Isabelle was almost ready to return to the jungle. It felt as if she’d been away for months. The simplicity of that life called to her again.

  She tied her blonde hair into a tight ponytail. Her travel clothes were sturdy yet light, fitting neatly against her frame: a sand-colored tunic of reinforced linen cinched at the waist by a dark leather belt that carried a few essential tools. Over it, she wore a padded vest—light but tough—embroidered on the chest with a small silver-thread symbol of Orbisar. A round medallion bearing the same emblem rested against her collarbone.

  Her waxed-cloth trousers and high boots, soft leather reinforced at the ankles, were built for long marches through tangled roots and mud. Across her back, her longsword sat strapped in place by a cross-chest harness. The broad blade, sheathed tight, pressed against her spine.

  It was a terrible draw position, and that was exactly the point. Anyone crossing her path would see a traveler, not a soldier. She’d come to stop a war, not to start another one.

  The idea of going unarmed had crossed her mind, but reason—and memory—had intervened. The jungle held more than tribal warriors. Lightning monkeys, constrictor serpents, and worse things waited in the undergrowth.

  Her best defense would be faith that Orbisar would guide her steps. That, and speed.

  Travel light. Move fast. Stay quiet. That was the secret.

  That was why she’d left her armor and shield behind.

  Someone knocked at the door of her quarters.

  “It’s open,” she said, still checking her gear one last time.

  The door swung wide, and someone stepped inside with slow steps.

  She’d told Tunga to wait outside—so who…?

  Uriela Valen stood there, gaze sharp as a blade. Simple sky-blue robes matched her eyes; white hair bound with meticulous care.

  Isabelle turned to face her fully. Leaving before this conversation was the plan, but news kept outrunning her.

  “Uriela.” The name felt unfamiliar in her mouth, heavy with everything left unsaid.

  Those blue eyes fixed on her, lips pressed thin, the shape of words held behind them.

  Isabelle straightened. “I have to do this.”

  Uriela lifted her chin slightly, a faint crease marking her brow. “Why?”

  “The tribes are preparing for war.”

  “So are we.”

  “It’s the wrong war, Uriela.”

  One eyebrow rose. “Uriela? We were not on a first-name basis before.”

  Isabelle lowered her gaze. “Forgive me, mother. Much is changing in my life.” She bent lower still. “I should not have presumed.”

  Uriela’s sternness eased by a fraction. “I understand. How we address someone speaks volumes about how we see them.”

  Isabelle straightened, the motion firm. “No. What I’m doing has nothing to do with how I see you. A wrong war is about to erupt, and as Warden, it’s my duty to protect the people of this land. That’s all that matters to me.”

  “Your duty is to Orbisar and to the Church. To the faithful, and to me, as the Church’s voice.”

  “Yes,” Isabelle said, nodding slowly. “But why do I feel those words mean something different to each of us? Am I not serving Orbisar, the faithful, and you as His representative by preventing a war that would bring only death and suffering?”

  Uriela’s jaw tightened, a faint tremor breaking through her composure. “This is a holy war… child. The jungle savages tried to kill our Cashnar. How can you think Orbisar would not will this?”

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  “You don’t believe Derek is truly the Cashnar.” The words left Isabelle’s lips before she could stop them, sharp as a thrown blade.

  Uriela stiffened. “I… have my reservations, as you well know. But the prophecies are unfolding. Rumors spread like wildfire through Narkhara. Divine Chancellor Luthiel Othran has issued an edict urging the faithful to treat the Cashnar’s identity as credible, though not yet absolute. He has vowed to meet Derek Steele in person soon, to confirm or deny those doubts.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Isabelle admitted. “Things are moving fast. But that doesn’t change the fact that you, at least, doubt he’s the Cashnar. And if you doubt it, then you can’t truly call an attack on him an act of war.”

  “What we think, child, does not matter. Only Orbisar’s will matters, and Luthiel Othran is His highest voice. The only reason our soldiers aren’t already marching into the jungle is that Luthiel is entangled in disputes with the people of Aetherforge to the north.”

  Isabelle stepped closer. “Then I thank Orbisar if those infidels are delaying this useless war. It gives me time to try and stop it.”

  Uriela frowned. “And how do you intend to do that? The evidence of the attack is overwhelming.”

  “Not at all.” Isabelle’s heart hammered hard against her ribs. She hadn’t planned to speak of this until a Seer confirmed the proof, but under that judging stare, silence felt like guilt. “There’s a conspiracy, mother. Garath has evidence showing the assassin was paid with coins traced to a member of the Council. The tribes didn’t send him. Someone inside the Church did.”

  Uriela’s face lost color, her lower lip quivering for an instant before she stilled it. “A conspiracy? By whom?”

  “I can’t reveal the name until the proof is public. Garath will have it verified and registered with the Inquisition tribunal.” Isabelle swung her pack over her shoulder. “I’m going into the jungle to tell the tribes the same thing. I pray they’ll listen and stop this madness before it begins.”

