Page 97 of Revealing Fate

“And now?”

Onyx eyes connected with hers. Felíne’s breath caught.

He believes he can keep you.

“Hopefully something that will.”

There was such conviction in Kal’s face, such earnest, heartrending hope, that Felíne didn’t have it in her to dissuade him. He was looking for a way to circumvent the Goddess’s curse. He wouldn’t find one. Felíne had studied the godscripts cover to cover. If there were any way to avoid her presentation and still save the shurii race, she’d have found it. Kal might have possessed one of the most coveted collections outside the elder city, but it didn’t matter. Their message was the same.

She couldn’t tell him. One of them, at least, deserved a little optimism. Felíne scooted closer and reached for another book.

“I don’t understand,” Felíne said, stifling a yawn. She and Kal had been holed up in his basement well into the night. She had no idea what time it was, nor how many hours they’d been at this. Sheafs of worn parchment and monstrous tomes encircled their spot on the rug in addition to leftover platters of once-warm bread and half-eaten hard cheese. The peppered venison was long gone. Kal had uncorked a bottle from his collection some time ago, and the intoxicating scent of amber and spiced honey wafted her way each time he spoke.

“What don’t you understand?”

Felíne picked up a particularly ancient scroll and studied the fading text. The name Serena was signed at the bottom, one of the hundreds of transcribers. She grabbed a recent edition in her other hand. “You said these were translations of the godscripts.”

Kal nodded. “They are.”

She scowled. “They can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“They’re different. This one,” she held up the scroll, “speaks about communing with the Goddess and details ways in which to connect with the spiritual realm. Something about lifting spirits, or accessing spirits. I’m not sure of the exact translation.” Felíne hefted the tome. “And this one focuses solely on the history of the race, the Godking’s deception, and the Goddess’s curse.”

Kal leaned back on his palms, rounded shoulders bunching beneath his loose cotton shirt. “Did you think they’d all be the same?”

“Well, yes. The ones in Asteros are.”

“Ever heard the term ‘there’s more than one side to every story?’”

Felíne rolled her eyes. “Obviously. But this isn’t a story, Kal. It’s our history. The godscripts are supposed to be recorded facts.”

“The events themselves are immutable,” he said. “But shurii wrote the accounts. We’re flawed beings. Perceptions vary. There’s bound to be some disparity in the interpretations.”

She set the records aside, trying to temper her frustration. “Then how are we supposed to know which accounts to follow? Until tonight, I didn’t even know other versions existed.”

Kal took another sip of his bourbon. “We stick with what we know to be true across each text.”

“The curse.” It was the one constant across all translations. The Goddess’s instructions, her condemnation, held no discrepancies.

“And then we try to find recounts that list a potential workaround.”

“Kal,” Felíne said, exasperated. “There isn’t a workaround.”

He inspected another book, unfazed. “There must be. We just haven’t found it yet. I told you I hadn’t studied these in a while. I’m looking for something different from what I was before. It’ll take time.”

Felíne massaged her brows. “We’ve been at this for hours. You have more ancient texts than a damned temple archive. I’m telling you. It’s not there. There is no way around this.”

Kal continued to flip through the pages without looking at her. “Have a little faith, Kitty.”

Really? “Faith? I have faith. That’s the whole divine problem. It’s you who doesn’t,” she accused. “You refuse to accept that things are the way they are. There’s no changing this, Kal. There’s no changing me.”

“I don’t want to change you,” he replied evenly, still studying the page.

Felíne wasn’t sure why her temper flared, but anger filled her hot and fast. “No? Say my name.”

Kal’s eyes stilled, trained on a single line of text but no longer reading.