“Evidence has been presented against you for the crimes of violating orders, falsifying orders, fraternizing with mages, causing the death of a member of our Order, and conduct unbecoming your station by fraternizing with a disgraced former member. Do you defend yourself from these charges?”

“I do,” Kevik told the assembled tribunal.

Priest Tibon’s lip twitched, as if he hadn’t expected Kevik to speak in his own defense. Sir Jesson had coached him on how to respond.

“Then say what you want to say,” the priest replied.

Kevik stood. “I admit to the charge of falsifying orders. I reject the charge of violating orders—I never received any messages ordering our return to Larso, and the tribunal hasn’t presented any evidence showing that I did. On the charge of fraternizing with mages, it was those mages who spearheaded the assault against the dragon. We had no army, so we had to make do with whoever was willing to help. I’ll remind you, the expedition was assembled by the town of Four Roads. I had no say in its composition.”

“You shouldn’t have been involved at all,” Tibon said. “Field Marshal Tregood himself turned down Four Roads’ request for aid, under the king’s seal and with Knight Commander Sir Noris’s agreement.”

Kevik shrugged. “I never received any orders to that effect. On the charge of fraternizing with Corec Tarwen—” he emphasized the family name to remind the tribunal that Corec was the son of a member of the peerage, “—he commanded the expedition and paid for it. I was hardly in a position to do so myself.”

“Corec Tarwen is a mage and a failed knight. You know very well it goes against our precepts to associate with him.”

Every knight was aware of the strictures against fraternizing with mages, but the lesser charge of unbecoming conduct had been a surprise. Though each knight spoke the oaths, those oaths represented only a tiny fraction of the rules they were expected to obey. The more esoteric were located in musty tomes no one had bothered to read in years, except when the priests wanted to punish someone.

But the conduct charge carried a lesser penalty than the others, and Sir Jesson had warned Kevik that pleading ignorance wouldn’t help his case.

“I did what I did to save lives,” he said. “Without Corec’s help, a lot more innocent people would have died. As for Sir Willem’s death, I will always regret that, but it was the dragon that killed him. I reject the charge.”

“We will take your defense under advisement,” Tibon said, then huddled together with the other three priests, excluding the only knight on the tribunal, Sir Loris. Loris sat back with his arms crossed, glaring at the group.

After a whispered conversation, the priests returned to their seats.

“Well, Sir Loris?” Tibon asked. “Your judgement?”

“I find Sir Kevik responsible in the charge of falsifying orders. He’s admitted that himself. For all other charges, I find him without fault. Circumstances dictated his actions.”

“Of course you would say that,” the priest replied.

Sir Loris pushed his chair back and climbed to his feet, looming over the others at the table. “What are you insinuating, Tibon?”

“Sit down, Loris, unless you want us to hold a second tribunal today.”

Loris returned to his seat, his fingers flexing near where his sword hilt would be if he’d been wearing the blade. But regardless of the circumstances, a Knight of Pallisur couldn’t challenge a Priest of Pallisur to a duel of honor.

Tibon didn’t bother to hold back his smirk as the knight obeyed the command. Turning back to Kevik, the priest said, “In the absence of evidence, the tribunal is willing to drop the charge of violating orders. As for the rest, it seems Sir Loris has been outvoted. In the charge of causing Sir Willem’s death, we find you at fault. In the charges of unbecoming conduct, fraternizing with mages, and falsifying orders, we find you responsible. You are hereby stripped of your knighthood and ordered to depart Fort Hightower immediately.”

Sir Jesson, sitting in the small audience, gave a quick twitch of his head to remind Kevik of the next step.

“I’ll appeal to Telfort,” Kevik said.

“Your appeal will be denied, Mister Kevik. Sir Noris has already approved your expulsion. You have two hours to leave the fortress, and you have until tomorrow at sundown to leave town.”

If Noris was already aware of the outcome, then the tribunal’s vote had been a sham. It would have taken several days to get a pigeon message to Telfort and back. The decision had been made before Kevik had presented his defense—what little defense he could muster.

