Hesi craned her neck to see hundreds of Mayaware bearing down on her. They sat on terraced benches aiming to reach the sky. Not enough sunlight reached her in the auditorium's center. Give the audience a spear each, and she would bolt out of this room before a minute was up.

Before she came into this space, one would find her in Kharta's basement first, holding up a tome. "Do I have to read this?" she asked the steward's back, hoping it would grow eyes and a mouth and talk to her instead. The real face was a bland assortment of grunts and hums for the last hour and a half. "By the way, I told Yobekh about the poison."

Something clattered on the table. "What?"

"Got your attention, didn't I?" She grinned. "That's a lesson for thinking you can ignore me."

Kharta ran a hand down his face. His sigh was so spent it dragged on forever. He beckoned her closer. "You have to remember how to tell a toxin by its characteristics when mixed with something else, and that book can tell you more."

She reached his table as he stepped away to retrieve a few bottles from his expansive shelves. When he came back, he laid four bottles before her. "The senses you need to use are your sight, smell, and taste," he said. "Some toxins are undetectable by either, so you will need to use your hands."

And a week of nothing but poisons passed. Hesi would visit the basement with the night as her protector. She learned to guzzle maatsek tea before heading out of the bridal palace. She even offered the others some in case they have to go somewhere without being detected. Then, she would spend the rest of the night prodding at liquids and powders in small ceramic jars until her nose itched or her head pounded.

"These compounds are known toxins to the Mayaware so they avoid it like a plague," Kharta explained when she dared to ask. "They won't die from these, but they won't have a good time with them either."

"What about the one here?" She pointed to the earring cast in gold and silver hanging from her lobe. Sometimes she forgot she possessed something that would hurt a Mayaware.

He shrugged. "That's a mixture I made from ingredients they didn't know were harmful to them," he said. "Spent my whole life on it too. Use it wisely."

And she couldn't find the right timing for it. The High King didn't show up near her, and the Prince wasn't always drinking wine whenever they met. She thought of dropping by the royal palace unannounced and massacring everyone she came across, but she needed gallons of the poison, and Kharta only gave her a teaspoon.

She leaned into his space and told him to prove he wasn't telling her mule crap about the next trial. The look Kharta gave her was as flat as his table. "The test will be about your skill in protecting the Mayaware," he said. "You are more than welcome to pass the books to the other brides who can read."

"Or I can just teach them using your samples here." She tapped a shaped nail against the side of the nearest jar.

He couldn't have shaken his head faster. had never shaken his head that fast. Something like concern flashed in his eyes and took over his face. Or maybe it was a trick of the light. The steward, worrying about her? Ha, a miracle. "Some are fatal to humans as they are harmful to the Mayaware. I can't trust you to not mix them up," he said. "And I didn't want to investigate a murder this late in the season. Just the council meetings will be torture."

"What is it you do here?" she demanded with her arms crossed. "Really?"

"I manage every affair Berheqt has," he answered. "That includes inventory, logistics, finance, planning, feeding..."

He listed a wide array, and only a handful registered in her impatient brain. When he finished, she found the potted plants and painted palthes amusing.

Earlier, when the day of the trial came, she stumbled out of the bridal palace and lingered in a dim corridor with the brides. A Mayaware servant came in and hissed Tagara's name. Tension never faded from their ranks even as Semret and Petra engaged in conversation as they waited. When Tagara returned, the questions multiplied. The woman didn't speak, and knowing how well the Mayaware kept their secrets, Hesi understood the bride's reservation.

Soon, everyone stepped out and returned, leaving Hesi and Barteset. They exchanged glances many times, talking through their eyes and guessing which one the Mayaware would call on last. The others went still, plunging the corridor into a thickening silence.

Barteset's name rang in the air, leaving Hesi in last place again. When the oldest woman returned, she gave Hesi a brief nod before reclaiming her seat and staring off into space. Everyone knew how Barteset could never keep a secret and would explode in gossip if she met someone's eyes.

Then, it was Hesi's turn.

The Mayaware servant in charge of ushering the brides back and forth gripped Hesi's arm and half-dragged her forward. They emerged into a spacious cavern and thousands of slitted eyes landed on her. Nobody cheered or moved past a quiet shift as she was instructed to hop on a raised platform. A long table awaited her.

She stared at the three bowls of water laid out before her. The task was simple enough. Pick out the bowl with no toxins, and it was done. She got to work. First, she lowered her face to the table, bending at the waist. It left her back unprotected from attacks from behind or from above. Could Mayaware fly?

The first bowl contained the sweet smell of zowere—a flower whose petals induced an upset gut in most demons. It was considered a toxin, but it wouldn't kill them. Not in a million years. She dipped a finger in just to confirm. Her skin was untouched.

The second bowl was harder to discern. It could be an ash-like powder mixed into the clear river water, or it could be a colorless extract from a poisonous plant. Better yet, it could be normal water, and she would waste everyone's time dwelling on it. She sniffed. Nothing. She tapped a fingernail against the bowl's rim. The ripples told her it shared the same consistency as water. It wasn't powder, then. Otherwise, it would have shown in the viscosity, no matter how small of an effect.

