkur moved his chair back at an angle and put his feet on the table. She caught the navy color of his knee-length tunic. Half of his face shined in the firelight. “You said you wanted something from me.”

What? Her eyebrows twitched into a frown, her jaw slackening.

Her dad retracted his hand. “I want to take you up on that offer.”

She glanced between Ishkur and her dad. What offer? Her pulse throbbed in her throat and surged in her ears like a harsh whisper.

“My magic,” Ishkur said. The finality in his voice stiffened Ayla’s muscles.

Her dad nodded. Ayla shifted in her seat and slid her jaw to the right. She poked her tongue into the corner of her mouth.

“It won’t last long,” the god warned. “You’ll be in pain. It might not even bend to your will. Are you sure?”

Her dad nodded again, sparing a glance at Ayla with wrinkles in his forehead. “I need to be able to keep her safe during the War.”

“Is it that dangerous?” she asked. “I know it’s kill-or-be-killed, but you’ve taught me everything you know, haven’t you?” Her eyes stung, but she controlled the urge to cry or something. “You think I can’t win without you?”

“No, Ayla,” her dad said. “But the fights aren’t the only thing you need to worry about. It’s the time between the regulated battles, when the rules don’t matter.”

“You didn’t tell me anything about that.”

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

She clenched her jaw and slid her hands from the table. Ayla studied the grains in the wood in the low light until her eyes unfocused. She knew the War wouldn’t just be a couple of well-mannered fights. Nothing was safe anytime mageians and therians came together.

Yes, Ayla had to be careful, but did that mean her dad needed magic to keep her safe?

No.

Could he even use Ishkur’s magic? It differed from the seven types because his was some kind of combination.

“I’ll be fine,” Ayla said. “You don’t need to take that kind of risk for me.”

“He’s dead,” Ishkur said.

Ayla frowned at the god, her chest tightening. She took a big breath, filling her lungs while her dad sighed to her left. Then he brought his elbows onto the table and made a fist in front of his face.

“I have nothing to lose, Ayla.”

She didn’t want him to say that. She shook her head, drawing in a wavering breath. She swallowed hard, and it pricked all the way down. “I guess you don’t.”

“Ishkur,” her dad said, his voice flat.

“Yes, Afrem.”

A quiet thunder rolled overhead. Ishkur removed his feet from the table and leaned forward. The features of his face vanished into the shadows again. He set his hands on the table, palms facing each other. The space crackled over the soft hum of the fire.

“I’m going to concentrate my magic for you,” Ishkur said. His voice seemed to rumble in her ears like thunder. “I will pass it to you, and you will have to find a way to absorb it.”

“I will.”

Ayla’s throat dried. Mageians could not see magic unless it gathered in high concentrations, like in the eyes where they stored magic. Yet the air moved around her as if pushed by a silent force, driving toward the god. Her hair whipped across her face. Darkness gathered between his hands, swirling like a tornado into a mass of dark clouds.

She hoped her dad knew what he was doing.

A final flash of light blinded her. The air thinned and moistened as if ready for a downpour. She blinked past the spots in time to see lightening strike the table. Ishkur’s pale face lit up. His thick eyebrows looked like the strokes of a careful artist. His eyes squinted into the shape of perfectly curved leaves.

“Are you ready, Afrem?”

“Yes.”

Her dad set her hands on the table in the same position as Ishkur. The god passed the sphere of magic to her dad’s awaiting palms. He flinched, his eyes narrowing. A clump of heat rolled up Ayla’s throat.

The small storm of magic calmed as her dad absorbed it, and the clouds disappeared. When she couldn’t distinguish between the magic and the shadows, she lifted her gaze to her dad’s eyes. They rippled like rain drops on a calm lake.

“Good,” Ishkur said. “It took well.”

“Did it?” Ayla asked.

Her dad’s hands fell flat on the table, and he let out a long breath. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Ayla didn’t believe him. The tight sound of his voice made her eyes tear up. She looked at the ceiling, trying to blink them away. Her dad released another breath, as if pacing himself through pain. Her heart wanted to squeeze into her throat, tear its way through the delicate tissue and muscles.

Once her panic had come under control, she glanced down to see Ishkur studying her face.

“I have an offer for you.”

“I don’t need your magic,” she said—almost spat.

“No, you have your own. I wanted to extend your father’s deal to you, as you are his heir. That is, if you want it.”

“What was the deal?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Exactly.”

His lips moved into a mocking smile. “What deal do you want, Ayla?”

“What was the deal you made with my father?” she asked again. “I don’t care if you’re a god. I’m not going to let you manipulate me into making a mistake.”

“I can’t do anything about Ereshkigal, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said.

Ayla clenched her jaw. Her face flushed. She brought her hands from the table and into her lap, digging her fingernails into her palms.

“Ishkur, just tell her what she wants to know,” her dad said. “Don’t play with her.”

The god chuckled. “Your father wanted me to support his insurgency and he offered me his loyalty. That is our deal. His allegiance, while he is alive, covers you in case you need me.”

Ayla narrowed her eyes. “For anything?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a god, Ayla. Use your imagination.”

Ayla lifted a hand to her face. She scraped her fingertips across the skin of her face, down her forehead, over her the dip in the bridge of her nose, and along her hot cheeks. Then she made a fist and bit her bottom lip.

“Will you help me win?” she whispered and then glanced to the god.

A sharp smirk tugged at his lips. “A smart question for once.” He leaned back in his chair. “Yes, I will.”

She put a hand over her lips, frowning. This didn’t feel like a good idea, but what choice did she have? She stared at her father, still hunched over the table, taming a god’s magic. No choice at all.

Ayla inhaled and then reached across the table, offering her wrist. Ishkur took it without a word.