He held still, standing tall as the others filed out of the room. The Order had been his life since he’d become a page at the age of seven, working his way up to become a squire two years later. He didn’t come from the peerage like Corec, or have a shopkeeper father like Trentin’s who could afford to buy his son a knighthood. This was the only life he could remember. What was he supposed to do with himself now?

Only Sir Jesson remained behind. With Kevik expelled from the Order, nobody wanted to be seen talking to him. Even Sir Loris had disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” Jesson said. “Tibon and his cronies are free to do whatever they want now that the unblessed have taken over the Order. It wouldn’t have happened this way twenty years ago.”

“Noris backed them,” Kevik said.

“He only heard their side of the story. You could try going to Telfort yourself.”

“Do you think it’s worth it?”

Jesson hesitated. “Honestly, no. Even if Noris agreed to a new tribunal, it would still be made up of the unblessed. I’ve never understood why the true priests left the city. I suppose they figured they could do more good in the smaller towns, and could leave the administrative work to the unblessed, but something’s got to be done about it.”

“Would the blessed priests have reacted any differently to a knight fighting alongside a mage?” Kevik asked. The earliest texts in the scripture decried only dark magic, but the priests of Pallisur had always interpreted that to mean any magic used by someone other than a priest of Pallisur. In the later texts, magic and dark magic had come to mean the same thing.

“I don’t know. We worked with priests of other orders during the North Border War, but wizards? I just don’t know. Do you have family to go to?”

“None worth speaking of.”

Jesson nodded. “I feel like I had this same conversation with Corec. He went off and became a caravan guard. He must have done well for himself, given what you’ve told me. Your skills would certainly be in demand, whether you stay in Larso or not.”

Kevik hadn’t thought that far ahead. Yes, he could find work even in Larso, but the rumors would follow him. His knighthood had been stripped away, and people would learn of it eventually.

Perhaps he should follow Corec’s example and leave the kingdom entirely. Without the Order, what else was holding him here?

“I should get going,” he said, not wanting to prolong the painful conversation. “They only gave me two hours.”

Jesson clasped his forearm. “Thank you for bringing the news about Corec. He doesn’t write much. Is he still at his old boarding house?”

“I don’t know about that, but he said he was planning to stay at the keep and fix up the roads. You could send a courier to him there. Or a pigeon message to Sister Treya at the Three Orders chapter house in Four Roads.”

“Sister Treya? He’s taken a concubine?”

“I didn’t ask.” If Treya was a concubine, she wasn’t like any concubine Kevik had ever met before.

Jesson nodded. “Good luck, then.”

They made their farewells and Kevik hurried to the small room he’d lived in since taking his oaths. No one was there to see him off.

He belted on his sword, then took the armor and shield Corec had given him out to the stable and bundled them onto his mule’s pack saddle. His other weapons all belonged to the Order, so he’d have to leave them behind. When he returned to the stable again with the rest of his belongings, Georg was there waiting for him.

“Going somewhere?” the older knight asked.

Kevik tensed—Georg was armored, and wearing his sword belt. Was he looking for revenge?

“They kicked me out.”

“So I heard. The rumors started before the tribunal was even over. The only question was whether you’d be exiled from the kingdom as well.”

Georg had testified against Kevik at the tribunal, though in fairness, he’d only spoken the truth. Kevik couldn’t fault him for that.

“No, not exiled, but …”

“The free lands?” Georg asked.

“How did you know?”

“It seems to be the place to go for disgraced former knights. You think we can get fortresses too? I wouldn’t mind being landed gentry.”

Kevik blinked in surprise. “Why are you coming? You weren’t expelled.”

“Because it’s bollocks,” Georg said. “We killed a dragon. We should be heroes. Instead, they’re all treating us like we have the plague. It’s about time I retired anyway—I don’t need this nonsense anymore. I was thinking about going for Armsmaster, but Javin gave the job to someone else while we were away.”

