“Yes, but not alone,” she whispered, turning her back to the beach and weaving through the grass. Haste was all that mattered now if Thorda’s group was to react prior to the ritual’s commencement. Once far enough so no soldier might see her, she broke out in a sprint, her long legs carrying her through the night back to her father’s abode.

Everyone had gathered in the main den by the time Mari returned downstairs. She’d donned a loose robe, having reverted to her human form. Wearing more seemed foolish, given the certainty she would retake Endarius’s form before the night was over. Rayan and Thorda stood together by the fireplace, their quiet conversation halting at her return. Cyrus lurked in the corner, observing but keeping to himself. Stasia and Arn, meanwhile, were taking turns sharing shots from a bottle, and by their grins, each was far more excited about that night’s prospects than Mari.

“The Lioness returns!” Arn hollered when he noticed her exit the stairs. “Been through a dozen nations in my time and never seen a trick like that. Tell me, girl, did you find our prey?”

The amusement at her powers as a god-whisperer unnerved her, though she could not voice why. Something about it cheapened her gifts, as if communing with slain deities was a carnival trick instead of a sacred duty.

“I found the Seeds gathering on the beach south of the city,” she said. “I know not its name, but there was once a bronze butterfly marking its cliffs.”

“The Solemn Sands,” Rayan clarified. He looked ready to vomit with disgust. “It is a site most holy, where Lycaena blesses those who are twice-born into their new life.”

“Of course they would perform the ritual where it’d be most blasphemous,” Stasia practically snarled.

“What were the Seeds doing there?” Arn asked. “Were they scouting the area, or were they singing?”

“Singing,” Mari said, and she shuddered at the memory. “Regent Goldleaf was among them, and his face and hands were… bloody.”

“Then the regent is the one meant to receive the power,” Arn said. “Hardly proper, but it seems the rules are bent out here in Thanet. The Seeds will bring out their knives come midnight, and spill their own blood in worship. Their faith will empower whoever stands within the circle, granting them the might of a paragon.”

“So it seems the empire offers the Usurper King power to defend himself in response to my attempt on his life,” Cyrus said from his corner. “The question is, do we allow it?”