It was nice to breathe properly again, even if there was a possibility that the air was rife with disease. The planet’s surface was warm and tropical, the atmosphere bordering on humid, the sun beaming down, feeling hot on my face. After a few moments without my helmet on, Navan fumbling with the straps on my back, it began to feel a little overwhelming, like being in a sauna, but I wasn’t about to complain. I was pleased to be out of the freezing cold. Here, there was no biting wind, no frosty chill penetrating down to the bone. Zai was the antithesis of Vysanthe.

All around the temple, the fronds of vast fern-like trees hung down, small creatures jumping from bough to bough. From what glimpses I saw of them, they looked similar to monkeys, but their fur was brightly colored, their eyes peering curiously out at us from the shadows of the jungle. Enormous flowers popped out among the wide leaves, the petals almost as big as me, in various shades of shimmering crimson, pink, and vivid fuchsia.

“This weather is going to kill me,” Bashrik muttered, as Angie undid his straps. We’d made a funny sort of circle, with Navan undoing my suit, Bashrik undoing Navan’s, Angie undoing Bashrik’s, Lauren undoing Angie’s, and me undoing Lauren’s. All the while, Freya watched us, giving nothing away. There wasn’t even a hint of amusement on her face, even though I knew we looked ridiculous.

It seemed the coldbloods were struggling the most with the humidity, the sweat glistening on their brows, their breath coming in pants. I could hear Navan behind me, suffering under the heat of the Zaian sun.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, worried.

“I will be. My body just needs the chance to regulate,” he explained, his cheeks flushed, sweat dripping from his face.

Trusting his word, I breathed a sigh of relief as the restraints loosened, giving me room to wriggle free of the thick rubber. I knew it was the only thing protecting us from the coldblood virus, but the suits were really freaking uncomfortable. Sitting down on the hard, dry ground with a thud, I pulled off my heavy boots and took off the suit, dumping it on the floor, before tugging the boots back on. After all, we didn’t have any other shoes.

“Everything is sticking to me,” Angie muttered with a grimace, peeling the damp fabric away.

I laughed. “Welcome to paradise.”

“Yeah, let’s see what these scaly weirdos have in store for us first, before we start acting like we’re on vacation,” Bashrik whispered sullenly, prompting Angie to jab him in the arm.

“Just once, I’d like to hear something positive come out of your mouth,” she chided. He immediately went silent, making a show of lacing his boots back up. Even with his head dipped, I could see his cheeks flushing red, and I knew it wasn’t because of the heat.

Once our suits were dumped in piles on the ground, each one looking oddly like a melted person, with the helmets resting on top, we moved back toward the temple entrance. Freya was still standing there, in exactly the same position.

“Now may we come inside the temple?” I asked anxiously.

Freya gave a small nod. “Welcome,” she replied. With her glorious sapphire robe billowing behind her, she swung around in a half-circle and made her way into the shadows of the temple. The rest of us followed behind, feeling sticky and decidedly less glamorous than the striking Draconian high priestess.

The silence that enveloped us as we walked into the temple was more powerful than anything I’d ever experienced, the reverent quiet settling on us like a palpable blanket. It wasn’t frightening, the way the isolation chamber was, and it wasn’t stuffy and strict like a library or a church back home. This silence seemed to bristle with energy, the whole temple thrumming with it.

Cavernous ceilings arched over our heads, with scenes painted in bold, geometric patterns across them. The vast space was illuminated only by candles that flickered in twisting candelabras shaped like coiled lizards. On the stone floor, brightly colored rugs crisscrossed in a seemingly haphazard arrangement, the majority taken up by kneeling Draconians quietly at worship. Their mouths moved in silent prayer, their eyes closed, their palms pressed to their shoulders, their heads dipped. Some of them were rocking slowly, while others didn’t move a muscle.

Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the soft hum of singing. It was low and mystical, and the haunting sound sent a shiver through me. It seemed to reach into my very soul, causing the fine hairs on my forearms to prickle; there was something undeniably sad about the way they were singing. Touching my cheek, I felt the telltale damp of unexpected tears.

“They could do with some lights in here. I can’t see where I’m walking!” Bashrik remarked loudly.

“Shush!” Angie hissed, jabbing him in the ribs this time. Cowed, he held his side, a wounded expression on his face.

“I was only saying,” he murmured.

Angie shot him another look, warning him to be quiet. He held up his hands in surrender, before moving his fingers across his mouth in a zipping motion.

Lauren was sticking close to Freya, clearly eager to see what else lay ahead. Her eyes were wide with wonderment, taking in every part of the temple, her head turning this way and that at an alarming pace, a goofy grin spreading across her face. With all the books she had read about Zai, even if they had been a bit vague, I guessed being here was like seeing the words come to life. Endless tomes were good, but nothing beat seeing the real thing.