Kevik stared at him for a moment. “Well, if you’re going with me, you’d better get your things.”

Georg clicked his tongue and his horse and mule stepped out of their stalls, already saddled and packed.

“Like I told you,” the man said, “everyone knew before the tribunal was over. You got a girl?”

That was private, but what did it matter now? “Her father works for the priests. She hasn’t spoken to me since the tribunal started. You?”

The knight snorted. “What woman would have me?”

“Sir Kevik?” said a high-pitched voice. A page had snuck up on them. He held out a small, folded slip of paper—a pigeon message.

“Not anymore,” Kevik said.

The boy furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Just give him the damned message,” Georg said.

The page handed it over.

Warn Corec he’s in danger. —Barat

Kevik flipped it over but that’s all there was.

In danger? From what? Corec was no longer part of the Order, and no longer subject to its rules. The priests had no say over what happened in the free lands. Even in Larso, there were areas where magic was no longer strictly illegal.

Barat was stationed in Telfort these days, which was probably how he’d heard Kevik had come into contact with their old friend, but why was the message so short? Even for pigeon post, Barat could have added more information than that.

Kevik’s first destination in the free lands had been obvious, given its proximity, but at least now there was a reason for it other than just begging for advice from the last person who’d been expelled from the Order.

“Let’s go,” he told Georg.

#

The smell of the ocean and the sound of seagulls flying overhead brought back memories as Katrin followed the dirty urchin through the back alleys of the docks district in Circle Bay.

“He’s right through there,” the boy said when they arrived at a seedy gaming den. “They play in the second card room along the far wall. I’m not allowed in.”

“Thank you, Jun,” Katrin said. “Here you go.” She handed him two coppers, twice his normal fee.

He grinned at her. “You’re a good one, Kat,” he said before scampering away.

Katrin took a deep breath and blew it out, then pushed through the swinging door and entered the smoke-filled room. As she made her way around the maze of gaming tables, the more dangerous-looking men in the place glanced up and stared before dismissing her as a threat. Some eyes lingered, but nobody seemed to recognize her.

That changed when she reached the room Jun had indicated. Besides Barz, there were three members of his old crew and two other men she’d never seen before. They were playing a six-hand game that was much trickier than the four-person game Katrin played with her friends. Judging by the way they were seated, they were each playing on their own rather than in teams of two.

“Katrin’s back!” one of the crew said with a grin. “Barz, why didn’t you tell us?”

“Heya, Kat, sing us a song!” another added.

“Leave,” she said, allowing power to flood her voice. “The game is over.”

The five men jumped up and scrambled out of the room without another word. Perhaps she’d overdone it. Barz stared at her, flummoxed, his eyes darting to the door as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

“Katrin, what … ? Why’d you tell them to go? We were in the middle of a game.”

“I didn’t want to wait for you to finish.”

“But I was winning!” Barz said. He’d played the emperor of crowns, and had added both a general and a soldier to his house.

Katrin flipped over two of the cards she’d seen on her way in. “No, you weren’t,” she said. “Melosh had the death of crowns. You’d have had to sacrifice both your other cards to save the emperor, and then the fellow sitting next to him could have played the bard of cups. You’d have been out before the round was over.”

Barz cursed under his breath and tossed his remaining cards on the table. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s how you greet me after all this time?”

He stood and gave her an awkward hug. Barz had never been good at showing emotion. “You’re finally home? Are you staying this time?”

“No, I just came to see you. I’ve got a job for you, if you want it.”

He furrowed his brow. “You’re doing a job?”

“Not that kind of job. We took over a fortress in the free lands, and I own a tavern there. I need someone to run it for me. I won’t have time to take care of the place myself.”

“The free lands?” he said. “Why would I want to go to the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s not so bad. We’ve got a whole little village there, and there’s an apartment for you and Ana above the tavern. We don’t have much business yet, but there’ll be trading caravans in the future.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “I don’t know anything about running a tavern.”

