If I’d thought the arena was bad, the town was worse. Maybe it was desperation that made me think things would go in my favor just for once. Or that the gods would intercede. Surely all my vows and prayers had to count for something.

But not today.

Hell’s Mouth was always gray in winter. The frost on the tembris dulled their leaves, as it did the skies, but this gray reached deeper, like a leech had sucked away the town’s lifeblood. It was cold in a way I had never seen before, even the faces that passed me. None had life in them. Though the air was frigid, my temples blazed. I wanted to run, hunt down the king and kill him. Why hadn’t someone already done it? Where were my magistrates? Wren jerked me closer to her side, sensing a madness overtaking me.

“Careful, husband,” Synové warned. “We knew it would be bad.” But I heard the catch in her voice. It was overwhelming her too. The brokenness wasn’t just in the buildings or the cobbled streets—it permeated the air— and soldiers posted at every avenue and every rooftop kept hopelessness pinned in place.

Kazi was alive. Here. Somewhere. Some part of me had thought we would walk down the main street and I would spot her coming from the other direction and I’d sweep her into one of the many hidden passages I knew here.

Wren sucked in a breath. She saw the temple before I did. Even from the far end of the street and our small sliver of view, I saw the piles of rubble.

Caemus had told me, but telling didn’t prepare me. The shining façade that had once greeted visitors was gone. The altar was still oddly erect, frozen out in the open, like a deer caught unaware in a blind, too afraid to move. Every vow I had ever made began in the temple—

Except for one. One vow began in the wilderness with Kazi.

I swallowed.

Montegue was responsible for all this? I still didn’t believe it. He had no army and no money for one. He barely had an interest in ruling.

What about his tax money you keep? Could he be angry about that?

Kazi’s doubts circled in my head. When we sent the tax money, we always gave him a full accounting of where the one percent we kept was spent. Montegue had never responded or objected. I’d assumed that was because our accounting showed that the one percent didn’t begin to cover the costs of magistrates, repairs, cisterns, schools, the two infirmaries, and more. The list went on and on.

What if he deliberately chose a site that was in clear view of your memorial to aggravate you?

Montegue baiting us? I had thought that was impossible too because the king knew nothing about us or the memorial—but Zane did. And now I knew that Zane worked for the king. Anyone who lived in Hell’s Mouth for any length of time knew of our yearly family pilgrimage to the site to repair the simple memorial and offer prayers of thanks for Aaron Ballenger and his sacrifice. If the settlement location was deliberately chosen to rouse our anger, that would mean our recent trouble wasn’t a power struggle spurred on by my father’s death, as we had believed, but a plan that had been in the making for a very long time—before my father died.

I spotted Aleski, our post messenger, walking toward us, his white-blond hair wild and loose beneath his hat, his lips chapped and cracked from the cold. He pushed a barrow of supplies. He had family in town, but he was rarely here, usually on the trail. Aleski had worked for us for years. He and Titus had once been very close, but even after they parted ways, they remained friends. I had a split second to decide—let him pass, or question him. He would not betray Titus or the rest of the family. I was certain.

“Meester,” I called, lifting my hand in a stopping motion. We ambled toward him, and he lowered the barrow handles. When we were close, I whispered his name. His eyes widened and then filled with tears. “Patrei?” He swayed slightly, like he was ready to collapse.

“Pull it together, Aleski. We’re Kbaaki. You’re giving us directions.

Point toward the mercantile.”

He nodded and lifted his hand, pointing, but tears spilled down his cheeks. “They watch everything.”

“I know. They’re watching us now,” I answered. Soldiers on the opposite corner had turned their attention toward us.

He wiped his nose. “We thought you were dead. That soldier who took you away said you’d been hanged. She said—”

“That soldier? You mean Kazi? Where is she?”

“She works for the king now, for the whole rotten bunch of them.”

“No, she doesn’t, Aleski. Trust me, she’s his prisoner. If she said anything—”

“Hurry it along, boys,” Wren whispered. “They’re watching and coming this way any second.”

“Is it true?” I asked. “Montegue is behind all this?”

He nodded. “Him and that general. We’ve tried to fight them.” His voice was strained and full of apology.

“Aleski, I know. Their weapons are too powerful—”

“They’re strolling this way,” Synové warned in a singsong tone. “Tonight, once it’s dark, come to the south livery,” I said. “We’ll talk

more there.”

But Aleski continued on. His words ran together, desperate and crackling with hatred. “They hang loyalists from the tembris as a lesson.” He rattled off names, Drake, Chelline the dressmaker, and more. I knew them all, and it took every bit of strength I had to keep the smile on my face as he spoke. “They confiscated my horse,” he went on. “They’re taking them from anyone who once worked for the Ballengers that they think might be a loyalist. I have family here in town, my mother and sister—I can’t—”

Every time Aleski’s voice cracked, my frozen smile did too, but my father’s words seeped between Aleski’s desperate ones. When you have no strength left, you have to choice but to reach deep and find more, and then share it. It is the Patrei’s job to lead.

I grabbed his shoulders. “What is the rule, Aleski?” I whispered. “Catch them off guard. You know that. Take them by surprise. And that’s what we’re going to do. Why isn’t the town decorated for Winter Festival? It’s less than two weeks away. Do it. Today. Tell everyone to do it. Plan a

celebration. Make these bastards think they’ve won and you’re going about your business. Don’t tell anyone I’m alive—not just yet—but tell them to be ready. The Ballengers are taking this town back.”

“What’s going on over there?” one of the soldiers called.

I patted Aleski’s back as if thanking him and returned my hands to my sides.

Spirit wood. That was what was going on.

Aleski was already moving down the street with his barrow, carrying my message to the people of Hell’s Mouth, and the soldiers explained to three out-of-place Kbaaki that spirit wood could only be had at the arena. “But they close early in winter. You’ll have to go tomorrow.” Vrud, Ghenta, and Eloh thanked them in their broken tongues, then asked about lodging.

There was none. The Ballenger Inn had been taken over by the king and his officers, and the other two inns were full. Staying at the stables with our horses was our only option.

I felt their eyes on my back as we walked away.

I felt the eyes watching me from the rooftops, wondering.

Is this big brute going to be trouble?

Yes. I was going to be trouble. In due time. They would be sorry they had ever laid eyes on this brutish Kbaaki. But for now, they would only see me head straight for the livery as we said we would, their concerns relieved.

What is the rule? Catch them unaware.

Aleski was going to tell me everything he knew to help me do just that.

Greyson will not speak to us. He lies in his bed, his eyes frozen on the ceiling. His hands are always fists. Miandre is gone. They have taken her. And we don’t know how to get her back.