We walked down a central aisle, which forged a clear pathway through the worshippers. I peered into the darkness that stretched to either side, realizing that the walls themselves were carved from opaleine, the sapphire veins glinting in the low candlelight. Only, they no longer looked sapphire either—they looked black, just like the opaleine outside. I frowned, wondering what was going on to make the sapphire veins look that way. Was this a type of opaleine we hadn’t seen before, or was there something wrong with it?

“Do you feel that?” I whispered to Navan, brushing more tears away from my eyes. I hadn’t even known they were falling.

He nodded. “There’s something very wrong here.”

“It’s so sad,” I gasped, gazing down at the worshippers. Looking more closely, I could see tears falling from their eyes too. Some were rocking forward and backward, their movements agitated. Suddenly, it made sense: these people were grieving. I’d seen that kind of movement before, in people who’d lost a loved one. Had somebody died? They still had Freya, their leader, but that didn’t mean they weren’t mourning the loss of somebody very important.

I kept my questions to myself as we continued down the walkway, coming to a halt in front of a large doorway carved from pure opaleine. The door was shaped like a full moon, with two silvery crescents for handles. Freya opened one half of the moon door, ushering us inside with a regal flick of her wrist.

“The Celestial Room,” she announced, following us in.

My jaw dropped as I looked around. The room was shaped like the inside of an orb, with lights dancing through overhead, casting a galaxy of starlight onto the opaleine floor. Here, too, the sapphire seams had darkened to a shadowy black. Above us, there were four glowing lamps shaped like the four moons we’d seen on our way into Zai, as well as five brightly shining spheres. I guessed they were meant to be stars of some significance, like Earth’s sun.

From the back of the room, a figure emerged. He was small and slender, dressed in an emerald tunic, his face a shimmering shade of very pale gray, with silver scales running across his head and arms in the same pattern as Freya’s. From his height and size, I guessed he was the equivalent of a human thirteen- or fourteen-year-old, though I had no way of knowing for sure. Draconian ages were probably completely different.

In his hands, he carried a silver tray laden with six plates of a strange cake. Each piece was circular, with a mirrored sheen to the icing, dusted with a silver powder that glittered in the light. I’d never seen cakes more beautiful. Everything was beautiful here. Even grieving, these people were elegant and refined.

I guessed the boy must be an acolyte of some kind, from the way he was dressed and the fear in his eyes whenever he looked at Freya. She watched him closely, her reptilian eyes scrutinizing his every move as he hurried around the room handing out the cake. I almost felt sorry for him.

“Ginji, my disciple,” she explained, gesturing toward him.

He smiled proudly, though his expression morphed into a mask of resentment as he reached Navan and Bashrik. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure he’d give them their plates of cake. Casting a nervous glance back at Freya, I saw him visibly take a breath, steeling himself, before finally offering the plates to the coldbloods. Clearly, he was trying to hide his true feelings, wanting to mirror his leader’s calm demeanor.

“Do these moons and stars mean anything to your religion?” I asked, lifting the cake off the plate. It looked so tempting, but it made me nervous. What if they’d put something in it?

“Eat. It’s a gift,” Freya encouraged.

I looked at the others. Bashrik and Navan were holding their plates on their laps. The cake was not exactly enticing to their particular taste buds. Lauren and Angie, however, looked just as eager to take a bite as me.

“Thank you,” I said politely, deciding to brave it. After all, we didn’t want to offend the Draconians, and this cake looked so delicious after a week of freeze-dried packets. The first bite was heavenly, the sponge light and fluffy, the icing tasting like sweet, creamy marshmallow. “So, these moons and stars? What do they mean to you?” I tried again, swallowing the first bite.

“They are everything,” Freya replied. I was starting to realize this woman wasn’t exactly chatty.

“Do they have any special significance, though? For example, does each of them symbolize a god or a goddess?” I pressed, taking another hungry bite. Angie had almost finished hers, while Lauren was nibbling daintily at the icing.

“They protect us,” she said, with a slight nod. Was that a yes? I wished she’d say more; this was just infuriating.

“And what do you call yourselves, as followers?” Navan asked, chiming in.

Freya tilted her head to one side. “We are Lunists.”

Lauren frowned, pausing in her nibbling. “Lunists? I haven’t read about that. The books mention certain rites and rituals, but they never gave that name. What religion do you follow, as Lunists?”

“Our religion is Lunaris,” Freya replied. Now we were getting somewhere.

“I suppose you choose not to reveal much about yourselves. Is that part of your belief system?” Lauren asked. It was nice to hear someone asking the right questions.

Freya nodded. “Brevity frees the soul.”

“That would explain why there wasn’t much written down about it,” Lauren conceded. I had to agree—they weren’t exactly forthcoming about themselves.

“With brevity in mind, I suppose we should get down to the reason we’re here,” Bashrik said, setting his cake to one side and flashing Navan a knowing look.

