“Did you manage to learn anything of use tonight?” I demanded, grabbing Peleus by his ridiculous purple tunic to keep him from stepping in a pile of muck left by a food vendor. “Or were you too busy drinking yourself into a stupor?”

Earlier in the evening, Nerina had made it clear that she had no interest in watching another Dorian ritual play out. Instead, she decided to head down to a tavern by the Sea Gate, where the road that led to the docks below the cliffs began, to glean what information she could from the sailors there.

It wasn’t like the General Prince to leave a prize like the Korai—not when he knew there was a fox in the hen house. Varian’s sudden absence had set us all on edge —hinted that the empire’s next play for power might come sooner than we’d feared.

Confident that Nerina was right to go, but loathe to send a lone female anywhere in Doria, I’d sent the rest of the Seven with her.

And now here Peleus was, so focused on not tripping over his own feet, that he still had not answered me. “I’m a male of many talents,” he finally slurred. “And a brilliant multitasker. The drinking was simply an act of diplomacy.”

I snorted and pushed him toward the massive marble steps that led up to the palace. Here, we could gain a vantage point of both the procession and the entire square.

Peleus climbed up a few steps with the exaggerated care of a very drunk man trying to prove his sobriety.

“Well?” I probed, following behind him to make sure he didn’t tumble back down the stairs.

He turned and gingerly lowered himself to sit. “Apparently, your great friend, the General Prince, arrived earlier this afternoon. His men were already well into their cups when we reached the tavern. They were celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“Well, you see . . . that’s when the serving wench brought another round of ale and . . .”

I took a deep breath, trying to reign in my temper. Peleus was often indispensable, and though I loved him as if he were my own blood, he just as often was a pain in my ass. “I see why Nerina kicked you out.”

“I’m a diplomat, not a spy! I was only plying my trade. Buttering up the locals, you know.”

“And the tavern keeper?” Lux’s placid voice asked.

I turned to find him strolling up the steps, back from escorting the Korai to the Emperor’s pavilion.

“You know that wench was his wife,” Lux continued. “It’s a miracle we got out of there without a fight.”

Peleus shrugged. “My attention to her was only a compliment to his good taste.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Did you get the Korai back without incident?”

Lux nodded, taking a seat beside Peleus. “Seems like you are gaining the girl’s trust.”

Unease ran down my spine. That’s what I’d thought. Until she’d spoken in the hall earlier and whatever understanding—whatever connection—I’d thought we’d been forming proved to be nothing more than a strange wisp of an illusion. But then I’d seen her in the crowd, and like a moth to a flame, my feet carried me right to her. And the way she’d smiled at those children . . . laughed when she’d realized how they’d played her. My stomach had flipped at the sound.

I shook my head to rid myself of the feeling. “Well, it seems our diplomatic genius here has little to report,” I told Lux. “Did you glean anything of value? Anything about Varian or about the Korai’s illness?”

Lux opened his mouth to answer but his attention caught on something over my shoulder. He tensed. “Better look behind you, boss.”

I turned. Below us, halfway down the hill of Dawn’s Court, Elysa had appeared.

Carried by a white chariot inlaid with silver and drawn by a pair of milky white mares, the Korai stood holding the rail. She was crowned with a diadem bearing three massive diamonds cut to mirror the moon’s phases, her hair blowing behind her in a sheet of silvery silk.

Peleus whistled. “By Zeus’ cock . . . How did I not notice her before?”

A cold feeling pitted my stomach. I had noticed her. I’d made it a point to take careful note of all the Korai. And this one . . . While it was impossible to call any of the God-Blooded ordinary, she’d looked a far cry from the gem she suddenly was tonight.

Lux gave a frustrated hiss. “Yes, yes, she’s lovely. But that’s not what I meant. Look who is holding the reins.”

I did. The chill in my gut grew. Varian, dressed in white and silver to match Elysa’s gown, drove the chariot as she held on to his arm with her free hand. A princely smile on his face, he waved to the crowd.

Aurora stood on the pavilion with the rest of the nobles, Solara beside her. Her face was bloodless as she watched the male she planned to marry with her least favored sister.

A darkness greater than the cold void of my own power drifted through the night air. My gaze swept the crowd, drifting over the nobles until I found him. Adresto. The Emperor ignored the pageantry. His eyes were only for Aurora. He watched the pain on her face and a cruel smile bloomed across his own.

Cold, ice-capped rage wrapped around my heart like hoarfrost.

Lux let out a low rumble of a growl. “I of all people should have seen it sooner, but I suppose that answers where her sudden illness came from. My uncle has killed many more enemies from the mouth of a vial than from the tip of his sword.