“It’s a tavern—it’s not hard. You’d serve drinks and manage the inventory. We don’t have a brewer, so you’ll need to order ale and whiskey from Four Roads. And apple brandy, apparently. It’s a good deal, a silver a day plus half the profit.”

“I make more than a silver now at the docks.”

“What, eleven coppers a day? Twelve? You think you can’t make up the difference in profit? And don’t forget having a free place to live.”

“I don’t want to work for that fellow with the sword.”

“You mean Corec, the man who paid forty gold to get you out of prison?” She let the silence extend for an uncomfortable length of time. “Well, you wouldn’t be working for him; you’d be working for me. If you steal, you’re stealing from me.”

Barz scowled. “I wouldn’t steal from you!”

“Or anyone else. I mean it, Barz. You’re my brother and I care about you, but if you cause problems, I won’t protect you from Corec.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

Katrin sat down across from him. “You always looked out for me, Barz. You protected me for years. I want to look out for you, too, but I can’t deal with all this anymore.” She gestured to the door his friends had used. “Dallo’s dead, you know. Hanged in Tyrsall for muscling in on the docks. Torse is dead, too—someone left him draped over the Unity Fountain with his guts at his feet, right in front of his father’s house.” Razai probably hadn’t known that last bit when she did it. Or maybe she had. “The rest are either dead or working in the quarries. If you were still in Tyrsall, you’d have been with them.”

“Well, I’m not in Tyrsall, am I?”

“And what about here? You’re hanging with the old crew. How long until they bring you in on a job?”

He looked down, not answering.

“They already have,” she said flatly. “Does Ana know?”

“No,” he said. “It was just the one time. We needed the money. Ana’s pregnant, and she had to stop serving tables. When the harbormaster learned I could do figures, he promised to make me an overseer, but then he found out I’d been in prison. I’d already told Ana we could move somewhere nicer, and …” He shrugged.

Katrin took a pouch out of a hidden pocket in her skirts and dropped it on the table. It was the coin she’d been saving for her brother until she could figure out a way to get it to him. It landed with a heavy thunk.

“You want money? Here. Twenty gold. Enough to buy a little house if you want, or enough to live on for a while if you stop drinking and gambling.”

He hefted the bag. “Where’d you get this much gold? I don’t want any more of his money.”

“It’s mine, and you’re lucky there’s anything left. I spent most of what I had hiring soldiers to hunt down a dragon.”

His eyes shot up to meet hers. “What?”

“It’s a long story. The gold is yours if you want it, but I know you, Barz. Even with the money, how long will it be before you get tempted again? How long until your friends convince you they need your help with one more job? So, I guess you have a choice. Take the gold and see how long it’ll keep you out of trouble, or start a new life in the free lands.”

She waited for him to answer.

Two hours later, when she met up with Leena to return to the keep, the gold was back in her pocket.

#

As another group of well-wishers wandered off, an older gentleman grabbed Sarette’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Incredible, what an incredible tale. Do you know, I think you might be the first of our people to ever face a dragon in battle?”

“Borya, don’t crowd the girl,” Head Magister Inessa chided, approaching them. “Stormrunner Sarette, please meet Magister Borya.”

“A delight to make your acquaintance,” Borya said, giving her hand one last shake before letting go. “And I understand you’ve brought us news about the expedition to find Tir Yadar as well.”

“Yes, but …” Sarette glanced around, then waved Ariadne over. Leena had brought the Chosar woman to Snow Crown earlier that afternoon, using the warden bond to target Sarette’s location.

Sarette made the introductions, then said, “Ariadne is from the Bancyra region in Cordaea, and she’s been working closely with Lady Ellerie on the information from Tir Yadar. She can tell you more about the notes Ellerie sent than I can.” She spoke in trade tongue, since Ariadne would draw too much attention to herself if she used the Necklace of Tongues to learn the stormborn language.