Navan nodded. “No time like the present.”

“Indeed not,” Freya agreed.

“I know that we coldbloods have no right to ask the Draconian race for anything, given our history, but we come bearing a gift, to exchange for what we need,” Navan continued, his voice calm. “The thing is, our request is a strange one.”

I smiled politely. “We need a sample of Draconian blood to add to our universal database. We’re putting together a comprehensive study of species so we can fully map the universe for the very first time, complete with details of each native variety,” I explained, hoping she would buy the lie.

“Eventually, we hope to gather information from each planet, listing every genus from the smallest creature to the largest, but for now we’re only looking for indigenous blood of the main sentient species,” Lauren added, her confident tone giving gravitas to the lie. “This is what we have to give you, in exchange,” she went on, unwrapping the bulky gift that Pandora had given her. I could sense her reluctance, considering what was inside. The trepidation bristled through the room. Everyone’s eyes turned toward Freya. Everything rested on her reaction—if it was bad, we were done for, and I couldn’t see it being positive.

I braced myself, knowing how insulting the gift was. Even now, I would rather have given them anything else in exchange, but it was all we had. Well, it was all Pandora had given us. Holding my breath, I watched as Lauren peeled the cloth away from the item, my heart sinking farther with each section she revealed.

Inside lay a bust of Queen Brisha hewn from a chunk of solid opaleine. I knew how it made us look, to give the Draconians a small amount of their sacred stone back to them, straight from the hands of those who had stolen it. Moreover, the stolen block of opaleine had been carved into the shape of a foreign ruler, descended from the people who had sent the coldbloods to mine and exploit Zai in the first place. The whole “gift” was borderline blasphemous, but what could we do? Pandora had insisted it was this or nothing.

With an embarrassed expression, Lauren took the bust over to Freya, kneeling in front of her. The high priestess glanced over it, sadness glimmering in her reptilian eyes. However, she didn’t seem as perturbed by the gift as I’d expected her to be. Yes, she showed a hint of grief, but no anger seemed to be left in her.

She slowly shook her head. “It is no use,” she said sadly.

“Would it help if we had more opaleine?” Navan asked, but Freya shook her head again. I glanced at him, conscious of what Pandora had said about bargaining, but what were we supposed to do? If Pandora wanted the blood, she was going to have to deal with a little negotiation.

“It is no use,” she repeated.

Ginji cleared his throat, startling the rest of us. He’d been standing in the shadows at the back of the room, the tray held behind his back, apparently listening in on the conversation.

“Opaleine is our gift from the deities. It is our energy source,” he explained, a note of bitterness in his words. “It is what gives us our wings. It is what gives us our true form. It is how we make fire. For it to work, we must be pure. Sinners cannot access such power.” I had never been more pleased to hear someone speak for more than a few seconds.

“There’s something wrong with the opaleine?” Navan prompted, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. Knowing him, there was no way he’d be convinced by the idea of gods and deities. Instead, he’d be seeking some scientific explanation for the opaleine phenomenon.

“It judges us harshly,” Ginji replied quietly.

I frowned. “Wait, but your species is morally pure. You’re pacifists, right? You don’t get involved in conflict?”

Ginji looked nervous. “We have tried to be peaceful. The stone judges our kind on the sins of us all,” he replied, falling silent as Freya gave him a scolding look. “My apologies, High Priestess,” he mumbled, stepping back into the shadows, keeping his head down and his mouth shut.

She sighed. Ginji had clearly let the vague cat out of the bag. “It is true,” she said solemnly.

“What do you mean when you say the opaleine isn’t any use?” Lauren asked, her hands still clutching the stone bust of Queen Brisha.

Freya leaned forward and touched the sculpture. Beneath her fingers, the sapphire veins instantly turned black. “Corrupted. The power is gone,” she explained, her amber eyes gleaming with tears.

“Why is the stone reacting like that?” Angie wondered, asking the very question that had been on my mind.

“Punishment,” Freya said, with no sign of elaboration.

In my mind, I fit their fractured words together, like pieces of a puzzle. From what Ginji had said, I assumed the Draconians had “sinned” in some way, preventing them from using the stone’s power. He’d said they were being judged for the actions of all their kind, which meant they were only as sinless as their least pure member. That really did seem harsh, especially if it meant everyone had to suffer. But I guessed that “sinner” had something to do with it.

“If the opaleine is no good, is there something else we can do in exchange for a sample of your blood?” I asked, remembering Pandora’s threat—no matter what happened, we had to return to the ship with the sample. True, she’d forbidden us from bargaining with these people, but I figured the blood was a priority. Besides, if she did have a problem with it, she hadn’t said anything. The earpieces remained silent.

Freya’s amber eyes burned into mine. “Yes,” she said.

“What?” I asked, feeling suddenly nervous.

“Help us leave Zai.”