Better not overthink it now. She moved to the last bowl and did the same. A few droplets of oil glistened from the surface, giving it away immediately. It was jafundayi—a harmless toxin to most Mayaware but fatal to humans. If she picked this bowl, her life would snuff out faster than a dying candle.

So, she went back to the second bowl. She sniffed it again. Got nothing as expected. She stuck her finger in. Not a welt or a rash. She hasn't tried ingesting it yet. She was about to raise it to her lips when her gaze wandered to the spectating crowd. It settled on the rung level to her face. On it sat the generals and Kharta who resembled the carved statues watching over them around the auditorium. But on the center of the table were two new people. She recognized one: Mezophis, the High Prince of Iren-Washep.

That made the Mayaware wearing too large of a collar and a crown of gold atop his bald head no other than...

Azophis. The High King of Iren-Washep.

Cold gripped her limbs, rooting her in place. The demon king glowered at her with eyes so narrow they were mere black lines against olive eyeballs. Here was the demon who handled everything. He was so close. She only has to cross the threshold and plunge a knife into his face, then, all her troubles would be over. Humans would be free. Iren-Washep would be no more.

Kharta shifted from his seat, stealing her attention. Their gazes intersected, and even from that distance, she understood two words shooting out from him. Not yet.

And he was right. If she killed the king and the prince in the middle of this room, they also had to deal with hundreds of Mayaware who would rise against them. She removed her hands from the table, letting them fall to her sides. That way, nobody could see her clenching them from under the table.

She couldn't afford to waste time. Her target was there! He was the reason her siblings had to be captured into breeding farms, why many others fell in them and lived in hell. He was the reason her parents had to crumble to a mere pile of scavenged limbs and ashes. The Mayaware King bore the blood spilled across the desert and those running down the claws of his people.

He was the reason Mensa had to die to hide the horrors the prince sported.

Her anger must have sparked a forgotten pathway in her mind because an earlier lesson with Kharta floated to the surface. Everything clicked into place. Of course. That was what sat in the second bowl.

Khak-haufre—the most fatal toxin to both Mayaware and humans to date. Untraceable in freshwater. Undetectable by smell. The only sign it manifested was when it was down one's throat. Its fast reaction time and deadly effect made it such a dangerous substance. The Mayaware conducted a massive raze of its colonies when they took over Ser-Djare.

A plan formed in her mind. If she couldn't touch the King from her place, she would make him come to her. Through any necessary means.

She picked up the second bowl and turned to the Mayaware servant for directions. Instead of telling her to go back to the other brides and declare the trial to be over, the Mayaware took hold of her arm again and started dragging her to the crowd's rim. No one knew which bowl she picked and what it contained.

They tackled the steps leading up, up, up, stopping only when she was only three steps away from the generals' table. Her fingers twitched, hungry for a taste of her knife's hilt. The King of the Mayaware, like Kharta and the generals, sat in high-backed, cushioned chairs carved with festoons and frilly designs of vegetation. He studied her from head to toe, and she glared right back. She should not show how fast her heart pounded and how her nape prickled with every bite the wind dropped against her skin.

Then, the Mayaware servant gestured at the table. "High King bowl give," it said in a feminine voice. She glanced at the bowl on her hands. The liquid sloshed, reflecting her face and the ceiling.

The plan glared behind her eyelids. The trial measured how well she could protect the High King if she succeeded. The other brides must have chosen the poison fatal to humans and heaved tremendous sighs of relief when the servant told them to give it to the king instead.

It was a good resolution, but it defeated the trial's purpose and heart.

She raised her eyes towards Kharta, noting the frantic fire in his eyes as he rose from his seat the slightest inch. Before he could do anything, she turned to the High King. Then, she raised the bowl to her mouth and drank.

While the liquid ran down her throat, she didn't break eye contact once, and the High King held it. Mezo said the Mayaware value fear the most. So, she used a useful insight she gained in her conversations with the prince.

She showed the High King no fear.

The bowl's contents emptied into her gut. She wiped the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. A bolt of fire raced from her gut to her mouth, burning everything in its path. Something hot and metallic spurted past her lips in an unstoppable current. Her head pounded. Her limbs turned to snow against the desert heat. She stumbled back, or at least, she believed she did. Her heart turned erratic as loud, static ringing filled her ears.

Still, she raised her head and found the High King's eyes boring into her soul, picking at her mind. He must wonder why she found it the best course to drink the poison herself. Let him ponder. Let him realize she did it out of extreme loyalty, wanting only to protect the Mayaware's future.

As her hand sluggishly moved up to wipe the sticky curtain dribbling down her chin and as dark spots blotted out corners of her vision like empty stars, her lips parted into a grin. Before the world upended on itself and the weightless feeling swallowed her whole, Hesi Renen smiled at the High King of Iren-Washep.

It wasn't a gentle beam. It was a manic smirk meant only to come from the poor, desperate souls.