Page 21 of Revealing Fate

Sometime later, the retching subsided, and Imogen reached for a cloth. She pressed cool water to her face, rinsed her mouth, and spit. She studied her image in the mirror, the crack in its surface splitting her reflection into three. A piece for each of her loyalties. One to Karrick. One to Felíne. One to her mother.

Her own self-preservation was currently low on her list of priorities.

Miriam’s care would continue so long as Imogen played nice with Vulgren. Felíne was still missing as far as she’d been told, and Imogen’s attempts to help locate her had been prohibited. That left Karrick.

He might be the Primordial Male, but right now, he was the only one Imogen had any power to help. And if she couldn’t help him, she could warn him of Vulgren’s intentions. At the very least, she could show Karrick the one thing that she’d craved when she was a Fate, imprisoned and alone, surrounded by all this sterile gray stone: that someone still cared.

Imogen stood, checked her fragmented reflection, smoothed her elder vestments, and left her room to find the Primordial Male.

Chapter 7

BOUND

THE LOWEST LEVEL OF THE Stronghold was so cold, Imogen was surprised her fingers hadn’t frosted over. She descended the final step toward the viewing room where Vulgren had showcased his prize on that first night, and the chill that crept into her bones had little to do with the temperature.

Securing a set of keys had been easier than expected. The guards within the Stronghold weren’t anticipating nefarious motives from an esteemed elder.

A single guard lounged inside the viewing room. He stood upon seeing her.

“I’m here to speak with the male,” she said, eyes flicking toward the darkness beyond the glass pane.

The guard’s brow pinched with hesitation. “Mender Vulgren did not inform⁠—”

“Queen Serebine has tasked me with ensuring the success of the Fated Mothers,” Imogen said, infusing the steel of authority into her voice. “The male beyond those bars is essential to that success. Shall I inform Her Majesty that you are hindering my efforts and, by extension, the Prima’s?”

The guard’s eyes widened, his face blanching. “Forgive me, Elder. I’ll show you to him.”

Imogen followed the guard’s hasty steps down the hall, into the darkness. He fumbled, then the yellow glare from a lit torch licked at the stone with eerie tongues of flame. Iron bars as thick as Imogen’s wrists blocked the way before her, wall to wall. A single, reinforced door seemed the only entrance. She didn’t have the key for this one.

She peered beyond the bars, heart quickening, yet saw nothing but shadow. “Keys.”

The guard’s eyes shot to her face. “It is not safe.”

Imogen stared ahead. “I did not ask for your opinion. I asked for the keys.”

“Forgive me, Elder, but I don’t have them. Mender Vulgren carries the only key to this cell on his person.”

Imogen closed her eyes briefly. Of course. The vile, careful creature. She glanced toward the guard, his face seeming impossibly young. “Fine. You may leave.”

“But—”

“Go.”

He dipped his head briefly and retreated, leaving Imogen alone before the prison wall. She listened, counting minutes in her head, until she was sure he’d fully gone.

She turned back to the yawning dark, one hand curling around an iron bar. Her voice crept, timid, from her throat, as though hesitant to leave her lips and venture into the abyss. “Karrick.”

Stillness answered her. Silence.

“Karrick, it’s me,” she croaked, icy façade melting away. “It’s…”

Two orbs watched her from the shadows, blacker than the darkness surrounding them. The words lodged in her throat as she watched Karrick emerge from the depths of his cell.

He shifted, trading the deep charcoal-gray pelt of his second form for a man’s skin. He stepped closer to the bars where she stood, the light from the torch falling on his bare chest and tattered, sagging trousers. His feet were bare. The shackles fastened to his ankles clanked with his movement. Imogen’s eyes dipped to the source of the sound, and she winced when she saw the angry red wounds beneath the iron.

“I know who you are, Imogen Atwell.” Karrick’s voice scratched the silence like a claw dragged against stone. “There are many things I endeavor to forget in this place. Your face and name are not among them.”

Imogen’s hand shook where it gripped the bar, her knuckles going white. She told herself she would not cry when she saw him again. Vowed it. Yet her lashes misted with tears despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. When she finally opened her eyes again, Karrick’s darker pair swallowed her sadness and reflected it.