Page 127 of Revealing Fate

Kal’s smile slipped as he studied her, golden eyes growing serious. It was unnerving, seeing their ready luminosity when she had become so accustomed to searching for even a flicker. “I owe you an apology,” he said.

“For?”

Kal blew out a breath. “I was taught about the gods. About the shurii histories.”

That much was evidenced by the amount of ancient literature he possessed, but Felíne listened quietly as he continued.

“My parents were believers. Maybe not in formal religion like the Faithful Cursed, or even the Cozened, but they knew the Goddess and Godking existed. They believed in balance, in the goodness of people. They believed in you.” He met her gaze.

“Then why the apology?”

“Because I did not,” Kal said. “When they died, I blamed the gods. I blamed their betrayal, their curse, and our inherent weakness. My parents were good. My mother was brave and loving.” He looked down at his hands. “My father was brilliant and kind.”

Felíne’s heart broke for the man next to her. For the boy he used to be.

“That anger you felt? I understand that. Every single objective I’ve had since the moment I lost them has been to exact my vengeance. To retaliate. And all of it has been fueled by anger, by hate.” He opened a hand, and Felíne placed her smaller one inside. “I never stopped to consider how my actions might affect those around me. I told myself my aims were for the betterment of society, but the truth is, I never cared.”

“I suppose a wildfire rarely concerns itself with the destruction it might cause,” she said. “It’s made to burn, and so it does.”

“I don’t want to burn you,” Kal replied, voice gentle.

“Well…” she said, drawing out the word. “A fire doesn’t just destroy. It also warms you when you’re cold. It cooks your food.”

“Something you’d know nothing about,” he teased, and Felíne bumped his shoulder with hers in mock indignation.

“It banishes the darkness…”

Kal looked upon her, his tender gaze filled with hope and longing—not the Godking’s, but his own. Two things she suspected were as foreign to him as the other side of the realm. Felíne turned to him and placed a hand on his cheek. “You’re not going to burn me, Kalevar Kaine.”

“I didn’t believe in you,” he breathed. “I’ve read the prophecy. I’ve seen the lastmarks. And what we saw up there? What we felt? That’s something I haven’t even fully processed.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t care. I still don’t,” Kal admitted. “I would let a civilization die out if it meant I could keep you.”

Felíne didn’t know what to say. “You’re not a selfish man, Kal.”

“Oh, but I am. With you, I am terribly, horribly selfish.” He paused. “I…care about you a great deal.” Felíne’s insides flipped. “I know what I want, but I can also admit that I haven’t been good about prioritizing what you want.”

Felíne let out a nervous laugh. “If my desires were all that mattered, you might find that they aligned very closely with yours.” She sighed. “But what I want doesn’t matter, Kal. It never has. I didn’t ask to be the Prima. I don’t relish that the fate of our people depends upon me. I don’t even think I’m capable of…” No. She wasn’t going there. “But I have no choice, Kal. There are a million other shurii out there with hopes and dreams just like mine. If I turned my back on their futures? The futures of their children? I’d be no better than the gods who started this mess in the first place.”

Kal sat quietly next to her, contemplating her words. After a moment, he stood and helped her to her feet. They walked together through the tall grass toward the old wood.

“There is someone we might ask,” Kal offered as they reached the boundary and reentered the forest. “Someone who might know a way around the curse.”

“There is no way around the curse, Kal,” Felíne said, exhaustion returning. “But I’ll bite. Who?”

He glanced down at her. “Have you ever been to Doceo?”

She nearly tripped over an errant root. “Doceo? The elder city?”

Kal nodded. “We could visit the Grand Elder. Their library is the only place I can think of that might have something I haven’t found. It’s the only archive I’ve not had access to.”

“Kal. One does not just visit the Grand Elder. The city is a fortress. It’s hidden. Only those who know the way in have access. My elders came to me in Asteros. Never the other way around.”

“So we find someone who knows the way.”

She laughed at the absurdity of it. “What do you suggest? That we kidnap an elder?” It was madness.

Kal shrugged.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually considering it.” Felíne pinched the bridge of her nose. “Kalevar. Let’s entertain this theory. Even if we could find an elder and then somehow convince them to lead us to Doceo—something they would be godssworn to deny us—there isn’t enough time. The elder city is on the other side of the mountains. The other side of Asteros. It’s nearly autumn. My presentation…” Weeks. She had only weeks until her birthday and the inevitable fertile cycle that would follow. And that was if it arrived on schedule and not before.