Ten minutes later, boots thumped dry dirt and snapped twigs, and panting breaths mingled in a voiceless hymn. Twenty minutes later, Rashika's Resistance reached the central plaza.

Thirty wooden posts protruded from a mound of hay at the plaza's center. Roped to each post, prisoners scuffed their feet and twisted their heads. A silent crowd of peasants in tattered rags scattered around the gold pillars, eyes alight with morbid fascination. Dim sunlight peeked through dark clouds and drew long silhouettes across the dusty marble floors.

Guards surrounded the pile of hay, chests puffed and hands clasped behind their backs. Nausea boiled up in my gut. Would I once have stood among those guards, proud to serve the King — proud to slaughter innocents?

Pamil stood above the rest on a wooden platform, gesticulating his words with broad gestures. "And so let this be a message to all of Rakim. The one true Goddess blesses her worshippers, but she has no mercy for the heathens who turn away from her and worship Lesser Gods."

Despite his clear position of authority, I noticed he no longer wore the Head Guard badge. An inexplicable tingle of unease followed this realization, but I had no time to contemplate it. I scoured the plaza, picking out the archers at the crowd's edge.

I drew back the hood of my tattered cloak a few inches to side-glance Izra. Beneath her own hood, her eyes tracked the same threats I had seen. But before we could speak, a hand tugged on the sleeve of her cloak.

A tall woman peered down a hawk nose at Izra. Dirt clung to her skin and clumped her hair, but her eyes burned bright.

"Izra? Is that you?"

Izra squeezed her eyes shut and expelled a breath. "Not now, please."

An equally tall man squeezed the woman's shoulder. "I knew it was her!" His eyes flitted left and right, and his voice dropped lower. "Izra, we just wanted to thank you. We know you risked your life to save our son."

Izra shook her head. "I endangered Narik by speaking to him."

The woman tsked. "You were just buying bread."

Izra's eyes flitted to mine and raised her eyebrows. I nodded, not sure what I was agreeing to but very sure I trusted her. Perhaps more than I trusted myself.

"Listen to me," she said. "Find everyone here you know, and ask them to go home. You should not be here for what is about to happen."

Narik's parents exchanged a wide-eyed glance before nodding at Izra and slipping back through the onlookers. When they disappeared, Izra turned back to me.

"What now, Epsa?"

"I'll try to get to the leader of the Royal Guard." I tilted my head toward Pamil. "He's cowardly enough to cave when his life is threatened. Meanwhile, have the team prepare to free the prisoners quickly. We need to get as many people as we can out of here before the fight begins."

Chewing on a corner of her bottom lip, she nodded. "Alright."

I started forward, but I made it just one step forward before Izra captured my forearm. When I twisted back toward her, the crowd and sounds and dark clouds overhead all disappeared, devoured by the vortex of her gaze. Her lips parted and closed as though in an attempt to form words she had forgotten how to say. I waited in breathless anticipation, heart fluttering.

She swallowed. "Just be careful, please?"

Ridiculous disappointment doused me. Had I really expected some final declaration of undying love, like a maiden bidding farewell to her hero? That was only for storybooks, not for real life.

Not for me.

"You too," I said, and I slipped between the peasants in front of us toward Pamil.

As he gazed out at the crowd, his eyes reflected the light of the cloud-burdened sun — not the mirage dappling an ocean like Izra's, but the shine of the gold-painted wood Rakim burned on the Day of Truth. A hollow facade.

His voice carried through the crowd like a screeching bird. "The flames we will light today represent the fire of the seventh hell, where these heathens will burn for eternity. The heathens call this the Day of Acrador." His face tipped up toward the dark sky above, his shaggy dark hair curling around the collar of his uniform, and then smiled at the bound prisoners. "Where is Acrador now? If your god is real, why doesn't he come save you?"

A suffocating silence followed, the skies above somber and still. I shouldered past a few more onlookers, keeping my head ducked low so the hood obscured my face. Closer. But before I could reach Pamil, his voice cut through the silence.

"Burn them."

