Domenic glanced fearfully at the frost that crept like skeletal fingers across the lancet windows.
“I… I understand,” he managed.
“Do you?” Sharpe demanded. “Because, Chosen or not, it would be a betrayal of our duty not to impress upon you how serious of a task you have been assigned. Between your student records, your panicked run from the vigil—”
“I get it. You think I’m not taking this seriously? What do you think has had me bent over a…” At Iseul’s warning look, he cleared his throat. “I mean, I do understand. I promise. The last thing I want is to failall of Alderland.”
Sharpe tapped his cigarette over the ashtray. “Then let’s cut right to the heart of the matter. Mayes, if you would.”
Domenic had nearly forgotten about Hanna’s book. She opened it, and with a wave of Syarthis, a golden leaf peeled off from where it had been pressed into its yellowed pages, and it fluttered across the table to Domenic. He squinted at the strange writing webbed through the leaf’s veins.
as Summer wilts and Winter lays its siege
and prophecies of yore come to an end
an ancient peace denied must be restored
or see the land destroyed forevermore
Domenic burned under the heat of every eye in the room, including Syarthis’s. “This is it, isn’t it? The prophecy?”
“Yes. The words of the prophecy appeared on the night Valmordion first began to thaw. We’ve been safeguarding it inthe times since.” Sharpe waved impatiently. “Well, what do you make of it?”
Domenic scanned it again, and again, and again. The Councilors leaned forward, so silent Domenic wasn’t even sure they were breathing. He felt as if he’d been summoned to speak in the front of the class only to discover he was ass naked.
“Given Winter’s conquest of the North,” Hanna said, “we can presume that—”
“You are a junior member of the Council, Mayes. You willnotspeak unless addressed,” Sharpe snapped, and Hanna recoiled, pressing into the back of her chair. “As you know, the Aldrish people believe that the destiny of Valmordion’s Chosen begins even before their bonding. During her academy years, Alice Rhodes warned her classmates over and over that a new cataclysm was coming. And when they asked her why, she responded… Mayes, now is your chance to be a know-it-all.”
A muscle in Hanna’s jaw clenched. “She said, ‘Because I was born.’”
Domenic stared at Hanna desperately, wondering if she, too, was wrestling down a deranged urge to laugh. Who knew his years of disruptive behavior had been inherited from such an illustrious legacy?
Hanna didn’t look at him.
“Even before Valmordion thawed,” Sharpe said, “the Council has been expecting a Chosen One for five years—ever since Winter began claiming territory. Such a conquest is unprecedented, even during past cataclysms. And given our lack of success reclaiming it, we assumed the task of reunifying our country would fall to a coming Chosen One. Apparently, toyou.”
Domenic nodded and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He pored over the words of the prophecy until they blurred in and out of focus. He tried tracing his finger across the leaf only for it to crinkle, delicate as spider silk, and he wrenched back.“So, um, given Winter’s conquest of the fallen territory… that’s the laying siege bit, right? Makes sense that Winter wants more. Winter’s probably gunning for all of Alderland.” He rubbed at the chills prickling up his arms. “And this line about the prophecies. What does it mean, that they’ll end?”
For some reason, it was the wrong question to ask. Iseul and Peak exchanged a look Domenic couldn’t name. Glynn fiddled with his Order insignia pin.
Sharpe gritted his teeth and gestured at Hanna to answer.
“Beneath the Citadel’s alban tree, its roots form a cavern,” Hanna explained. “Every prophecy we’ve ever received bloomed from them at Valmordion’s making.”
“You mean the Order has always had all the prophecies?” Domenic asked.
“We’ve had the leaves, but the words of the prophecy only appear as Valmordion thaws and another cataclysm looms. But what’s important, Dom… this leaf, it’s the last of all of them.”
Domenic grappled with the magnitude of that statement. Despite Alderland’s reverence for Chosen Ones, the Order glossed over the details of the past prophecies in school. Maybe he simply hadn’t paid attention—the cataclysms had always felt like ancient history to him. But he didn’t think it was his fault he was clueless. No, the truth was, for a millennium, the Council hadknownexactly how many cataclysms were coming. And every time Valmordion thawed, they’d counted them passing, telling no one, until only this final prophecy remained. Again, he read the last line.
or see the land destroyed forevermore
So that was why this prophecy was the grand finale. If he failed, the cataclysm wouldn’t merely wound Alderland—it would destroy it.
Domenic stabbed his nails into his kneecaps.
Wake up,he begged himself.Wake up.