“You’re a scholar, then?” Borya asked Ariadne, then cocked his head to the side. “And you’re seaborn, yes? I’ve never seen one of the seaborn so far inland before. Isn’t Bancyra landlocked?”

“It is,” Ariadne said. “I’m not a scholar, but I’m familiar with Ellerie’s notes. I’m helping her and Bobo with the two books they’re writing, one about Tir Yadar and the other about the Chosar.”

“I’ve heard that word before,” Inessa said. Borya nodded in agreement.

“The people who came before,” Sarette said. “They were the Chosar.”

Borya frowned. “There’s been speculation about all of the old tribes for which we have names, suggesting this one or that one were those who came before, but there’s never been any evidence.”

“We’re certain,” Ariadne said. “The Chosar founded Tir Yadar—and Tir Navis as well. The notes we brought don’t cover everything, but Ellerie promised to send copies of the books once they’ve been printed.” She kept her words circumspect, not having decided how much she was going to tell them about the Chosar—or about her own place in the story.

Borya’s fingers twitched. “I need my books. Perhaps Evgeni’s Origins … no, no, that won’t do. What about—?”

Inessa laid her fingers on his arm. “I think the books can wait this one time,” she said.

“Oh, yes, of course.” He turned back to Ariadne. “But you have to tell us more! How did you learn about the connection?”

Ariadne’s expression grew anxious, but before Sarette could intervene, her mother swooped in, leading another woman.

“Sarette, dear,” Natasya said, “have you met Malina?”

Sarette tensed, but kept a careful smile on her face. “We haven’t spoken before,” she said. “It’s good to meet you, Malina.”

“A pleasure,” the older woman said. “And I’m so happy to hear there’s a new stormrunner. The others are getting on in years, and my Sascha can’t do everything himself.”

Sascha barely qualified as a stormrunner at all, but Sarette couldn’t say that to his mother. And in any case, he was significantly stronger than she herself had been before she’d asked Corec to bond her.

“Speaking of Sascha,” Natasya said, as if that hadn’t been her intention all along, “he’s quite the handsome young man, isn’t he? How well do you know him, Sarette?”

“We mostly kept to ourselves at Runner’s Summit. We’ve hardly spoken.” That wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough she could get away with it.

It didn’t deter Malina, though. “Perhaps now that you’ve returned, the two of you could spend some time together,” she said. “As stormrunner families, we have ties going back for centuries. This may be an opportunity to see those ties renewed.”

“I’m afraid my duties with the warden will see me away from Snow Crown for quite some time,” Sarette said. And getting longer by the minute, she promised herself.

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” Vartus said, cutting in just as the two women seemed to be bracing themselves for another attempt. “I need to speak with my niece. Stormrunner business.”

He ignored their scowls and led Sarette out to the veranda. “You looked like you could use some help.”

“Mother’s doing her best to continue the dynasty.”

Vartus chuckled. “If she really wants you to spawn a new line of stormrunners, she shouldn’t be trying to marry you off to Sascha. She should send you to the snowborn.”

“There are stormrunners among the snowborn?”

“The runner bloodlines split evenly during the schism, but while our lines faded, theirs stayed strong. Either we were unlucky, or their meddling mothers were more successful in their matchmaking.”

“Well, I have no interest in being a broodmare, regardless of who she tries to pair me up with.”

“I won’t argue with you, but it’s a shame to see the order coming to an end.”

“Then why didn’t you go to the snowborn?”

“My grandfather did,” he admitted. “But the mother kept the child—that’s the custom there. I didn’t have any interest in fathering a child I’d never get to see. Then I met Marta, and we didn’t learn until it was too late that she couldn’t have children.” He shrugged. “But that’s not why I brought you out here. We really do have business to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“Your story about fighting the dragon seemed to have some convenient gaps in time. You attacked, and then what happened? You talked about what everyone else was doing, even though you couldn’t have been close enough to see any of it until near the end.”

Sarette sighed. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell the story tonight. I needed to talk to you about it first, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

“What happened?”

