Mia turned to Pilar. “What do you mean, you ‘had it on good authority’? Whose authority?”
She shrugged. “We had a spy in the castle. There were details—things you said about all Gwyrach being wicked demons, how evil and depraved we were. They said you twirled through the Hall of Hands, laughing and cursing all Gwyrach to the same gruesome fate.”
“Who said that?” Mia’s face was hot. “Your spy was wrong. I felt nothing but horror in the Hall of Hands. And I only wanted revenge on the Gwyrach who killed my mother. Heart for a heart, life—”
“I know the Hunters’ Creed. But you wanted to empower the Circle to kill more of us. Can you deny it?” She cupped a handful of air and lifted it high, miming a toast. “‘To the Hunters! The true heroes of this feast! When I’m princess I’ll give them coins and weapons and anything they need so they can kill every Gwyrach they find!’ And so on.”
Mia felt a crush of shame. She had said those words. The final feast in the Grand Gallery came rushing back, one moment in particular: the maid knocking into her shoulder, the corresponding dizziness and heat.
“That’s how I know you. You’re the clumsy scullery maid.”
Mia saw the feast with new eyes. She assumed the dreadful royals were what had overwhelmed her senses, but Pilar had brushed up against her—Pilar who was preparing to kill her the next day. The heat Mia felt was a kindling of rage and murderous intent, magnified by the red ruby wren tucked close to her heart.
She drew herself up. It wasn’t difficult to look down on Pilar; Mia was half a head taller.
“Since it seems you haven’t done us any favors,” Mia said, “by first trying unsuccessfully to kill me, then almost successfully killing the prince, I’d say you owe us a debt.”
Pilar shook her head. “Typical. The princess leaves her castle, travels to a foreign land, and decides we humble slaves owe her a debt.”
She exchanged knowing looks with Dom, who laughed. Annoyance flared in Mia’s chest. The two of them were clearly in on some joke she didn’t get.
“I want to see Zaga,” she said.
“All right then,” Dom said. “I’ll take any excuse to do a little rowing. Pil?” He clapped Pilar on the back. “Let’s take her to Zaga.”
“She’s not ready for Zaga.”
“I bet Zaga will be the judge of that.”
The ride to the island was smooth, the lake a flawless blue sheet until Pilar and Dom sank their oars into its invisible seams. The fishing boat held all four of them, albeit uncomfortably. Mia had told Quin he didn’t need to come—that this was something she needed to do on her own—but he had insisted. Even if he was no longer dodging an assassin, she had a hunch he wasn’t keen on being left behind with a coven of Dujia who might punish him for his father’s sins.
“Swans,” Quin said, pointing to a whole herd of them, gliding in formation on the surface of the lake. “They look different from the ones back home.”
It was true: the swans’ white feathers were accented in hues of strawberry and tangerine. They were somehow even more elegant than the swans in Glas Ddir, with long necks, crystalline blue eyes, and bills the pink of fresh-bloomed roses.
Mia closed her eyes and let the memory wash over her: the day their mother took her and Angelyne to a pond in Ilwysion to feed the ducks and swans. They had brought a loaf of brown bread and pinched off crumbs, throwing them to the hungry birds. Angie was only four, and she had wandered a little too close, hand outstretched with a piece of soft crust sitting on her palm. The swan had pecked her, hard, and she immediately burst into tears.
The bite left a mark, though only a small one. What Mia remembered most was the look of betrayal on her sister’s face. Angie had trusted the swan implicitly, as if a creature that beautiful could never do her harm.
“Are those the same swans you eat?” It was Quin asking. Naturally.
“Some of them, yes,” Dom said. “Refúj is rich in natural resources, but we’re limited to what we can grow, hunt, or make. You’re a fan of swan meat?”
“I had some in the merqad. I’ve never tasted meat that tender.”
“Come with me to the merqad next time, Your Grace. I know which vendor has the best cut of meat, tenderized and flavored to perfection.”
“You act as if you’ve lived here forever, du Zol,” Pilar muttered. “Keep in mind you are newly arrived yourself.”
That effectively ended all conversation, so they rode the rest of the way in silence. Mia didn’t mind. As the boat lurched forward on every oar stroke, excitement hummed through her. She was going to meet Zaga, the woman who knew everything, including who killed her mother. She was moving toward answers at last.
“Last stop, the Biqhotz,” Dom said, as if there had been any other stops. “Here’s your Fojuen lesson for the day, free of charge: biqhotz means ‘heart.’”
She knew that already, of course, but the name fit. The rock formations were more intricate than they appeared from the shores of Refúj, with red caverns and lava tubes, a gleaming network of subclavian arteries and brachiocephalic veins extending from the arch of the aorta.
Mia’s head was pounding. She pressed the heel of her hand into her brow.
Pil laid the oar across her knees. “The headaches are fierce at first, but you’ll adjust.”
Was Pilar being nice to her? Before Mia could cobble together a response, Dom stripped off his shirt and leapt into the shallow water, the muscles in his back ropy as he hefted the boat onshore. Flanked on all sides by volqanic rock, his reddish-brown skin glowed like a summer sunset, a pleasing contrast to the hard ridges of his scapulae. There was no denying Dom was handsome, with his broad shoulders, lopsided smile, and the ever-present flicker of mischief in his deep-brown eyes. If Quin were water, mysterious and changeable, Dom was fire and heat and explosive energy. Seeing him in the heart of a volqano felt exactly right.
Quin took off his shirt and jumped out to assist Domeniq. Mia couldn’t help but think the prince looked like a blade of yellow grass against the rutted brown cliff of Dom’s torso.
“Why don’t I go in first?” said Pilar. “You can keep our guests occupied, Dom. Maybe give them the grand tour?”
Dom looked stricken. “I only just got here! You said so yourself.”
“You’ll be fine. It’s ashes and dead people, what’s so hard about that?”
She ducked behind a pillar of red rock and vanished.
“So that’s it then. She’s gone and here we are. Ashes and dead people.” Dom rubbed the back of his head. “Easy, right?”
With that he began to show them around.
There was an early settlement of some sort—at least, there had been, before an ancient volqano had her way with it. Dom walked Mia and Quin through rows of crumbling rocks, held together with a crude mix of clay and calcined lime, primitive walls that partitioned the space into squares.
“These were the houses, I guess. Our ancestors lived here. Ancestresses, my mother would say.”
“The bones of civilization.” Quin’s face was awash in awe. “I love history.”
Dom raised an eyebrow. “Why, Your Grace?”
“I was just saying to Mia how back home I never felt like the myths could be real. But I’m getting chills just standing here. The origin myths begin to make sense.” He flourished his hand and recited in a deep voice, “‘The fire god was the angriest.’”
“‘He breathed fire,’” Dom and Quin said together.
The prince smiled. “You know, not many people know this, but I played the fire god in a modest production at the Kaer. I played all four gods, actually. It was a masterpiece of theater, directed, written, performed, and attended by me, me, me, and me.”
That made Dom laugh. “My mother would tell you they were never gods at all. There were only ever the Four Great Goddesses: four angel sisters who broke each other’s hearts. Watching the way my sisters behave toward one another, I believe it.”