  Uriela placed a hand over her chest. A pale light began to bloom from her skin, threads of white rising and swirling in the air. Her silver hair lifted as if stirred by invisible waves. “You acted while keeping me in the dark on matters of grave importance, child.”

  A lump formed in Isabelle’s throat, thick and burning. “There was no time—every hour matters—and you…” The words caught and broke apart.

  Uriela’s brow arched, the light around her flaring brighter. “I what?”

  “You wouldn’t have let me leave,” Isabelle whispered.

  The air trembled. The light around Uriela twisted into chaos, threads whipping against the ceiling and walls. “If everything you say is true, if you hold proof of a conspiracy, proof that this war is unjust, why would you think I would stop you?” Her lips drew tight, eyes narrowing. “Unless… you believe I’m part of that conspiracy myself.”

  Isabelle’s chest tightened, her heart caught in a vise. Had she really thought that? Did she believe it?

  Derek would have been sure, he always assumed the worst about people, starting with himself. That was who he was.

  But what was her excuse?

  Her voice sounded frail even to her own ears, but she forced the words out anyway. “There’s an investigation underway, and it’s… very delicate. I couldn’t talk about it. I shouldn’t even be telling you now. I’m only doing it because it’s you. And because I have to leave soon.”

  “Oh, really? So if I hadn’t come here, you were planning to inform me before running off?”

  Isabelle lowered her gaze.

  “I thought so,” Uriela said. The light around her vanished in a blink, leaving the room dim and cold. “That man has pulled you away from me. And where is he now?”

  Isabelle’s stomach knotted. This was the part she’d dreaded most. Derek’s condition had to remain secret, and so did his mission. There was no choice but to lie again.

  “He’s… busy. Working on a research project with Erasmus and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Uriela blinked slowly. “Erasmus? I wasn’t aware he was involved with the Cashnar. It seems I’ll have to find someone else to keep me informed about what’s happening in the Citadel. I’m running out of people I can trust.”

  Her gaze cut toward Isabelle like a blade.

  The words struck deep, but Isabelle held her tongue. After everything she’d said, she had no right to answer back.

  Something inside had cracked, and no prayer would mend it.

  Uriela gave a small bow. “I won’t keep you longer. I wish you a safe journey on your sacred mission, Warden.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Isabelle called.

  Uriela stopped, turning just enough to fix her with an icy stare.

  “What will you do about the war and the evidence Garath is holding?” Isabelle asked.

  “I will handle it myself. If what you say is true, I will find the one responsible and deliver justice.”

  A weight loosened in Isabelle’s chest. Uriela still stood for truth. How could she have doubted her? “And the war?”

  Uriela lifted her chin. “If the jungle tribes are not involved, we will not start one. But that may now depend on you. Whatever I decide will mean nothing if the tribes strike first.”

  Isabelle clenched her jaw and bowed deeply. “I swear on Orbisar and my blade that I will do everything in my power to stop this war.”

  The High Priestess nodded once. “Shall I assign you an escort?”

  “No. The tribes already see me as an enemy. Arriving with soldiers would only make things worse.”

  “Very well. Then I wish you safe travels, and may Orbisar guide your steps.”

  Uriela turned and left the quarters as quietly as she had entered.

  Isabelle let out the breath she’d been holding.

  She should never have doubted her. Things between them would never return to what they’d been, but at least Uriela would take the conspiracy into her own hands. For Garath, she would be a far stronger ally than Isabelle could ever be.

  The best thing Isabelle could do now was head into the jungle and follow Sierelith’s advice. She needed to prove that Theodrick had been in contact with Kato. Maybe someone had seen them—Theodrick or one of his men—speaking with the assassin.

  Theodrick’s days were numbered.

  Tunga waited for her at the city gates.

  When Isabelle arrived, she greeted him with a nod. “Ready?”

  He nodded back. “Never more ready. City stink. Miss jungle.”

  Given the smell rolling off him, it was hard to imagine how he thought the city was the one that stank. “You’ll see your old tribe again. Are you nervous?”

  He grunted. “Must give many answers.”

  The gate guards straightened at the sight of her and hurried to open the doors.

  The two stepped outside, following the same road they had taken what felt like ages ago.

  The sun beat down on the dusty path stretching south. Heat shimmered over cracked paving stones, and the hum of insects rose from the fields.

  On either side, fallow land and patches of dry grass gave way to a dark green line of trees thickening on the horizon.

  The edge of the jungle.

  There, the dense foliage swallowed the light. A warm breeze carried the humid scent of leaves and dust.

  Isabelle glanced at Tunga. “If the tribe listens to you, they might welcome you back.”

  The shaman shook his head. “Not until Spirit of Beast speak to me again.”

  Her brows lifted. “Still nothing?”

  He shook his head gravely. “Until I kill Demon, it stay silent.”

  “So you truly mean to kill Derek when he returns from his reckless mission?”

  He nodded once.

  Isabelle’s jaw tightened, a knot rising in her throat. “You know I won’t let that happen, don’t you?”

  He squinted up at the blazing sky and smiled. “Today good day.”

  Isabelle sighed. “Yes, Tunga. It really is.”