Page 114 of Revealing Fate

Kal left Kitty sleeping on the couch and made for the basement. He had at least a few hours of stubborn consciousness left in him, a hundred or so unread texts, and plenty of alcohol.

Chapter 42

TIME OF NEED

IMOGEN TOOK A MOMENT TO process Mender Vulgren’s words. Her mind had been so distracted over the past few days with preparations, contingency plans, and pervasive worry that she felt simultaneously depleted and overstimulated. Now that plans for their escape from this wretched city had been set into motion, her subconscious had difficulty understanding that she still had to be here and act as if nothing had changed.

“Apologies, what did you say?”

Vulgren’s attention sharpened. “Perhaps I shall oversee things myself, dearest. You seem…overextended.”

Imogen straightened, pulling herself together. “That is not necessary, Vul—Mender. I am perfectly capable.” Capable of what exactly? She couldn’t remember. This lack of awareness was unlike her. Her attentiveness to her surroundings was like a warrior’s armor. Without it, she felt exposed, vulnerable. And within the bowels of this stone Stronghold, any measure of vulnerability gave lurking dangers a perilous advantage.

Vulgren assessed her a moment longer and nodded. “Very well. Our youngest mother is ready. Fertile as the Goddess’s own womb. I checked her myself this morning.” Vulgren’s long spider leg fingers twitched. “You will deliver her to the ceremonial chamber today. I expect you to be present for the servicing, to comfort her during her time of need, yes?”

Imogen stared stupidly, fixating on Vulgren’s eerie, pale eyes. Then her stomach bottomed out. Railah. Fucking gods. She’d completely forgotten about the youngest Fate’s cycle. The other Fates had willingly taken the infertility capsules she’d given them. She’d meant to manipulate Railah’s compliance, but had entirely neglected to do so. And now she was fertile? How? How could she be so irresponsible?

Imogen fisted her hands behind her elder vestments to stop their shaking. “Yes.”

Vulgren smiled broadly, and the expression made Imogen’s insides writhe. “Very good, dearest. I have business with our queen, but I hope to return for the recovery. Poor timing, if I dare say,” he added, smile slipping. “I should have very much liked to be here for the special moment.”

“The queen’s need surely supersedes that of a lowly servant,” Imogen forced out in an even tone. “Do not hurry back unnecessarily.” In fact, Vulgren, don’t come back at all. If only the gods bestowed such blessings. Lately, it seemed all they did was curse her with ill fortune. “I will send word if I must.”

Vulgren beamed, then departed, leaving Imogen shaking in the hall to face an oncoming disaster she had no idea how to avoid.

Twenty minutes later, Imogen stood before the door of what Vulgren called the ceremonial chamber and couldn’t bring herself to go inside. The last time she’d been in this room, she’d been with Karrick. Now she and Karrick would be forced to enter it again, but this time, they wouldn’t be alone. This time, she’d be a witness.

“Elder?” The maidservant who accompanied her peered up with hesitant curiosity.

Prestyn Gore stood to the side of the door, his stern face unreadable but for the flicker of tension above his brow. Of course, he would notice her hesitation. Imogen worried that lately he’d been watching her too closely. Ever since their encounter outside the temple and the horror of seeing Mender Edmore hanging from that wooden star, the young lieutenant had shadowed her every move.

Imogen hadn’t been able to stop herself from inquiring about the prisoner’s fate. Blessedly, he’d been found dead the next morning. Someone had pierced Edmore’s heart with a well-placed arrow. The crown saw the act as that of a citizen outraged by the Cozened’s presence within Asteros. Imogen saw it as an act of mercy. Either way, when she’d mentioned it to Prestyn, he’d been reluctant to offer information, and she had more sense than to pry. The only thing he’d said was that the shooter remained unidentified.

Imogen hoped they stayed that way.

“Elder Imogen?”

She looked over at the maidservant. Shook herself. “Please go in. See that the room is adequately prepared for a…”

A thing from my nightmares.

Imogen cleared her throat. “…for the servicing.”

The maidservant bobbed a curtsy and did as she was bidden.

When the door opened, Imogen dropped her gaze to the amethyst lapels of her vestments and smoothed her fingers over the gold stitching. She didn’t look up again until the door had firmly shut once more. When she did, Lieutenant Gore’s probing stare was waiting.

“Is something bothering you, Lieutenant?”

“I’m only curious as to why you did not inspect the chamber yourself, Elder.”

Again, Imogen collected herself, intentionally icing her tone. “Last I checked, Lieutenant, your purpose was to ensure my safety. Not to offer unwelcome curiosities.”

Prestyn’s warm brown eyes deadened, but not before Imogen caught the flash of hurt in them. The sticky slip of guilt dripped immediately over her conscience. “Apologies, Elder,” he said, voice as stony as his façade. “My mistake.”

Imogen sighed and turned back down the hall. After a few paces, she heard the lieutenant’s footfalls follow behind. She’d deal with the young man’s wounded pride later. Right now, she had worse to face.

She found Railah in her assigned room, two maids attending her. One slipped a silky robe the color of fractured sunlight over the Fate’s slender shoulders. The material was sheer, making Railah’s naked body appear as though garbed only in the sun’s pale-yellow rays. The second maidservant rubbed a wombwillow balm onto her bare skin.