With that, Garo picked up the prince and slung him over his shoulder. Evera followed him, and Aria trailed behind them along with her captors. The entire room watched their departure: leather-clad warriors with spears, attendants in shirt-trouser pairs, and performers in ceremonial attire, all fixated on Aria like villagers watching the last march of the condemned. Even Evera's group, still on the dais behind her seat, had nothing but pity to give.

Past the doorway, the room turned into a dimly lit corridor. The candles on the walls became fire-filled bowls, casting red glares over the walls and illuminating the corridor's sole adornment: the preserved heads of a dozen gods slain by Garo.

After a few hundred feet, they came to a halt. There, two warriors guarded a dull iron door. At Garo's approach, both men snapped to attention and pushed open the door. It creaked and brought the smell of dust and metal.

Through the door was another wider corridor with a much higher ceiling. The lights in this corridor were actual fires burning in a line of basins that ran along the center. Their heat was oppressive, and their location forced the company to walk on one side of the path. Here, Garo's decorative skill had swapped heads for engravings. To Aria's left, Garo's likeness was carved life-size, standing on a hill and overlooking two thousand tiny warriors. One side wore Garo's spear emblem on their chests and butchered the opponents with glee.

Aria turned away from the scene, but the other wall was little different. It depicted a progression: day turning into night and night turning into day as the slaughter continued. She turned her gaze to the ground instead.

Another door stopped them at the end of the corridor. This one had no guards, so Garo opened it himself. The company went into the room, Garo first, then Evera, then Aria. Then, they all froze at the entrance.

“Put him down,” a voice said.

Garo obeyed before the words were complete, hurrying off to find a suitable surface. With his bulky form gone, Aria was able to see around Evera and inspect the room’s occupant.

It was a man, standing in the room’s center. He was unremarkable but for his clear resemblance to the prince. One was young and the other middle-aged, but at similar ages, they could have been twins. He wore black trousers and a long-sleeved black shirt, matching the prince’s grey clothing, and watched Garo’s actions without a hint of emotion.

Garo deposited the prince on the only available surface: a thick mattress resting on a wooden platform. It was the least painful sight in a room decorated with terrifying weapons, depictions of war, and what looked like a painting drawn entirely with blood.

After depositing the prince on the bed, Garo hurried back to stand beside Evera. Then he grabbed Aria, pushed her in front of him, and forced her to the ground.

“Greet him!” Garo ordered.

Aria placed the pitcher to one side and pressed her face to the ground. “I am blessed by your presence, Lord of the Sky.”

“Look at me,” the god spoke again. His voice gave no hint of his mood, but Garo and Evera seemed tense. So, Aria assumed that her situation was bad.

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She lifted her head and saw that he had moved. Rather than standing in the middle of the room, he was now seated on Garo’s bed, with his son’s head in his lap. One of his hands rested on Achi’s head while the other lay at his side. On both sides of him were other men, weaponless, and dressed exactly like their master.

“Why did you poison my son?” Tivelo asked.

“I did not,” Aria said. Despite her hurt throat, the words came out confidently. “I only served him, your Eminence. I have no grudge against him and no reason to harm him. If his meal was poisoned, it was before I ever touched them.”

In the space of a breath, Garo grabbed Aria, spun her around, and backhanded her. For a moment, her vision disappeared. When it returned, she was on the floor. He must have held back. Her jaw hurt, but nothing was broken.

“Tivelo,” Garo said. “She lies. I supervised those meals myself. Nothing went amiss before she received them. I don’t know who has corrupted her, but give me leave and I will find the culprit by morning.”

Aria had served Garo since birth: literally. Her parents had dragged her into a temple minutes after her birth and paid a priest to carve his name on her back. After twenty-five years in his service, she knew one thing better than she knew her name: she could never let Garo interrogate her. She rose onto her knees and addressed Tivelo again.

“Your Eminence,” Aria said. “I would not dare poison a god. Even if you held my whole village for ransom, I would kill them and myself before I committed such hubris.”

“Perhaps it was an accident,” Evera said, her voice, once again, like a cool drink of water. “Could the drink or food have been contaminated with something common or dangerous?”

Evera seemed to be giving her an out, but even admitting to negligence meant death.

“Nothing touched the meal,” Aria said, “not even a speck of dust. I protected it from the moment I received it, till I placed it before the prince. Speak to the vintner. Perhaps it was poisoned before it arrived here.”

Evera replied, “Garo makes the wine here, child. And I grow the grapes. There is no need to lie. If you were careless, say so and your punishment will be less.”

Aria grew cold. Up until that moment, she had held some hope of proving her innocence. After all, she was innocent. Now, she realized she was truly boxed in. There was no one to blame but the two deities behind her, and they were united in their defense. Even Evera - kindest, most beautiful Evera - did not believe her. And that made her angry.

“I don’t know what game you are playing,” she said, “but none of you are gullible enough to believe that I poisoned your son. The three most powerful gods in the world should be able to tell a lie from the truth. What would I gain from it? How would I even know how to do it?!”

“Enough,” Tivelo said, and despite her fury, Aria fell silent. Her heart was drumming in her chest. Fear and fury mingled in her veins.

“Werri,” Tivelo said.

One of his attendants jumped forward. The man was a priest, as evidenced by Tivelo’s emblem tattooed on both cheeks. He approached Tivelo and leaned slightly toward the god.

Tivelo nodded. “Take Garo down to Iruomida,” Tivelo said. “Install a five-hundred-foot-tall pole on top of his temple and impale him on it.” He addressed the other attendants. “Bring the woman to the upper realm.”

Then, Tivelo disappeared along with his son.

The world went deathly quiet. Aria stood rooted in place, unable to process the last few moments, but Tivelo’s servants were already moving.

Werri walked up to Garo, confident yet unarmed. “You won’t struggle, will you?”

In response, Garo gave Aria a blood-draining glare. “When I return,” he said, “I will kill every person you know and bring their heads to wherever Tivelo is punishing you. My punishment is only for negligence, but yours, I guarantee, will be eternal.”

Werri made a face. “Let’s speed this up,” he said. “Delay only worsens the matter.”

He spared one pitying glance for Aria, then he led Garo from the room.