Leila watched in shock as Malik’s body twitched, fighting down the influx of magic racing beneath his skin. He’d been taught to fold it away inside himself, and now the person the world had beaten out of him was further away than he had ever been. As Life Priestess’s voice crescendoed to a graceful song above his head, Malik clutched at the front of his tunic and screamed.

In that single moment, Malik forgot about Solstasia. He forgot about Idir and the grim folk and even Nadia. The only person in Malik’s mind was himself, or rather the child he had been in a memory long forgotten, sitting alone at the top of a lemon tree and staring down at an impossibly vast world below as he created illusion after illusion to make himself feel less alone.

The magic had never abandoned him. It had been his from birth, a companion he’d had back before he’d ever known to call it that, and he was done letting the world deny him what had always been his.

His voice unusually calm, Malik said one last time, “Adanko has chosen me as her Champion.”

The cheering turned to gasps. A white apparition rose from inside the Adanko statue, nebulous as a wisp of smoke. The creature twisted, sprouting long ears and a graceful, arching back until its resemblance was identical to the hare statue on which it stood. Elegant markings ringed its unearthly white skin, markings only associated with one being.

Adanko. The Goddess of Life.

Every person in the pavilion fell to their knees, except for Malik. Because where everyone else saw a deity, all Malik could feel was his own magic radiating outward from the creature, a tether linking them both. The illusion leaped from the statue and raced through the air toward him. On instinct, Malik’s arms flew to cover his face, but the image of Adanko circled him once, twice, three times, her ghostly paws leaving a white trail in her wake.

And then she was gone, as quickly as she had appeared. Malik lowered his hands, his knees buckling beneath him. The magic in him died down and the Mark’s frantic movements slowed.

Leila stared as if she were seeing him for the very first time.

“What did you just do?” she whispered.

Silence heavier than any sound Malik had ever known filled the pavilion.

Then Life Priestess spoke, her voice undulating with awe, “Our goddess has chosen her Champion!”

“Our goddess has chosen her Champion! Our goddess has chosen her Champion!”

Malik didn’t fight when the people hauled him onto their shoulders and carried him over to Life Priestess, Leila struggling to keep up. They deposited him next to the woman, who lifted Malik’s arm above his head and displayed the Life-Aligned emblem on his palm for all to see.

“My siblings, Adanko herself has blessed us tonight! Raise your voices in thanks to our goddess, and show your love to the newest Life Champion of Solstasia!”

The roar that followed next was the loudest yet and would be heard across the city, all the way to Ksar Alahari and beyond. Malik stared at what felt like the entire world cheering his way.

He had done it. He had spoken an illusion of Adanko into existence, and it had chosen him as her Champion. His magic had come when he’d called, as if they’d never been forced apart at all.

And now he was going to use it to kill Princess Karina and save Nadia, even if he had to lie to every single person in Ziran to do so.

8

Karina

Everything that happened after the attack was a blur.

Karina remembered screaming until her throat burned. She remembered fighting off hands that tried to pull her away from her mother and Aminata coaxing her to drink something bitter and thick that turned the world dark.

When Karina awoke the first time, she picked at her hands until they were raw and bleeding. The maids screamed when they saw what she had done to herself, and they held her down until she had finished a cup of the bitter liquid once more, screaming as the nothingness took hold.

When Karina awoke the second time, she was lying in a pool of her own vomit and voices far too close to her were saying things she couldn’s understand. Instead of rising, she simply went back to sleep.

When she awoke the third time, she was alone.

She was in her bedroom, dressed in nightclothes and swaddled in a thick pile of blankets. The dark outline of her windows suggested it was either very early in the morning or very late at night, just hours after the comet viewing where her mother had—

Karina retched, her throat burning. There was no way that this was real. Her mother, the famed Kestrel of Ksar Alahari, could not have fallen beneath the blade of some common assassin.

Static buzzed in her ears, the fog and numbness of shock all too familiar. Perhaps she was dreaming, and soon she’d awake to find this nightmare over. Aminata would bustle in to help her prepare for the Opening Ceremony, Farid would nag her as he always did, and the Kestrel would be there, frowning and alive, because she wasn’t—she couldn’t be—

Footsteps approached Karina’s bedroom, and her guard announced Farid’s arrival. She said nothing as he approached her bedside with the air of a man entering a tomb. His eyes wandered from the vomit by her bed to the wounds lining her hands. They’d gone through these same motions almost ten years ago to the day, both of them in their white mourning robes as the priestesses had sent Baba and Hanane off to see the Great Mother. Would Karina’s childhood mourning clothes still fit, or had someone had the foresight to fashion her new ones?

“The council is adjoining in the Marble Room now,” said Farid. “I know you need to rest, but it would be best if you could make even part of it because . . .”

Karina could sense he was trying to talk to her, but he may as well have shouted into the wind for how much she understood. Every word was a slow sludge through her mind, nothing connecting together as it was meant to. Her mother was dead—there was nothing else to say.

“Please, Karina.” Farid’s voice cracked, literally begging now. His clothes were rumpled in a manner suggesting he’d slept in them, if he’d even slept at all. Seeing the always immaculate Farid in such a disheveled state sparked the first semblance of clarity in Karina’s mind. She was not the only person who had lost family yesterday.

Farid extended a hand to her—a peace offering. With the shame at the awful things she’d said to him still fresh in her mind, Karina took his hand and slowly rose from her bed.

They said nothing as they left the residential wing of Ksar Alahari, and nothing again when the Sentinels announced their arrival and let them inside the Marble Room. Much like its name suggested, the walls of the room where the council met were made almost entirely of marble, the floor displaying a checkered black-and-white pattern and the furniture made of onyx-colored wood. At Karina’s arrival, the twelve council members stood up and touched their lips to their mouths, then their hearts, their left palms up. Commander Hamidou stood in the corner, a cloth bundle in her hands.

Aware that everyone expected her to sit in the sultana’s chair, Karina took the seat to the left of it, Farid taking the seat to her own left.

Silence weighed the room down. It was Grand Vizier Jeneba who had enough courage to break it by asking, “How are you feeling, Your Majesty?”

It took several confusing moments for Karina to realize the grand vizier was talking to her. “Your Majesty” was her title now, because her mother was . . .

The world froze again. Karina sat in silence, eyes trained on the wall before her. The marble was so smooth she could see herself in it, a reflecting pool made entirely of immovable, unbreakable stone.

When it became clear Karina was not going to reply, Farid said, “The healers say Her Majesty sustained no major injuries last night.”

Grand Vizier Jeneba nodded. “Thank you, Mwale Farid, Your Majesty.”

It was easy to see why the Kestrel had chosen such a woman to be her second in command. Amid the confusion and fear, the grand vizier was the most collected person in the room.

“What do we know about the assassin?” asked Mwale Omar, his small eyes looking around nervously as if someone might attack him next.

“Nothing yet, unfortunately.” Grand Vizier Jeneba shook her head. “We have the best Sentinels involved in the investigation, but we have yet to discover who the assassin was or where he came from. However, we do have one lead. Commander Hamidou, please.”

The leader of the Sentinels set her cloth bundle in the center of the table and unwrapped it. It was the sword the assassin had killed her mother with, its blade somehow darker in the daytime than it had been at night. Someone had mercifully cleaned the weapon of the Kestrel’s blood, but Karina could still see it running down the metal, staining her hands a crimson that would never fade.