Six of the Morathkian Gods have temples within the third ring of Wrohelm, but none are as grand as Etta’s. It’s also usually the most frequented, but for the last week this section of the third ring has been under curfew, the streets emptied of everyone except the knights and their wolves. Cleared out entirely for this purpose – so that people can make their offerings and volunteer for the Retterheld. People like the man I’ve spotted in the shadows, dressed in furs and leather and crouching low, trying to stay hidden. I watch, breath held for him, as he glances back and forth, then bolts straight towards the temple.

Whoever he is, he’s fast. Maybe even fast enough. He’s moving at such a speed that it’s almost as if he’s forgotten about the icy moat surrounding the temple.

My chest clenches as I realise that’s exactly what he’s done. He’s running at a full sprint towards thin ice. He needs to stop, to pull up fast, or⁠—

His hands flail, wild and desperate, and for a breath I’m certain he will crash into the icy depths of the moat … until a sudden flash of green light bursts from his frame, catching him, suspending him, and pulling him back to solid ground, instantly saving and dooming him.

‘Fuck!’ The sympathetic curse slips from my lips, and I wince at the sound of my own voice. The man used his magic to save himself, but in doing so he guaranteed his rejection by Etta. All applicants must come to her free of magic. It’s why being stripped of my magic is an advantage. There’s no risk of power slipping free when I have none.

I shrink back into the shadows, my heart knocking out my nerves against my ribs as I wonder if the inadvertent swear will fuck me as well. But there’s no outcry from a knight. No howls from the dire wolves. Tension eases from me. Despite myself, I feel bad for the man. Whatever desperate wish lured him towards the Retterheld now lies forever beyond his grasp.

The howls and growls burst through the silence as the wolves and their bonded knights rush to where the man stands. I brace myself for an attack, for the screams of pain as the wolves plunge their teeth into his thighs, only to watch on in disgust as coins clink as they pass hands. A bribe for a painless exit. I shouldn’t be surprised.

Sickness spreads through the slums like fire from our bastard king’s fingertips, and that kind of money, cast aside so casually, could save dozens of lives. Instead, lords and ladies hoard more coin than they could spend in ten lifetimes, and the poor of the citadel are left with nothing more than the thoughts and prayers of the priestesses.

Turns out thoughts and prayers do fuck all when what you actually need is food and medicine.

I won’t let my sister spend a lifetime struggling in the slums, just for illness to prematurely end her days. Not when she was meant for so much more. I’m doing this for Acacia – Kay.

I draw in a breath and return my attention to the task at hand. Dealing with the fur-covered man will keep the guards distracted for a moment or two longer. Not a single guard, nor their wolves, have even glanced in my direction since I arrived tonight. But why would they? Only a knighted guard or someone of noble birth can enter the Retterheld, and what kind of noble or knight would be coming from the direction of the slums?

One unfairly cast out. That’s who. One ready to rectify that through any means necessary.

I could live out the rest of my life starving hungry, scraping a living from tonics brewed from the recipes in my mother’s precious notebook, but I can’t put Kay through it any longer. She doesn’t deserve the miserable life the king and his pathetic narcissist of a son condemned us to. The gifting will change everything.

I will enter, and I will win. I have to.

My eyes track one guard and his wolf at the back of the temple. On the count of three, they are going to turn the corner and give me my best opening.

‘This is it, Rose,’ I murmur, dousing my body in a putrid liquid concoction of my mother’s creation, designed to hide my human scent from the wolves. ‘You can do this. You just need to fucking move.’

Three, two, one!

I climb down hastily, scraping my knuckles on the rough-hewn marble but barely noticing the sting as adrenaline roars in my ears. I daren’t look over my shoulder. Instead, I keep moving until I’m a few feet away from the ground, then leap, landing gracelessly on all fours. I remain crouched for less than a heartbeat before I’m upright again and, with my heart hammering, racing in the direction of that high back window.

My lungs are close to bursting as I sprint towards the only hope I have left. I must get in. That’s all there is to it. I’ll work out how to survive the trials – without magic – once I’m chosen. Because I will be chosen.

Mindful of the other man’s mistake, I slow my feet as they hit the thin, icy surface of the moat. Dangerously thin.

Fuck! This time I swallow the curse, biting my lip to keep any sound from slipping out. Panic thrums through me with every breath. Even my paltry weight will likely be too much for the ice, but I have no choice but to keep moving forward.

I’m halfway there. Halfway to safety. Halfway to death.

A loud crack sounds, followed by a quieter one, and then I’m plunged into freezing water up to my neck. Shock tears my breath from me – a blessing in disguise as my scream dies in my throat. If the Retterheld has swimming in it, I’m screwed. It’s not that I can’t swim; it’s just that as soon as I know I’m out of my depth, a primal fear takes hold of my limbs and mind and leaves me flailing hopelessly. I steady my feet against the stony bottom of the moat, trying to calm my breathing ever so slightly.

The water is agonisingly cold, but while the jolt bites deep, it doesn’t break me. I’ve no doubt the other nobles would be crippled by the shock. They may live in a cold climate, but they dress in thick furs and live in magically warmed rooms. They don’t know what it’s like to wake with your fingers and toes turning blue, ice crystals threading along your headboard, and the only drinkable water hidden beneath six inches of ice.

But I do.

So, ignoring the numbing cold that swirls around me, I wade through the still waters, clenching my jaw to stop the sound of my chattering teeth from escaping. Gods, I am so close.

Relief floods me when I reach the other side, though the feeling is short-lived. All that water soaking into my pitiful shoes has lessened their purchase. Considerably. Still, I have no choice. If I stay here, I’ll die. It’s that simple.

With my hands on the rough-hewn temple walls, I manoeuvre myself so that my foot is anchored and push myself upward. There’s just about enough friction to get another precarious foothold, and then the next. My thighs burn as I force all my power through them, every muscle stretching as I reach for the thin metal frame of the open window above.

The pain that sears through my palm is enough to make me gasp, the sound echoing in the silence. The metal frame must have a jagged edge that has now sliced through several layers of skin, if not more.

That brew of mine might cover a lot of scents from the dire wolves, but I seriously doubt it’s going to mask this much blood. I need to hurry.

I reach up again, and this time, I look up as well, placing my right hand carefully on the metal.

Haste makes waste, my mother’s voice chides me from my memories.

A shout erupts. ‘There! Over by the window!’

Fuck! There’s a thunder of feet on the drawbridge and I know I’m down to my last seconds of opportunity.

Groaning aloud, I heave myself up on bloody fingers until my torso is level with the window, but it’s not enough. I need to be higher to avoid tumbling headfirst through the opening. There’s a ten-foot drop on the other side and I’m pretty sure arriving with a concussion will not impress the Goddess. I cannot screw this up now. Not when I’m so fucking close!