“I fell,” she admitted. “The dragon hit me—with its wing, I think. I’m not even sure it was intentional, but it hit hard enough that it knocked me into a fall, and I passed out. It couldn’t have been for long. I had enough time to catch my spear and call lightning, but it was close.”

“I fell once, when I was about your age,” Vartus said. “I was only two hundred feet up, so I tried to pull in enough charge to handle the landing.”

“Did it work?”

“I shattered both my legs. Luckily, Galina was assigned to the same unit—this was back when she still worked in the field. With a lesser priest, it might have taken weeks to recover, but she had me up in the air the next day.”

“I don’t know if I can go up again. Every time I think about it, I …” Sarette shook her head and shivered.

“We flew in from Runner’s Summit just yesterday,” Vartus said. Sarette had asked Leena to take her to the isolated stormrunner headquarters in the mountains rather than directly to the city.

“That’s different. We weren’t in battle, and you were right there with me.”

Vartus nodded, then stepped to the edge of the veranda and peered up at the night sky. Sarette joined him. The stars were out, and the chilly air was a welcome change. Spring came too early in the south.

“I wish there was some big secret I could tell you that would make everything better, but there isn’t,” Vartus said. “It affects each of us differently. In your story, you managed to stay in the fight.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I’d pulled in so much power to get out of the fall that I’m not sure what would have happened if I’d tried to let it dissipate on its own. I gave it to the dragon instead.”

“Sometimes we don’t know what we’re capable of until we’re stressed beyond our normal limits.” He faced her. “If you can still fly, then you’re halfway there already. Just fly every storm that comes. When there’s no storm, make one—or fly without any storm at all. Keep practicing until it feels as natural as walking. When you’re ready, you’ll know.”

“I’ll try.”

Vartus grinned. “Besides, you’ll probably never face another enemy in the sky. Next time you get hit, you’ll be much closer to the ground.”

Sarette rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s something, I guess.”

One of the servants joined them. “Sir, a message came for …” He saw Sarette. “Ahh, Stormrunner Sarette, this is for you.”

“Thank you,” Sarette said, opening the message as the man went back inside. “It’s from Oracle Galina.”

“Galina?” Vartus said. “She already sent an apology for not coming tonight.”

“No, this is … she wants me to bring Ariadne to see her tomorrow,” Sarette said.

#

The little bit of Snow Crown Ariadne had seen so far was both familiar and foreign. She’d never heard of anything like the valley itself, which seemed to be some sort of massive crater in the middle of the mountain range, but the city itself wasn’t all that different from Tir Yadar’s outer city. The structures and the layout were more utilitarian and uniform than the human cities of Tyrsall and Aencyr, and individuality was instead expressed through carvings on the walls. Those carvings hadn’t been common in Tir Yadar, but Ariadne had heard of the practice in other Tirs. Snow Crown was familiar in other ways as well. There were no beggars on the street—the people were guaranteed food and shelter one way or another—and the High Guard maintained a presence throughout the city.

Perhaps she should have expected the familiar aspects. If Borrisur had truly gifted the stormborn with their knowledge and traditions, then that knowledge had come from the Chosar themselves.

Most of the buildings in the city were constructed of polished logs and had no more than two floors, giving the place a rustic feel, but the temple Ariadne stood in front of now was four stories tall and made from heavy granite blocks. It couldn’t match the huge temples she’d seen in Tyrsall and Aencyr, but according to Sarette, it was the largest of Borrisur’s fourteen temples in Snow Crown.

“Lightning rods,” the stormborn woman said, indicating a crown of copper spikes towering twenty feet above the temple. “When a heavy thunderstorm passes by, lightning can strike it a dozen times a minute. All of Borrisur’s temples have them—the ones here in Snow Crown, I mean—but this one has the best view. People come from all around to watch it.”

There was no storm now, though.

Ariadne hesitated at the entrance. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “What could she want?”

“I don’t know, but she specifically asked to speak with you,” Sarette replied. “She’s got to have a reason. The oracle can see things others can’t.”

