As we approached—Pan, Sumi, Dagny, and I—slinking along the walls, I noticed a strange buzzing. And then I saw the dark cloud of flies swarming around bleeding elk hides, still with clinging hunks of meat and fat and bits of bone. So much blood that the grass had become a sanguine swamp outside the main doors.

At the edge of the growing pool of blood, I paused to see the carnage inside the dimly lit stables. The corpses of the great giant animals were piled all down the corridor. Some of them still had the skins on, others’ skins were partially removed. Broken antlers, shattered hooves, a long tongue in a puddle of fur in bile littered the floor.

They’d slaughtered their entire herd.

Pan had only peeked into the stable before dry-heaving, and Sumi was ashen and cursed under her breath after she saw it.

“She should move on,” Dagny suggested as she swatted at flies.

Pan wiped his mouth with his shirt, and I took his hand. He walked more slowly, still in shock over seeing the majestic animals he’d cared for as a peurojen butchered in such a violent way.

“Are you sure we should find them? After what they did?” he asked in a low, thick voice.

“The suns will set in the green sky when the good morning becomes the violent night,” I answered darkly.

Sumi looked sharply at me. “What did you say?”

“Hush,” I said, because as we rounded the collapsing tower, I finally spied them.

The Älvolk and thrimavolk were surrounding an unusual turret-shaped gazebo. All of the walls were open, to the cauldron and large pit in the center. The roof was tall and shaped like a teardrop, with a point at the top and curved eaves at the bottom, and it was covered in scalloped crimson tiles.

62

Temple

Beneath the temple, a cauldron boiled over an angry pit of fire. The bloodred flames licked at the iron cask, and above it, flat tins simmered on a grate, their maroon contents curdling over the sides.

The Älvolk and thrimavolk circled around the temple. The men and boys knelt in the closest circle, the choir of younger girls in the second, and the young women brandishing weapons in the outermost ring.

The Älvolk wore kaftans of red, and the choir wore kaftans of marigold. Their hair hung in twin braids, and they wore crowns of reeds and sorgblomma flowers. Behind them, the thrimavolk wore uniforms of cobalt that were more fitted, with breastplates made of elk hide and bones. Bold slashes of cobalt were swiped across their eyes.

Ragnall emerged from the crowd, and he grabbed the tins from the fire, unbothered by the hot metal searing his skin. In a booming voice, he shouted an incantation I couldn’t understand and raised the blood pudding over his head.

“No!” I shouted, and Noomi snarled at me from across the circle.