And perched on the hill in the center of the city, with spires piercing the low-hanging clouds, stands the temple where I’ve been summoned for my tithe. Alexios’ holy building is the only structure built entirely of pale marble, probably because blood shows up better on white, and the God of Storms enjoys watching us all bleed from wherever he is in Scillari. The facade comprises multiple twisting steeples that loom over the landscape like jagged teeth.

I hate that damn place.

Theo’s hand finds my knee. “You okay?”

“Fine. Thanks for coming with me today. You didn’t have to.”

“Please. I’d crawl through broken glass to escape the palace. Made the stupid mistake of smiling at the new footman, and now he thinks we’re destined for true love.”

“Is he the one who’s been leaving flowers at your door?”

“Flowers, poems, and yesterday, a note comparing my eyes to ‘emerald pools of eternal longing.’” She shudders. “There are only so many times I can hide in the library before it gets pathetic.”

“And here I thought you came for moral support.”

“Well, that too.” Theo sits back. “Speaking of support, I’ll tell you my new coping mechanism for when the Oracles shove that blade in.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course not.” A wicked grin spreads across my sister’s face. “I think of all the filthy things I’m going to have Kas do to me when I wake up. Really takes the edge off dying when I know I’ll be riding my guard’s cock within the hour.”

I choke on air. “Theo!”

“What? It’s practical. Strategic.” She lets out a satisfied sigh. “I ride that man before the carriage even leaves the temple grounds. You wouldn’t believe how hard he gets when I’m still covered in blood from the ceremony. Something about seeing me come back to life really does it for him.”

The noise I make is something between a retch and a whimper. “Stop. Stop right there.” I hold up both hands. “I don’t need the visual. I don’t want the visual. The visual is burned into my brain. What in the Eternal’s name is wrong with you?”

“So many things. Want the list alphabetically or by order of moral depravity? We’ve got time before we reach the temple.”

“I’d rather throw myself in front of a train.”

“Maybe save that move for after your wedding. And remember, if you need to plot your new husband’s tragic end, I know people who know people.”

I elect to ignore that in favor of hunching in my seat. The last thing I want to dwell on is my wedding to Markus von Reding tomorrow. I’ve only met him three times, and I don’t think he’s ever bothered looking above my breasts. But I suppose that doesn’t matter. The marriage is purely transactional to get me pregnant. Devaliants are only good for two things—dying and breeding more Devaliants to die.

The carriage makes a hard turn. The road is closed to all but our procession, with storefronts shuttered until after we finish. Even the temple has been emptied to prepare for our arrival.

We stop along the rounded royal entryway, where a statue of Alexios glares down at us. The sculptor caught the striking lines of his face, every feather of his wings. He’s seated on a throne with one hand holding his sword and the other reaching down. I can’t tell if it’s meant to look like he’s blessing me or threatening me, but maybe that’s the point.

The wind lashes my cheeks as we climb the steps and push open the doors. The smell hits me first, the heavy incense barely masking the strong, coppery scent of centuries of blood coating the holy stones.

The candles in the alcoves illuminate the reliefs painted on the walls. In one, Alexios sits in judgment while a human grovels at his feet. In another, he flies into battle with his sword held high, and his red and black wings spread.

And in the next panel is the Devaliant princess who changed the realms. Amalthea. Offering her life to anchor the Shroud, seal the Accords, and end the war that nearly brought both worlds to ruin.

At the end of the naos rises the altar stone, a simple slab of rust-stained white marble. Three dark-robed Oracles stand around its base, their faces obscured behind gauzy veils. I see them every fourteen days for the ceremony, but we’re not on friendly terms. It’s difficult to establish a cordial relationship with the women who’ve held you down and shoved a knife in your chest since childhood. You don’t look so fondly on them after that.

I dip my chin in a curt greeting. “Good morning.”

The Head Oracle steps forward, her vestments shimmering. “Princess Bryony, the Eternal sent word that your tithe isn’t welcome.”

Theodora freezes, her breath catching in her throat.

I’m certain I’ve misunderstood. The incense fumes must be causing me to hallucinate. “I’m sorry. It sounded like you said—”

“You heard her correctly,” the second Oracle says. “There will be no anchoring ceremony today. Your tithe is no longer required.”

No longer required. The words make no sense. No longer required, no longer required, no longer—

All my life, I’ve been necessary. I’ve played my preordained role, a linchpin of the Shroud. One of Alexios’ Anchors in the mortal realm. I’ve bled for him since I could walk. Died for him again and again and again. I’d say it’s almost impressive how thoroughly I’ve debased myself.

And now I’m no longer required?

“I don’t understand,” Theodora says. “Has my sister offended him?”

The Oracle’s head turns toward my sister. “The Eternal’s will isn’t for mortals to question.”

It takes every scrap of courtly training I possess not to lunge across the altar and throttle the Oracle with her veil.

“Two weeks ago, I was indispensable. Now I’m nothing,” I say, my voice calm despite my pounding heart. “Did Alexios share his reasons, or does he prefer to keep us guessing?”

The third Oracle answers. “You live and die by the Eternal’s mercy, and he’s revoked it. There’s nothing more to be said.”

Mercy. How precious.

“Unrevoke it,” Theodora says sharply. “My sister is ready to make the tithe and do her duty.” She rakes them with the glare that earned her the frigid bitch moniker. “It’s your obligation to take her blood.”

“You’re not regent anymore, Princess,” the Head Oracle says. “You have no authority here.”

Theodora flinches, and I see the barb hit home. She swallows hard at the reminder of everything she’s lost.

“Ah, yes,” I say. “I’d forgotten that obedience is a requirement of Alexios’ faithful. Tell me, do you gain your position only by being the bastard children of demigods and humans, or is there a test you have to pass for sycophantic devotion? Does he screen for a lack of individuality? I’m curious how that works.”

The Oracles gasp. I think one of them might be choking on her own spit behind that veil.

“Bry,” Theodora says. “Come on. We’re going.”

I’m reaching for Theo’s arm when the third Oracle says, “If you doubt our words, Princess, look at your Claim.”

I turn back. “What did you just say?”

The Oracle points at my wrist—at the golden cuff that’s been there for as long as I can remember. “See for yourself.”

I fumble with the clasp, my breaths growing shorter. This has to be a mistake. Some sort of sick, ritualized humiliation.

The cuff falls away, and branded on my inner wrist is a slash through the eye of Alexios’ mark. The same sigil that’s declared me his Claimed since the day I was born and given the drop of his blood like every other infant in Luceni. Only now, the eye is closed.

And I’m marked for death.

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