Page 86 of Revealing Fate

He didn’t have to say it. Felíne could hazard a guess. The grief Kal must have felt as a boy had mutated. Years of anger, loneliness, and rage had transformed into a deep-seated hatred and an ever-present hunger for vengeance. He’d told her as much. He planned to kill the King and Queen of Asteros. Her parents. He intended to exact revenge in the name of his murdered family. But she still didn’t understand why they’d lost their lives in the first place.

“Kal, what happened? Why were your parents killed?”

A weariness crept into Kal’s features, making him appear ages older. His eyes darkened, his broad shoulders sagged slightly, and a heavy breath escaped his lungs. “That is a difficult question. It doesn’t have a simple answer.”

Felíne wanted to reach out and touch him, but she resisted, unsure if the gesture would be welcome. “I’m not opposed to complicated,” she hedged.

Just then, Felíne’s stomach gave a loud gurgle, breaking the quiet moment. She and Kal both looked down at the source of the interruption. Felíne feared her belly’s untimely protesting would cause Kal to withdraw, tucking his secrets once more into the unreachable realms of his heart.

“I’ll tell you,” Kal said, surprising her. “But first, let’s find you something to eat.”

Chapter 32

HATE

THE ASTEROSIAN CASTLE LOOKED NOTHING like that of Brightsea.

Kal trailed his mother’s swishing skirts, careful not to step on the jeweled hem, and swung his gaze about. The ceilings were low, not cavernous like those at home. Where windows should have been, open archways led into tiled courtyards displaying trickling fountains and all manner of strange plant life. Some pricklier varieties had vicious needles set in neat rows along their towering columns like spiny soldiers marching single-file. He spied a dazzling aquamarine pool, the sunlight glittering off its unnaturally smooth surface. He imagined throwing himself into it, disrupting its tranquility, thrashing the water into proper waves. Or perhaps he just craved a distraction from the heat. Gods above, the heat evaporated Kal’s very memory of Brightsea’s briny air, heavy with seafoam and the mist rolling off the hills. Every breath scorched his lungs. How different this place was from home. How fascinatingly alien.

“I don’t understand why I must wear this atrocity,” Kal’s mother hissed in front of him, fingers picking at the taut fabric over her ribs.

His father’s lip twitched. “It’s custom. And you look so lovely.”

A periwinkle glare seared the side of Lord Kallen’s face. “Fuck custom.”

“Meridia,” Kal’s father scolded. Kal stifled a grin and glanced up at his uncle. Beside him, Karrick Kaine, brother to the current Lord of Brightsea, winked. Karrick was more a sibling than an uncle. He was ten years Kal’s elder, but the age gap didn’t feel like the decade it was. Or rather, it hadn’t until recently.

Kal had been passing his father’s council room when the missive had come from Asteros, inviting the Lord and Lady of Brightsea to the capital. He’d caught pieces of the discussion that had followed—heard words like treaty. Alliance.

Kal knew what they meant. He knew the tie that bound the realms together, and it wasn’t the land.

Marriage.

But that hadn’t been all he’d overheard. Danger. Threat. Prophecy. Those words had also been exchanged.

But what Kal heard next tipped the ground beneath his feet.

This wasn’t just any marriage. It was a fated union. A match between the godchosen. Kal had heard the words Primordial Male and stumbled into the council room, wide-eyed and disbelieving. “The Primordial Male is here? At Brightsea Castle?”

Kal’s mother and father had turned, expressions creased with concern. His uncle’s face had gone ashen. And they’d told him.

Karrick was the Primordial Male. One prophesied half of the Goddess’s curse. Kal might not have been a temple acolyte, but he’d been taught the godscripts more thoroughly than most boys his age. This marriage wouldn’t just bind the lands. It promised salvation for the shurii people. Karrick. The Primordial Male. His uncle, of all people! And Kal hadn’t once suspected. How in all the divine kingdoms had such a thing escaped him? He was still reeling, still a little hurt that Karrick would keep such a secret.

“I’m serious,” his mother continued in a furious whisper, oblivious to her son’s eddying thoughts. Kal snapped back to the present. “When have we ever burdened ourselves with tradition, Kallen? It’s hotter than the Godking’s balls in this infernal desert, and that woman left me a blasted sweat shroud to wear to dinner. I’ll be dripping on the pies!”

Kal’s father slowed his pace and turned his ever-patient expression on his wife. “That woman is the Queen of Asteros, and to decline her gift would be considered very rude. We are here to foster goodwill with this kingdom, darling. We agreed rudeness should be avoided. Remember?”

At the word “queen,” Kal’s mother snorted. “And is it not also considered rude to smother one’s guests with their evening attire?”

Kallen sighed.

Kal’s mother lifted her chin. “Besides, she’s only a queen by her own declaration. Ilistaar was never meant to be a monarchy.” Kal’s father inhaled sharply and glanced around to ensure they weren’t overheard. Meridia continued, unbothered. “Brightsea never bowed to the Faelstroms of the past. It’s certainly not about to start. And don’t get me started on their religious insanity. These abhorrent customs of theirs would have my father’s bones creaking in his grave.”

A pang echoed in the cavern of Kal’s chest at the mention of his grandfather. Magnus died last year. They buried him beside Gran on the cliffside north of the castle, where the sea wind sang through the willows and sent the tall grass dancing. Kal missed him terribly. He wondered if his grandfather, too, had known of Karrick’s divine title and kept it from him. The contemplation of betrayal made him ill.

They turned away from the courtyard’s aqua pool and passed one of the black-clad palace guards. Their eerie, faceless ensembles reminded Kal of the reapers his grandfather used to tell him stories of when he was little. They looked as though they sucked souls when they weren’t busy watching the Asterosian palace guests.

“I wouldn’t worry over them,” Karrick whispered, bending to Kal’s height. At fourteen years, he towered over his mother’s first form, but his uncle was a man grown, taller even than Kal’s father. “Your mother could take the lot of them with one hand tied behind her back and wearing that wretched gown.”