Ariadne had come to Snow Crown looking for information, but she’d assumed if she found anything, it would come from the magisters. Galina’s invitation had been unexpected, and Sarette had repeatedly refused to speculate over what it meant, perhaps not wanting to raise Ariadne’s hopes.

Sarette got tired of waiting and nudged her through the entrance. Inside, a priest showed them to Galina’s study. The white-haired woman was ancient. If stormborn aged similarly to Chosar, Ariadne would have placed her age at a hundred thirty years or more.

“Oracle Galina,” Sarette said respectfully, “this is Ariadne of the Chosar people, a Mage Knight of Tir Yadar.”

“Yes,” the old woman said. “These things I knew because I know them now. Sometimes you tell me and sometimes you don’t, but the past is the truth regardless of the future.”

Ariadne blinked in confusion. “Oracle Galina,” she started, then paused, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Galina turned to her. “You seek the truth about your people,” she said.

"Sarette told me you can see things. Can you tell me what happened to them?”

"I can't see the past. I can only see what might happen, not what has. I saw you, when Sarette and the warden came to the council chamber for the first time. I saw you die; I saw you sleep forever; I saw you as you are now. I saw Sarette fall to her death attempting to strike a dragon in mid-flight—” Sarette’s head jerked back at that, “—and I saw her emerge victorious as a true stormrunner. The future is always uncertain—a mortal mind can't begin to interpret all the possibilities."

“Then why … ?”

“Why did I bring you here? Because change is coming to Snow Crown, and you stand at the heart of it. Or it isn’t, and you don’t.” Galina’s gaze was penetrating. “What secrets do you know that will cause so much turmoil for my people?”

“I don’t understand,” Ariadne said.

“It’s not given to me to see everything, but I see enough to be concerned. What is it you know that’s so troubling? Is it simply the secret you’ve already told me? You were found in Tir Yadar. I’m no scholar, but I have some idea of what that means—your Chosar were the people who came before. A startling discovery, and even more startling that you yet live, but would that knowledge result in the strife I see? I don’t believe so.”

Sarette gave Ariadne a concerned look.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Ariadne said.

“Ahh, but there’s the problem, you see. Change can be good or bad. Should you keep your knowledge to yourself, or should you shout it out from the rooftops? How can I know unless you tell me what it is?”

Ariadne had no intention of telling Galina about the old wardens becoming gods, and she couldn’t think of anything else useful. “I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“There must be something,” the old woman said, then furrowed her brow. “This is new. If you’ve never been here before, how is it that you know why the snowborn left us?”

“What?” Sarette interjected, her eyes wide.

“I don’t know anything about the snowborn!” Ariadne told them both. “I’ve never even seen one before!”

Galina stared at her--or possibly through her. “No. You’re right. Perhaps you don’t know what caused the schism, or perhaps you do but don’t realize it.” She sighed. “I’ve been too harsh. You came to Snow Crown to learn what happened to your people, and all I can tell you is what everyone knows—the people who came before are long gone.”

Ariadne sighed. Another lead, however unexpected, had ended in failure. “Will I ever learn what happened?"

Galina hesitated, then said, “You already know of those who have the answers. One in particular. But she can’t be everywhere; she can’t see everything. If you want her to hear you, go to where she listens.”

There were only so many ways to interpret that, and it didn’t seem like Galina was referring to Ephrenia. That left the old wardens, and of those, Ariadne only knew one personally.

“If you see that much, can’t you tell me what she’ll say?” she asked.

“The bits and pieces I can see don’t make sense, not yet, and I’ve learned that having a little bit of information is often worse than having none at all. Once you take action, I’ll know more, but by then, you’ll no longer need my help.”

Ariadne nodded. Ellerie hadn’t been aware of any way to speak to the new gods, but perhaps the priests would know.

“Who are you talking about?” Sarette asked.

“There are some things I need to tell you,” Ariadne said to her. “But first, is there a temple to The Lady in Snow Crown?”