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"Why did you come?"

"I needed to know why Himureal was banished in the first place. The journals of the high priests didn't add up, and I knew something was missing. I felt like we couldn't bring the other Gods back without knowing for sure."

I relax my legs and cross my arms over my chest loosely. "And what did you find out?"

"According to his own words and some of the information from the two journals we have, Himureal appears to have been the wronged party when he was banished. But that time in isolation must have messed with his head." She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the cot she's been sleeping on. "And the worst part is that what I learned doesn't help me decide how to move forward. I broke his heart for nothing." She says the last words like a curse under her breath.

"You broke who's heart?"

"Mace's. Or, probably. I'm sure he'll be devastated that right after he tells me he loves me I run off and don't come back."

"Do you love him?" I ask quietly. I'm not necessarily afraid of the answer, but parts of me are still holding onto hope that she could love me, too. Hearing that he loves her doesn't cause the same hurt that her loving him will.

Viola isn't one to give love away freely.

"In the only way I can,yeah," she whispers, looking directly at me. "Who the fuck knows if it's the way he loves me or the way I'm supposed to love someone. But whatever it is, I'm calling it love."

That's as much of a declaration as one could hope for from Viola Mistflow, the true God of Krillium.

"Then he'll forgive you. He'll understand why you came." I rub my chest, expecting a pain there, but nothing comes. When I look at Viola I do not see the woman I obsessed over, the woman I wanted in my bed, in my heart.

Instead, I see a God who needs me. A God in dire need of devotion, of belief.

Of saving.

"I'm going to get you out of there," I tell her, standing up. "I'll figure it out, and we'll go find the group."

She nods, mirroring my movements, looking more like her old self for the first time since she arrived here. "Mace said he had the high priest of Winter's journal hidden in his office. We need it." The emotional vulnerability she showed earlier is gone, replaced by determination. "You have to get it before I leave."

"It's my office now. I'll tear it apart." I turn to leave, sliding my hands in my pockets, and freeze when my fingers skirt over a smooth stone. "Viola," I say, pulling it out and pushing my hand between the bars.

She grabs the stone from me and turns it over in her hands. "My talisman… you saved it?"

"It was important to you." I shrug, headingout of the prison with my mission clear.

Get the journal.

Break Viola out of prison.

Serve my God.

Chapter 4

Viola

Iroll the smooth stone in my hands, something within me settling at the familiar ritual. At least one thing is familiar about my life now.

Zeph saved it for me. He had it this whole time, knowing how much it meant to me. This fact softens my feelings toward the man a little. Maybe his intentions were always pure despite the idiotic way he approached things.

I dare not hope, but it's almost as if I feel some of my magic pulsing beneath the surface like it did when I was tied to that chair in Colris. Is it possible I can fight through this prison of slag? I try to summon Shadow to me, and I feel something, a whisper, in the back of my mind, but it's not enough to bring my companion to me.

"Daughter!" Himureal shouts, surprising me as he turns the corner of the prison. "I do hope you feel a bit better about the situation today."

I still haven't quite figured out my plan for Himureal. Should I charm him into trusting me so he lets me out? He wouldn't fall for something as blatant as that, would he?

"I have accepted my situation for what it is," I say drolly. It's not a lie. The meaning may just be a little different than he expected.

He leans against the wall opposite my cell and cocks his head to the side, long white hair falling like a curtain over his shoulder. He dresses plainly, again wearing black linen pants that balance precariously low on his hips. His chest is bare save for the carved scars that adorn it.

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