I reach up, nervously adjusting my veil.

“Stop fussing,” Amara says. “Half the people here are in masks or veils.”

She’s right. My nerves settle slightly. With my face hidden, I’m just another body in the crowd. Anonymous.

Amara’s fingers close tightly around mine. “Come on. Keep your wits sharp. We can’t afford any slip-ups.”

We descend from the platform into the throng below. At once, I’m submerged and overwhelmed by sensation. The aroma of incense and spice is thick in the air, chased by the perfume of foreign flowers. Wild music pounds from every direction, drums beating out a relentless, frenetic beat. A rhythm to fuck to. To fight to. There’s violence in it, hunger. The kind of wildness that begs to be purged in pleasure.

I nearly stumble when a male demi drops into a bow as we pass. Not to me—to Amara. And he’s not the only one.

I tug at her arm. “Do they know you?”

Her face hardens. “No.”

“Then why—”

“These.” She gestures to the symbols she painted on her skin. “They might as well say Property of the Biggest Asshole In Both Realms. They’re not bowing to me.”

I look closer at the symbols painted across her skin. Where I have spirals and geometric patterns, she has runes that reach like branches down her arms. Right at the hollow of her throat is a circular design with smaller symbols.

“But we’re trying to blend in.” I sweep my gaze across the crowd. “Can’t you just… clean them off?”

She looks at me like I’m insane. “Sure. And if some idiot in a rut haze decides to grab my ass, then my Chosen feels it. Next thing you know, he’s tearing through the city, ripping off faces. These marks warn every male with functioning eyes that I’m soulbonded to someone they don’t want to fuck with.”

Yikes. “Good gods.”

“Yeah.”

We weave our way toward the market square, navigating through knots of celebrants. Tables line our path, filled with dozens of different platters—fruits dripping with nectar, glass flutes with bubbling drinks.

A breathy moan catches my attention as we duck beneath a stone arch. I glance over to see a demigoddess sprawled on a bench, wearing only strategically draped ropes of pearls. A demigod kneels in front of her with his head buried between her thighs. Her hands twist in his hair, nails raking across his scalp as she urges him on.

My face burns. I’m suddenly all too grateful for the veil.

“First time at an orgy?” Amara snickers, tugging me away.

“Shut up.”

“Never seen a male go down before? The Wolf’s been holding out on you. I’ve heard he’s good with that mouth.”

I flush hotter and yank my arm free. “I said shut up.”

Her laughter follows me as we push deeper into the crowd. We emerge into a circular plaza dominated by a massive, roaring bonfire. The flames gutter and dance, and sparks pinwheel up into the sky.

She pulls me into the shadow of a stone portico. “Here.” She snatches two flutes from a tiered fountain and presses one into my hand. “Drink this.”

“Do I want to know what it is?” I lift the flute, eyeing the bubbling pink liquid.

“Solstice wine,” she says, sipping her own. “The recipe’s as old as the first cities. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

I lift my veil just enough to tip the glass to my lips. The flavor blooms on my tongue: crisp and sweet, with notes of apple, honey, and ripe berries. I can’t bite back the faint sound of pleasure at the taste.

Amara grins. “Good, right? So. Anything coming back to you about Rhosyn?”

I take another measured sip, savoring the subtle spice as my gaze wanders across the teeming plaza. “In Hellevig’s archives, there are records of Caelestis during Vartena’s occupation.” I study Amara, trying to gauge her reaction. “They mention some of these towers being used as a launching point for attacks deeper into Scillari.”

Something flashes in Amara’s face, there and gone too quickly to parse. “You’re not wrong. The Eternal who ruled this territory before Alexios was slaughtered in the first days of the siege. His palace became a glorified barracks.”

I shiver. “How did we kill Eternals and gain a foothold at all? Everything I’ve read suggests it should have been impossible.”

“Yeah, impossible.” She laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “Or through stolen magic.”

My blood goes cold. “What do you mean?”

When she turns back to me, her expression is flat. Harsh, almost. “There are some things we don’t tolerate being brought to light. How’s that human saying go? Let sleeping gods lie?”

Amara’s voice carries a clear warning. She won’t be sharing anything else with me tonight.

I raise my hands. “Forget I asked.”

Above us, the first star flickers and winks out.

Amara grips my arm. “It’s starting. Watch.”

Another goes dark, and then another. And then—

The sky shatters. Purple, yellow, red, green—a dazzling eruption of color and luminous ribbons streaking through the dark. Falling stars pour from the firmament, leaving trails of glittering dust in their wake, until the air shimmers in a luminous haze.

It’s a storm. A deluge. The stars rain down in a glittering flood until the entire city shimmers and sparks with magic, a current that skates across my skin like a caress. Pleasure pools thick and languid in my veins. I’ve never craved touch like this before. It’s almost too bright, too sharp.

The crowd erupts. Some demigods take flight, dancing through the star-streaked sky with their wings spread wide. Laughter rings out over the crowd. Everywhere I look, faces are tipped back in rapture.

“How long does it last?” I whisper.

“Three days.” There’s something wistful in Amara’s smile when she turns to me, as if she’s remembering a half-forgotten dream. “We need to go,” she says apologetically.

I nod, and she takes my arm, navigating us through the crowd. We’ve barely taken three steps when a word rises above the din, stopping me cold.

Hellevig.

I whip around so fast that Amara stumbles. Across the courtyard, a cluster of demis gather near a bonfire, one male waving his hands as he speaks.

“—mortals and their drama. Nearly made us late to the first falling thanks to whatever’s lodged up their collective ass this time around.”

“Out with it already,” another snaps. “Not all of us are looped in on the latest Vartenan gossip.”

The first one leans in. “The Princess of the Blood fell out of favor, and her loyalists were all killed. Or so I heard.”

Theo.

Ice spreads through my veins. Suddenly, I can barely breathe around the crushing pressure in my chest.

Amara is at my side in an instant. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“My sister.” I can barely speak through the panic. “Theodora. I need—I have to know if she’s okay.”

She looks over at the demis, then back at me. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Then she’s slipping into the throng, the dark fall of her hood swallowed up between one blink and the next. I stand frozen, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Please, please let Theo be all right. If anything’s happened to her—

The crowd surges without warning. Bodies jostle me from all sides, and I lose sight of Amara’s blue hood in the sudden crush.

“Amara!”

My voice is lost in the swell of noise. I’m buffeted on all sides as I struggle to reach her last location. Elbows dig into my ribs, wings bump against my head, but I keep shoving, keep moving—

And stumble to a halt, my attention snagging on an ancient tree. I’ve seen it sketched in faded ink on a crumbling page in my father’s study.

My feet carry me forward, the press of revelers fading to insignificance. As I draw closer, I notice something else—faint scratches in the weathered cobblestones, markings faded with time and weather. Barely more than a suggestion. A word.