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the Goddess of All Things. She knew each one by heart. All the impressions. Every curved symbol. Numerous prayers etched in stone. The silence, though, was different. Once a joyous place, the hallways inside the holy city had always been filled with laughter. Now silence reigned, making her heart pound and cold air rasp against the back of her throat. Each hard-won exhale puffed between her lips, frosting the space in front of her face. Ignoring the chill, Cosmina upped her pace. Almost there. One more length of corridor. A three-stair ascent and—
    A soaring archway materialized in the gloom.
    Thank the gods. Finally. The entryway into High Temple.
    Taking the steps two at a time, she crossed beneath the massive stone lintel high above her head. Senses keen, she veered right, away from the center of the enormous rotunda. She didn’t want to traverse the middle of it. With moonlight ghosting through the many windows near the roof edge, ’twas too risky. Anyone might see her. Take aim, let fly, and make her pay for daring to enter the goddess’ realm.
    Cosmina swallowed a huff. The worry was ridiculous. No one was here, after all, bu t . . .
    She glanced over her shoulder anyway. Nothing. No one. Naught to indicate she was being followed. And yet, she couldn’t shake her disquiet. Or the belief she wasn’t alone. A premonition? Complete paranoia? Mayha p . . . mayhap not. All she knew was that something felt wrong. ’Twas the small things. Infinitesimal, really. Signs most would’ve missed—a slight stirring of the air, the quiet whisper of magic within the walls, the rise of the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. All murmured, making blood rush in her ears as her senses prickled in warning.
    Using night shadows for cover, she made a beeline for one of the massive pillars that circled the chamber, separating the rotunda from the wide aisle ringing it. The soft tap-tap-tap of her boots echoed, keeping time with her heart as she slid to a stop at the base of the first column. She shuffled sideways and scanned the expanse of High Temple, looking for danger inside the sacred chamber—the jewel in the Goddess of All Things’ crown, a physical manifestation of her power here on earth.
    Not that anyone would recognize it as such now.
    Long deserted by the Blessed—those who served the goddess—High Temple reeked of abandonment. It looked the part too. Was the epitome of neglect, cobwebs hanging in corners, brittle leaves littering the mosaic floor beneath the arc of the golden dome. A pang of regret curled around Cosmina’s heart. Such a mess. So unnecessary. Sad beyond words that the chamber—and a once vibrant community—lay in ruin. Almost beyond repair in a city that had always been renowned for hope, revival, an d . . .
    Healing magic.
    But then, ’twas the very reason she’d made the journey, wasn’t it? Perform the ancient ceremony. Revive the old ways. Do as the goddess demanded and recall the Blessed to White Temple.
    The thought made her temples throb with renewed vigor. Swallowing a curse, Cosmina sank into a crouch. Balanced on the balls of her feet, she turned into the raised collar of her winter cloak. Rabbit fur brushed her cheek, bringing soft comfort as compulsion reared its ugly head. Unable to resist its allure, she checked her throwing knives. Tucked into her boots, the familiar hilts settled in her palms. Good. No need to panic. The twin blades were right where she needed them, close at hand, easily drawn, more quickly thrown. Her fingers flexed around the well-worn hilt as she pulled one blade free. Steel glinted in the weak light. Taking comfort in the sight, she held her breath and listened.
    Naught. Barely any sound at all. Just the low moan of the wind pushing against the temple walls. All right, then. All clear. ’Twas now or never.
    Time to move.
    Spinning into the aisle, she hurried toward the base of the next column. The agonizing thump expanded inside her head. Her stomach