Page 102 of Revealing Fate

“Perhaps,” Domitan replied. “But almost succeeding is still failing.”

Tavene’s jaw clenched. She bowed her head. “Kill me.”

“Oh, no,” the king said. “You are not permitted to die, Tavene, though you doubtless deserve it. Asteros is yet in need of your service.”

Domitan placed a hand on his huntress’s head, her matted hair rough beneath his fingers. She lost the battle she was waging, and tears leaked between her lashes. “I am unworthy,” she wept.

Yes, he thought. You are. “Your worth has yet to be determined, Tavene. Live. Heal. Take me to this Cindamar. Find me this thief.” Domitan tightened his fingers over the curve of her scalp. How easy it would be to break the bone beneath his palm. “Help me crush this rebellion and return the Prima. Then we can discuss the depth of your value.”

“Yes, my king,” she breathed. “I will not fail you again.”

Chapter 38

ANOTHER WAY

KAL HAD EXPECTED TO WITHDRAW after unveiling Karrick’s identity to his female companion. He knew himself. Emotional detachment had become a practiced skill, one he wielded over the years with subconscious efficiency.

But that hadn’t been the case. Not with Kitty. Not with Felíne.

Against all expectation, his unburdening of that damnable secret had ignited a fire within him. One that burned with staggering intensity. He was like dry kindling amidst her ignition spark. Utterly consumed. Kal wanted to know every detail of her life. Every facet of information he could get his hands on. Not because he needed it to further an agenda, not because it brought him closer to some intangible goal, but simply because he craved the connection to her. Each little insight she fed him fortified his intent and renewed his determination to find another way.

There had to be another way.

Because Kal knew with overwhelming certainty that he could not let her go. He would not give her back. And Felíne’s conviction to return only heightened his obstinacy. She didn’t want the responsibility that the circumstances of her birth had thrust upon her. Hers was a spirit longing for freedom, yet obligated to duty. Kal wouldn’t allow her to be a martyr for their race. Not if he could help it.

They spent hours in his basement. Nights poring over texts, rifling through scrolls, combing through lines of barely legible information. It all led back to the curse. Always the same damned thing.

A female will be born who will lack a second form. She will be called the Prima. All born after her, male and female alike, will be sterile. They will bear the seal of this curse as a mark upon their flesh.

The lastmark.

There is one way to break the curse. The Primordial Male, a male set apart, from the Godking’s strongest line, may bestow upon the Prima an heir. Their fruitful coupling shall be the only way to undo what has been done.

One way to break the curse. One fucking way. It didn’t matter which translation Kal read. They all said the same thing.

The only way the curse shall be broken…

The sole means of breaking the Goddess’s curse…

Only a successful coupling shall dissolve the curse…

She must bear him an heir, or the curse shall persist…

One evening, after Felíne had fallen asleep curled at his side, Kal had shoved a scroll from his lap with such force that he’d damaged the delicate pages.

He’d even gone through his family’s histories, trying to see if there was some mistake that had been made. How did they know Karrick was the Primordial Male? If there was even a chance they’d been wrong…

But no. He had birth records from Brightsea’s archive that Adder had obtained at Kal’s behest years ago. They all marked Karrick as the Primordial Male. The undying scepter on Brightsea’s northernmost tower, a twin to the one in Asteros, had been struck by lightning upon the Primordial Male’s birth. Kal had grown up seeing that flame. He just hadn’t realized its significance was so close to home until he’d learned about Karrick.

They couldn’t stop looking. There had to be something. So, they’d looked.

Kal continued to train Felíne in weapons in the glen by day. Her endurance slowly increased. Her wounds healed. They practiced horsemanship. They ate together beneath Stillwater’s verdant canopies, sprawled on soft beds of autumn grass and wildflowers, and stole slow kisses before his hearth, the heat from the fire paling in comparison to the one Felíne lit within him.

They spent their nights in the basement reading a hundred versions of the same thing, both silently hoping to stumble upon a single variant.

“We’re running out of time, Kal,” Felíne had said one evening. She’d rubbed her eyes, weariness stealing over her features. “My presentation is weeks away. We can’t continue searching for something we may never find.”

He didn’t know what to say to her.