Flint struck steel, a tiny spark leaped onto the mound of hay. Then the fire spread, crackling orange over yellow. Within seconds, the blazing light dappled the crowd in harsh color, lighting up eyes and glinting off of sharp cheekbones.

Heat licked over my face, permeated my leather vest and tunic, and burned my lungs. The crowd gasped and shuffled backward, stopping only when they ran into those behind them. The gaps in front of me sealed.

Past the blotted darkness of heads, the fire reached the first post. Despite the gags and tight ropes, the prisoners thrashed and screamed. Hot rage bubbled up inside me and tightened my throat. As I shoved shoulders and elbowed sides, a yell ripped from my chest.

"Get out of the way! Move! Let me through!"

Just ten feet from me but utterly unaccessible, the growing flames lit Pamil's ghastly white grin. Hopelessness tightened over my chest.

Then a droplet splashed my forehead and trickled down to mingle with my sweat. I tipped my face skyward, and another droplet brushed my cheek. A streak of blinding white lit up the night sky. Thunder growled and clapped.

And the sky dumped water.

Cold droplets pelted my face and slashed through my leather vest and tunic. The flames crackled, sputtered, hissed... died. Streams of silt wove between our feet, leaving behind glistening marble. Gazes lifted skyward in wonder. Even the guards and prisoners stilled, momentarily united by something bigger than any of us.

Finally, the drought had ended.

Perhaps I should have thanked Lord Acrador or Goddess Rashika, but as my face tilted up to greet the onslaught of stinging droplets, my gratitude went elsewhere.

Thank you, Pim.

Then I squeezed past the rain-slick shoulders in front of me and darted toward Pamil.

His eyes met mine and widened, mouth flapping and hand darting toward his sword hilt. But before he could holler an order or draw his blade, I vaulted onto the platform and pressed my sword to his neck.

Another flash of lightning lit up the whites of eyes around the plaza, all glued to us. The guards nearest Pamil drew swords, a wet scratch of metal blades against metal sheaths. The archers surrounding the plaza notched arrows in bows and stretched strings taut.

"Call off your archers," I growled, "Or this blade slices your throat."

My blade pricked Pamil's neck, and a bead of blood faded to pink and then washed away in the rain. Pamil's throat worked.

"Stop," he called out, voice choked. "Lower your weapons."

The Royal Guard members exchanged glances. Slowly, swords slipped back into sheaths and bows slumped against hips. The moment the weapons lowered, cloaked figures slipped out of the crowd and hopped onto the half-burned hay mound. Blades flashed silver, slicing through the bindings.

Freed prisoners wobbled over lumps of hay and staggered toward the crowd. The onlookers remained frozen, eyes flicking between the guards and the approaching prisoners. I watched with bated breath. They had gathered to watch heathens burn. What if they did not allow the prisoners to leave?

Then a few people stepped forward, offering support to the prisoners with shaking legs, and the rest of the crowd parted, allowing them through. As the last prisoner disappeared among the peasants, the crowd dissipated, seeping into the woods around the plaza like a receding tide. In their place, rain battered open marble.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips, but I knew the conflict was far from resolved. I scanned the remaining guards. Too many to fight in the open plaza without sustaining heavy casualties — casualties I now considered friends. Instead, we could retreat into the woods and regroup there. The Royal Guard would need to separate in order to follow, and we could pick them off one-by-one.

I turned to the gathered Resistance members and prepared to give the order, but they all stared at some spot over my shoulder, faces white.

Then I heard the footsteps.

Keeping the blade pressed to Pamil's neck, I turned to face the inevitable. Rain sluiced over an intimidating figure, chin high and hand raised with a lazy curl of the fingers, ready to command the archers gathered behind her. The gold badge of the Royal Guard adorned every uniform, but none shone as brightly as the one pinned to Denavin's chest. Even through the rain, the emblem clearly declared her position.

Head guard.

"Traitor," a Resistance member yelled.

Denavin's eyes remained pinned to me as she stalked closer. "Hello, Epsa. I must admit, this is the first time I've been happy to see you."

"If you come any closer," I said, "I'll kill Pamil."

She stopped several feet from the platform, but a smile curved her lips. "Go ahead. The King doesn't need him anymore."

