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Rosemarie curls her hands into fists. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We’re Diviners. It’s our job to find the right candidate. The Bridge picked her, but we lost her, and the punishment?—”
“She made her choice. Or the depression she must have been struggling with made the choice for her.”
“Because of us,” I explain.
“That’s not?—”
“Because of me.” The truth leaves my lips so abruptly—without thought, without care. I would snatch back the words if I could, but they hang there in the silence.
“Why would you say that?”
I look away. This is too hard. I’m too vulnerable.
But Rosemarie cups my cheek. “You can tell me.” Her gentle reassurance coaxes the confession from me.
“I chose her. She agreed to compete in the trials in exchange for money for her family, but she was kind to me and seemed interested in friendship. I didn’t know how unhappy she was until…until…”
She wraps her hand around mine. “I’m so sorry.”
I nod, wishing to move past this painful subject. “My father agreed to take care of her family before the elders carried out their sentence upon me and Atticus. After that, we stayed frozen, able to hear and see but not move or speak. Only Truman, the gargoyle you met earlier, visited us. We’ve been shunned by our kind. I figured we would stay trapped, but we heard your prayers for your Lala.”
“I still don’t know how that happened,” she says.
I won’t mention the rest. How Atticus claimed she would choose us as her mates and I didn’t believe him. How I was sure she couldn’t be meant for me. Until now when I’d do anything to have her smile again. “It’s enough,” I say. It’s more than enough.
She shakes her head. “I don’t like the idea of you being stuck in stone or threatened now with execution. It’s not fair. It’s not right.”
“You will make a great queen.”
Leaning against me once more with the scent of her hair teasing my nose, she asks, “You told me about your father, but what about your mother?”
“We don’t have one.”
“How?” Her surprise lifts my spirits. I adore the way she responds to everything with curiosity.
“Gargoyles are made, not born. Or most of us anyway. The legends say some fated mates had actual births, but those children were grown and gone to their stone rests long before I was around. Atticus and I were carved of one rock, given life by the Bridge, and fostered by our father. He was more of a mentor than a parent.”
She stares at me, brushing a hand over her belly. “If I was a fated mate, would I…could I…?”
The thought of her carrying a youngling sends a thrill through me. If she carried the future of our kind as a fated mate and queen, it would be world changing. I fight the emotions running through me and answer honestly, “I don’t know if you could.”
We sit in silence with her resting her head against my chest. She’s tired again. We took her at the end of her day, made her travel through a portal, and it’ll be nearing dawn soon. No wonder she’s exhausted.
“You brought me food,” she says, glancing toward the mess on the floor where I dropped the tray I’d carried up.
“I thought you might like something to eat. Dimensional travel usually makes me hungry.” I won’t mention the overwhelming instinct I’ve had to feed her. It’s another sign of mating, and I haven’t had time to process it myself, let alone share the thoughts.
“Oranges.” The happiness in her voice is bright and beautiful.
“At the risk of you calling me a stalker again, I noticed you carry them often. I wanted you to have them when you woke.”
“Thank you.”
“I can bring another tray.” I realize with a sinking feeling that we didn’t prepare a room for her. Where the last candidate stayed has remained untouched and locked since Dyphena’s death, and I can’t bear to think of Rosemarie being forced to sleep in there with its memories and heartbreak. The only other prepared rooms are in the staff quarters, and I’m not packing our future queen off to one of those. I should’ve thought of her comfort. Hell, Atticus definitely should’ve planned a perfect space for her. “I’ll carry a tray wherever you choose to stay.”
“I’m not staying here?” she asks.
