“The Temple of Pallas,” she replied. “Back when Pallas dwelt in the City of Faith, the temple was where he received pilgrims and made his prophecies. There was a special hidden chamber in the temple, accessible only to him. That’s where I think he hid them.”

“Wait,” Jude said. “Why do we need the Relics?”

The Wanderer merely looked at Anton, who remained stubbornly silent, his lips pressed into a grim line.

Swiftly, Jude understood his plan. “You mean to trap the god again.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Jude said. “Beru told us that the seal was going to break, sooner or later, even if Pallas hadn’t died. That’s not a solution, and I’m not going to pretend it is.”

“Well, neither is what you want to do,” Anton replied, eyes burning.

“It’s not about what I want—”

“It is,” Anton replied, leaping to his feet. “You said it, Jude. It’s your choice.”

They stared at each other for a moment, fury and despair crackling in the silence. Then with one last blazing look, Anton stalked out of the room. Jude watched him go, speechless.

“I think you’ve upset him,” the Wanderer said mildly, pouring herself more wine.

He could not fathom what Anton was thinking. Using the Relics, trapping the god again—it was all just a way to delay the inevitable. Jude had the power to stop the god for good, and he had to do it now, before it tore the world apart. Anton had to understand that.

Jude would make him understand.

He found Anton where he usually was these days—in the garden. The sky was dark and swollen with storm clouds, a gentle rain already beginning to fall. As he watched Anton from the veranda, Jude let himself believe that they really could stay here as long as they wanted. That they could grow old here, tucked away on the river bend, spending their days out in the dirt, safe. It wasn’t a future Jude had ever allowed himself to want before. His own happiness was something he had scarcely considered until the night in Endarrion when Anton had kissed him.

Now, he wanted to seize happiness and hold on to it as hard as he could for as long as he could.

Jude stepped out into the rain, making his way toward Anton. He knew that Anton could sense him there, but he didn’t look up from his task just yet.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Jude began. “I don’t want to keep fighting.”

Anton paused, shoulders tensing. “We fight all the time, Jude. We fought three different times the day we met.”

A smile twisted Jude’s lips as he sat down in the dirt beside him. “That’s only because you’re very good at riling me and I’m very good at being riled.”

Anton snorted. “And at being obstinate.”