Lopen felt a sudden chill.

A coldness began at his back, right between his shoulder blades, then washed through him. Cold enough that it made him jerk upright, stunned. Unable to move as he felt something leeched from him.

His Stormlight.

He managed to spin in the air, trying to swing his spear and attack. But it was too late. He glimpsed a swarm of small cremlings flying behind him—different from the one Rysn had as a pet. Smaller—maybe the size of his fist—and more bulbous, the two dozen creatures barely managed to hang in the air. But their feeding had been enough to drain him.

As he dropped through the air, he felt panic. They’d gotten his pouches too. There was nothing left to suck in. He—

He hit. Hard. Something snapped in his leg.

The monster undulated toward him, opening its awful maw and glaring with those terrible eyes. It seemed eager as it raised its arms to smash him.

“You were there when I met Navani Kholin,” Rysn said to Nikli. “You know she isn’t the type to be easily dissuaded.”

“The Mother of Machines,” Nikli said it like a distinctive title. “Yes. We are . . . aware.”

“You tried to scare away her Windrunners when they investigated this island,” Rysn said, “so she sent a ship. What do you think will happen if that ship vanishes mysteriously? You think she’ll give up? You’ll see a fleet next.”

Nikli sighed, then met her eyes. “You assume we don’t have plans in place, Rysn,” he said. He seemed genuine. Though he was made up of monsters inside, he appeared to be the person she’d come to know during their travels.

“Your plans so far haven’t worked,” Rysn said. “Why would you assume one to scare off the Radiants will?”

“I . . . I wish you’d taken our bait,” he said. “Some of us wanted to sink your ship as soon as it breached the storm. But we persuaded them. We told them you’d be happy with the gemhearts. You were supposed to also locate a little stash of maps and writings from long ago; we would have made sure you found it before leaving.

“Once you returned to Queen Navani, you’d have discovered that the gemhearts were fake. The writings would prove to be the remnants of an old pirate scheme, from the days before this place was surrounded with a storm. You’d have learned those pirates used legends of treasure to lure people to Akinah—that they’d spread fake gemstones on the beaches to draw their marks in and distract them before attacking.

“It would have been so neat, so easy. With those stories in hand, everyone would dismiss the legends about riches on Akinah. They’d leave us alone. No one would have to die. Except . . .”

“Except there’s an Oathgate here,” Rysn said. “They’ll never leave it alone, Nikli.”

“They will think it destroyed,” Nikli said. “After . . . what must regrettably be done here to you and your crew . . . some of us will imitate sailors. Your ship will limp back to port, and we will tell the story. A storm that cost too many lives while getting through it. A fight with a strange greatshell. A destroyed Oathgate. Fake gemhearts. Everyone will leave us alone after that.”

Damnation. That might work.

But Vstim’s calm voice seemed to whisper to her from across the ocean. This was her moment. The most important deal of her life. What did they want? What did they say they wanted?

Storms, I’m not ready for something like this, she thought.

You’ll have to do it anyway.

She took a deep breath. “You truly think you can imitate my ship’s sailors well enough to fool people who knew them? You use a body with tattoos, I assume to hide the seams in your skin. You don’t quite know how to act Thaylen, so you imitate a foreigner. You actually think this subterfuge will work? Or will it instead spread more mystery?”

Nikli met her eyes, but didn’t reply.

“That’s been your problem all along,” Rysn said. “Each lie you spin makes the mystery more entrancing. You want to protect this place. What if I could help you?”

Rysn’s mouth had gone dry. But she continued holding the creature’s eyes. No, Nikli’s eyes. She had to see him as the person she knew. That was someone she could talk to, persuade.

He might be some nightmare from the depths, but he was still a person. And people had needs.

They were interrupted by footsteps at the door. Cord stepped in wearing the breastplate, which she’d apparently managed to power. Indeed, her fist glowed with gemstones she’d found.

On one hand, she looked somewhat comical wearing only half of the armor. Her exposed head and arms seemed child-size with the rest of the Plate in place and functioning. Yet her solemn expression, the way she slammed the butt of a spear down beside her . . . Rysn found herself bolstered by the young woman’s determination.

Cord said something loudly in her own language.

“We may speak in Veden,” Nikli said, “so Rysn may understand.”

“Very well,” Cord said. “I challenge you! You must duel me now to the death!”

“I think you’ll find I cannot be defeated by a mortal,” Nikli said. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Is that a yes?” Cord bellowed.

“If you insist.”

“Ha!” she said. “You have been tricked, god! I am Hualinam’lunanaki’akilu, the daughter of Numuhukumakiaki’aialunamor, the Fal’ala’liki’nor, he who drew the Bow of Hours at the dawn of the new millennium, heralding the years of change! If you were to kill me, you would be violating the ancient pact of the Seven Peaks, and so must now forfeit the battle!”

Nikli blinked in what seemed like a very human show of utter confusion. “I . . . have no idea what any of that means,” he said.

“. . . You don’t?” Cord asked.

“No.”

“Excuse me.” She hurried over to Rysn, each footstep clanking on the stone. She knelt. “Are you well?”

“Well as I can be,” Rysn said. “Cord . . . I think they’re going to kill everyone to keep their secret.”

“They don’t seem to know about the ancient treaties,” Cord whispered. “And in truth, those treaties were made with other gods. I had hoped the Gods Who Sleep Not would be similarly bound, but now I am not certain.” She looked down. “I am no warrior, Rysn. I wish to be one, and have claimed this Plate, but I haven’t trained to fight. I don’t know if these gods can even be fought. In the stories, you must always trick them.”

“I would rather,” Rysn said, her voice loud enough for Nikli to hear, “simply reach an agreement. Surely they can be persuaded.”

“Perhaps,” Cord said. “The Gods Who Sleep Not are guardians of life. They seek to prevent its end. Use that.”

Rysn studied Nikli. He and the others could have killed her by now. But they waited; they were willing to talk. They said there was no solution. But if that were the case, why was she still alive?

“Is Cord right?” Rysn said. “Are you protectors of life?”

“We . . .” Nikli said. “We have seen the end of worlds, and vowed never to let such an awful event happen again. But we will kill the few to protect the many, if we must.”