“Your parents.”

He nodded. “And this . . . this is a message. He is warning her that she’s replaceable. Are you sure you want to continue down this path?” Lux asked. “We could still take her. With Nemoralia, it might be some time before they notice she’s missing.”

Fury spread cold tendrils of death through my veins. I curled my hands at my sides and turned away, afraid I’d do something stupid if I continued to watch. Leashing my power, I let my mind drift over the possibilities, a beginning of a plan forming. “Fine,” I said. “We do it tonight.”

After the procession, we followed the crowd—led by the priestesses and nobles—toward the Temple of Selene for Nemoralia’s climax.

I remembered seeing my father’s own shrine—the small black building no bigger than a mausoleum—the morning of the First Trial and knew it stood nearby. As we walked through the doors of Selene’s much more opulent shrine, passing beneath its lofty marbled rotunda, darkness stirred.

Just my power reacting to Hades’ temple, I thought, though a chill filled me, the familiar shadow of death staining the edges of my vision.

I ignored it as passed intricately decorated friezes of glimmering moonstone and moved further into the temple proper.

Unlike the open-air temples we favored in Myridia, the Temple of Selene was enclosed on all sides, the only opening in the room an oculus—a large circle cut into the center of the domed roof—that allowed moonlight to filter down onto the crown jewel of the massive chamber: a likeness of the goddess herself. Made of marble, moonstone, and silver, the effigy stood dozens of feet tall. The deity was crowned in a twin to the triple-moon diadem atop Elysa’s fair hair. But most impressive of all was the giant disc of polished silver the statue supported in her upraised arms.

We took our places at the back of the crowd and waited for the true magic of Nemoralia to begin. Long moments passed. The silence broken only by the low chanting of the priestesses, which grew eerily distorted as it echoed through the chamber.

Beside me, Lux whispered, “They are calling on Selene. Telling her that Helios is weakened and her time has come.”

A gravid silence fell. Elysa stepped from her place at the front of the crowd to stand beneath her mother’s effigy, in the single beam of light shining from the oculus above. She paused there and turned towards the crowd.

The moonlight cast the slightest angle across the floor, still not quite at its peak. Patiently, Elysa waited. We all waited. Finally, the moon reached its apex. When the moonbeams ran straight as an arrow, the Korai lifted her arms.

Shadows drifted like smoke from the dark recesses of the room. They flowed towards her as if blown by an unfelt wind. She gathered them, molding them until they formed a sphere above her head. She closed her eyes then and, briefly, the light brightened around her. Then it contracted.

The moon’s glow grew fainter, the circle of its light smaller even as the dark sphere above her head expanded. It waned and something began to glow behind the shadows of the sphere—white-hot coals hidden beneath a layer of black ash.

When the moonbeam was little more than a small, watery circle, her arms lifted higher. The glowing dark sphere rose through the air, higher and higher until it reached the top of Selene’s statue. Until it rested level with the great mirror held in the goddess’ marble arms.

The sphere exploded.

Shards of shadows rained like broken black glass. Voices rang out through the crowd—strained between gasps of awed delight and yelping alarm. But the raining fragments of magic disintegrated before they reached the ground.

Only the ball of light, as dense as a diamond, remained.

A flick of Elysa’s wrist and the ball hurled towards the mirror. The room erupted with brilliant light.

I hissed with pain. My eyes were meant for the gloom of the Underworld and the flash of bright light burned. But even as I recoiled from the glow, a warm brilliance—invisible in the moon’s sudden luster, but its ambiance as buttery rich as the sunrise—flowed towards me.

Aurora.

Her power gloried in the light. I felt it—somehow knew that it buffeted within her, begging for release.

But Aurora’s magic was not the only power that called to me. Again, the shadow of death made itself known. Despite the brightness of the temple, darkness tinged my vision. Death lurked by. This was more than the simple pull of my father’s shrine. Death watched. It waited. But for whom?

The shade whirled and I followed it. I jostled nobles as I made my way toward the side of the temple, toward something I had not noticed when we’d first entered. There, a darkened hallway curved away into deep shadow.

The priestesses’ voices rose in worshiping song as my steps hastened towards the hall. Again, a figure moved. I stopped cold, blood pounding in my ears.

She emerged from the darkness, death’s shadow clinging to her as closely as her own. And it was no wonder. The fact that she still drew breath was a miracle.

Glassy, sightless eyes moved across the chamber, staring out from a skeleton’s gaunt face. But making her figure even more monstrous was the veil of perfect, long golden hair that drifted around her emaciated shoulders.

She took a faltering step into the light and the screams began.