Page 119 of Revealing Fate

“It’s worse than I feared,” Vulgren announced, thin mouth turned down in chagrin. “The stress of Railah’s first servicing has violently disrupted her internal landscapes. Her cycle has prematurely concluded.”

Imogen fought to keep the elation from her voice. “So, this means…”

Vulgren reached for her hand as though to comfort her. Imogen steeled herself against the touch of his cool fingers. “Yes, dearest. I am afraid young Railah’s fertile window has passed.”

The relief was instantaneous and quite nearly overwhelming. Imogen cleared her throat. “I am so very sorry. She must be devastated.”

Vulgren patted her hand. She imagined a poisonous insect tapping her with gangly appendages. “Oh, she is, dearest. She is. Our sweet Mother Railah is quite devout. She so wishes to please our Goddess. Comfort her? The queen has requested my assistance once more.”

Imogen reclaimed her hand and nodded, only vaguely curious as to why Queen Serebine demanded so much of Vulgren’s recent attention. She left the room feeling more optimistic than she had in a very long time. She did not, however, spend her time wallowing in the pious Fate’s mournful company, despite her assurances to do so. Once Vulgren had been seen leaving the compound, Imogen went to see Karrick.

She’d twisted her mass of woven hair into a fanciful series of shining black coils about her head. Her elder’s vestments had been freshly pressed, not a speck of lint muffing the amethyst lapels with their shining gold embroidery. Imogen had to admit the colors contrasted beautifully against her brown skin. She even rubbed a lemongrass cream into her arms and neck, which smelled nothing like wombwillow, and left a faint citrusy scent lingering wherever she trod.

Imogen glanced in the broken mirror before she left her room, pleased with her fragmented reflections yet feeling somewhat foolish. Who was she kidding? As if her preened appearance would lessen the blow of betrayal Karrick had likely been marinating in the past few days.

When she stepped out into the hall, Lieutenant Gore’s eyebrows crept toward his sandy-gold hairline. Imogen raised her chin a fraction, understanding full well the power she wielded, and offered a slight, though no less genuine, smile. Feminine wiles notwithstanding, it felt good to be looked at. “Good evening, Prestyn.”

The young guard’s eyes darted about to ensure they were alone. “Oh, we’re on familiar terms again?”

“Dear Lieutenant, I would hardly call our terms familiar. Cordial, perhaps. Maybe even friendly, though that depends.”

“On?”

Imogen brushed past him, pausing at his shoulder to whisper. “On whether or not you were the one who put an end to poor Mender Edmore’s suffering.”

Lieutenant Gore’s head cranked in startled surprise.

The survivalist within Imogen scolded her harshly for voicing such a dangerous assumption. She hadn’t been sure. Until now.

She paused to glance over her shoulder with a coy grin. “Coming?”

Imogen’s burst of confidence wavered as she approached the iron gate that spanned the hall leading to Karrick’s room. Something about this visit felt different. While the subterranean expanse of the Stronghold didn’t boast a dense military presence, the handful of guards they’d passed on their way had seemed…off. More tense, somehow. Though perhaps it was only Imogen’s steadily rising level of anticipation the closer they got to their escape. She couldn’t deny the edginess that hovered about her senses, like an ever-present specter shadowing her every step.

“I fail to see why these visits are necessary, Elder.”

Imogen pulled her mind from the other guards and focused on the one speaking at her side.

“The newest Fate is no longer fertile. The other Fates are off cycle.”

Imogen didn’t need to turn to know a stern wrinkle had made its home between Lieutenant Gore’s fair brows. “You are far too perceptive for your own good, Lieutenant.”

“I could say the same of you, Elder.”

Imogen met his tawny gaze. She liked Prestyn Gore. Despite his apparent desire to be an obedient soldier, he’d taken a risk to stop a kind man’s suffering. She just wasn’t sure whether he’d done it for her or because it was the right thing to do. And that uncertainty kept her cautious despite her growing fondness.

“The visits are necessary because I am an Elder of Asteros,” she deflected.

“Yes. Should you not be attending the Prima?” he pressed. Imogen quirked a brow. “Why would the king and queen send you to oversee the Fates? You hate it down here. Mender Vulgren unnerves you. Yet you willingly share company with that…male. Why do you care?”

The disapproval in Prestyn’s tone had Imogen pulling up short. “Be very careful, Lieutenant,” she warned, voice low. “I took an oath of servitude when I became an elder, much like you did as a soldier. But my oath was not to the king, nor the queen, nor their crown.” She let the true weight of her station fill her eyes for the first time. Let it straighten her spine. “I serve the Goddess. My responsibilities are not for you, or any man, to question.”

They stared at one another for a tense beat. Lieutenant Gore was the first to look away, though his gaze remained unyielding. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t question her further either. Imogen said nothing as one of the tense guards let her through the barrier gate, nor when she fit her key into the lock at Karrick’s door. And when she stepped across the threshold into his room, she put Prestyn Gore out of her mind entirely.

Karrick was seated at the cramped desk, bent over a current sketch. He didn’t turn when she entered, but Imogen saw the hard line of his shoulders soften a fraction when her scent reached him. However, there was nothing soft about his expression when he finally did turn.

Karrick’s eyes raked over her styled hair, luminous skin, and neat robes, not in the young, hungry way that Prestyn’s had, but with raw, masculine possession. Imogen didn’t feel powerful anymore. Here, she felt stripped bare. Powerless. Though not in a dangerous, exposed way. No, Karrick had a way of peeling back each layer of armor that Imogen fortified about herself, bit by bit, until he found what he was looking for: the woman cocooned within. Not the elder. Not the Fate. Not even the devoted daughter or the faithful friend. No, Karrick found the woman Imogen wanted to be. The one he believed she was.

With him, she was a woman not simply looked at, but seen. A woman worth protecting. Worth cherishing. And gods, if it didn’t set her soul alight.