EMBER’S POV
Not from Devika, who only knows what a spy once told her. Not from Silas, who deals in secrets and rogues and has never once touched anything divine.
Not from Knox, whose hand tightens on mine because there is nothing he can buy or break or bleed for me here.
The silence stretches, and the gravity of things settles over the room, and I understand that I have finally reached the edge of everything anyone at this table knows, and past it there is only me and a war-god who thinks I’m nothing.
And it’s Silas who breaks it, and I wish he hadn’t.
“I hate,” he says hesitantly, “to be the one to put out a hopeful little fire. But somebody at this table has to say the thing the rest of you are dancing around.” He sets his huge scarred hands flat on the black wood. “You all keep tal
