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moment. “I don’t remember noticing it immediately after Valshoa. But it’s been several months, and I’d say it’s happening more often, growing stronger.”
    “We need to figure this out,” Kestel said, giving his hand a squeeze before she released it and began to pace. “Maybe Zaryae and Dagur can help.”
    “If they didn’t blow themselves up in the tent,” Blaine replied.
    “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go find out what happened, and see if we can get Zaryae and Dagur to come up to the castle tonight, once things calm down.” She smiled. “Besides, I wanted to make an offering at the shrine. For luck.”
    “I still can’t believe it’s come to this.”
    Kestel stared up at the charred ruins of Quillarth Castle and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The wind tangled her red hair around her face, and she brushed it back from green eyes that shimmered with tears.
    Blaine slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Even though we heard about what happened, it’s different actually seeing the damage up close,” he replied.
    The once-grand castle was a blackened shell, with most of the structure reduced to rubble. Only one tower and part of a wing remained standing; the rest was a jumble of massive stones. Quillarth Castle had survived a direct strike in the magical onslaught that brought the kingdom of Donderath to ruin, then a devastating fire when the mages of neighboring Meroven had sent their worst against the castle and the manor houses of the nobility. Magic storms had added to the damage since the kingdom’s fall. But the last, worst assault had been just two months ago, when renegade lord Vedran Pollard and
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warlord Pentreath Reese had captured what remained of the castle, then took it apart nearly stone by stone to find the treasures Reese believed to be hidden inside.
    In an alcove near the castle’s once-grand entrance was a shrine with salvaged statues to Donderath’s three most powerful gods, Charrot, Torven, and Esthrane. Charrot, the high god, was both male and female, with one head and two faces. Charrot was creation and destruction embodied, the TrueSource, and ruled both gods and men. One side of him was the perfect warrior with rippling muscles and broad shoulders. Charrot was handsome, with dusky yellow skin, dark hair, and chiseled features. The other side of Charrot was a beautiful woman with blue skin whose breasts and thighs promised fertility.
    Traditionally, Charrot was depicted stretching out his hands to his two consorts. Torven, the god of illusion, was a man whose beauty rivaled that of Charrot himself. Torven ruled the air and sea, darkness and twilight, water and ice, and the Sea of Souls. Esthrane was the second consort, and equaled Charrot’s feminine beauty. Artists depicted Esthrane with saffron-colored skin and sorrowful eyes. She summoned fertility from crops and herds and commanded birth and fire. Esthrane was also the master of the Unseen Realm, where wandering and incomplete souls went after death.
    A collection of guttered candles, withered flowers, and food offerings lay at the feet of the statues, along with pebbles brought by passersby. Whether the gifts came from supplicants who sought protection or merely wished to give tribute, Blaine did not know. If he had ever believed the gods cared about the affairs of mortals, what he had seen of his ravaged kingdom made such interest unlikely.
    Kestel slipped up to the statues and withdrew a small bundle from beneath her cloak. She untied the bit of cloth and took out a hard roll and a bit of sausage. Bowing her head, she knelt before the statue of Esthrane and held out her offerings, murmuring a prayer to the goddess. From a pocket in her trews, she added a few smooth pebbles to her gift, and made a gesture of blessing, then rose to rejoin Blaine.
    “I’m with Piran on wondering whether anyone is listening when you do that,” Blaine said, taking her arm.
    Kestel chuckled. “Then it’s good the