Pamil whimpered and raised a shaking palm toward her. "Denavin, please."

Denavin flicked a few fingers as though to discourage a fly. A second later, Pamil slumped against me, blood gushing from the two arrows lodged in his throat. A stream of red washed over my feet, and the waterfall at the edge of the platform ran pink.

While Pamil still gurgled and clutched his neck, Denavin turned her attention to the Resistance members gathered behind me.

"I was loyal to the Resistance for years, and Epsa betrayed you. How did you respond? You exiled me and made her your leader."

Jek's voice cut through the rain. "Epsa has proven her character, and you are proving yours."

I shook my head, hoping Jek would see it as a signal to stop. Don't defend me, you fool, I wanted to say. I serve the Resistance. You don't serve me.

Denavin snorted a laugh that sprayed the water streaming down her face. "I am a person of reason. I'll give you ten seconds to surrender. If you want Epsa to live, lay down your weapons and drop to your knees."

I spoke loudly enough to ensure the Resistance would hear and understand my message — with or without me, they needed to fight. "You've chosen the wrong side, Denavin."

She tilted her head, smile broadening. "Let's see if you still feel that way with ten arrows lodged in your chest."

I shrugged. "I may die, but the Resistance won't. The people will prevail."

Though her smile remained, her eyes flashed. "Five more seconds," she said. "Three, two..."

Behind me, metal clanked against marble. When a clatter of echoes followed, I peeked over my shoulder. My heart clenched at the sight. The Resistance members knelt on the plaza, swords discarded and hands raised high. The archers positioned around the plaza aimed at those in front. Front and center, Izra's eyes met mine just briefly before flicking away.

Denavin strode around the platform toward the Resistance. They watched her motionlessly as she paraded in front of them, pausing to kick swords further from reach. Metal rattled over wet marble. Then she stopped in front of Izra and propped fists on her hips.

Denavin's drenched uniform only highlighted her impressive physique. Kneeling before her with eyes locked on the ground, Izra had never looked smaller.

Denavin nodded at Jek, who knelt to Izra's left. "You want to talk about character? As always, Izra is prioritizing her own desires over the good of the group. She is not thinking of any of you today, and she definitely was not thinking of you when she burned down Rashika's Refuge."

My breath caught in my chest. Denavin knew? And based on the ripple of reaction across the kneeling group, she was the only one who had known. Yet another way she had held power over Izra.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the archers still aiming at me. If I charged Denavin right now, they would shoot me down before I even left the platform. Still, my muscles twitched, fighting to override logic.

Jek's ragged snarl brought my attention back to the kneeling group. "That's a lie. Izra would never have burned down the orphanage without getting Izkar out first."

Denavin nodded at Izra. "Go ahead, Izra. You always said we deserve the truth. Why not tell everyone now?"

The Resistance all turned heads toward Izra, the guards surrounding them forgotten. Izra's eyes remained on the ground, but her quiet voice carried across the plaza.

"It's true. I burned down our orphanage. I killed Izkar."

For a few seconds, the only sound was rain beating marble and slashing the gold pillars. Then from the edge of the crowd, Ru spoke up.

"The King is the one to blame." Beside Ru, Plu shook her head vigorously, but Ru continued. "He killed our parents and submitted us to abusive caretakers. They tried to break our spirits, but Izra kept us strong."

Denavin folded her arms over her chest and faced Ru. "You all felt sorry for yourselves, crying over your parents, crying over the abuse. But none of the caretakers were as bad as my mother. And the King only wanted the same thing he wants now — for you to renounce the Lesser Gods and declare fealty to the crown."

Ru barked a bitter laugh. "I'd rather die."

"Fine. As you wish." Denavin stalked toward Ru and drew her sword, a glint of silver in the dim light. "No one needs the second twin."

Plu shot to her feet beside Ru and snatched her dagger from her belt. "Don't touch my sister, you bitch!"

In a wave of movement, Rashika's Resistance shot to their feet, the archers swung their bows to aim at Plu, and Plu drove her blade toward Denavin's chest. Then lightning flashed, a blinding blaze of white. 

Before the thunder could follow, I leaped off the platform and charged toward the archers.