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Fin’s brow furrowed. “How do you know they’re linked?”
“Well,Idon’t exactly.” I paused, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “But Mother connected them. She has an entire book—an index of sorts—linking prophecies together. They’re important, Fin.” I tapped the third, fragmented prophecy.
When purity kills and the last raven falls, look to the dreamwalker for guidance. The cure will...
“Look,” I said, nodding my encouragement for Fin to reread the third prophecy.
Even fragmented, it couldn’t have been much clearer. Becca had seen something that related to the wasting sickness plaguing my kingdom. If I could just get my hands on the original,completeprophecy, I felt certain I could find a cure for the wasting sickness. It could very well turn the tide of war in our favor, strengthening my kingdom in the eyes of the other rulers enough for us to ally and rally against the Sierra Kingdom. King Eduart would have to back down.
Fin glanced at the open notebook again, then up at my face, down and up again. “I’m not sober enough for this,” he muttered before scooting his chair back with the screech of chair legs over the worn wood floor. He stood and marched toward a nearby side door, yanking it open and stepping outside.
The scent of hay and manure wafting into the common room told me the door led to the inn’s stable.
I exchanged a look with Garath, whose raised eyebrows and slight frown told me he was not impressed.
“Stop it,” I hissed. “He’s been through a lot.”
“So have you.”
“More than either of us knows,” I said, ignoring his quip. “If you can’t be nice, I’m sending you outside.”
Garath’s expression blanked, and he returned to staring at the open doorway.
Fin stepped into the inn a moment later, his hair dripping wet and plastered to his head. “All right,” he said, dropping into his chair and scooting forward again. He planted his elbows on the table. “Let’s talk prophecies.”
I blinked, surprised by his sudden interest, and I tapped Becca’s fragmented prophecy again. “There’s not much to talk about,” I admitted, offering him a sheepish smile. “I just need to ask Jake if he knows how and where she recorded her visions.” I shrugged. “Icouldwander around the kingdom, checking every copy of her book of foretellings, but Mother’s research was extensive. Ifshedidn’t find the complete prophecy, I doubt it’s anywhere to be found in the Seven Kingdoms.”
Fin sat back in his chair, the water dripping from his hair soaking the shoulders of his shirt. “So you didn’t really come here to see me. You came here for Jake.” He let out a short, bitter laugh and shook his head. “You’re out of luck. I haven’t seen him for months.”
My heart plummeted. Jake was my best—and only—hope. “But—but—” My brows bunched together, and I opened and closed my mouth, floundering for words. “You must know where he is, at least? I can send trackers or a raven, or—”
Again, Fin shook his head. “I’m sorry. He’s been distant since...” Fin pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows. “Well, you know better than anyone what he went through.”
I swallowed roughly and nodded.
What Motherputhim through, he meant. While Jake had been Mother’s prisoner during her last-ditch effort to tap into the Healers’ gifts in search of a permanent cure for the wasting sickness, Mother had put him through extreme and intensive deep empathic interrogation. As a result, he retreated so deep into his own mind that Fin and I had barely been able to drag him back out.
“He was holding it together until we returned home after a trip to the north and saw the destruction—” Fin looked away, clenching his jaw. “When we found Autumn—” He cleared his throat. “After that, Jake stopped even pretending to be normal.”
I wasn’t like most Empaths, who could sense another’s emotions by merely looking, but I didn’t need to rely on psychic gifts to feel Fin’s grief. His loneliness. Not when it was written across the hard lines of his face. Not when the ghosts of all the people he had lost haunted his eyes.
But he wasn’t alone anymore. He had a son now—a son he deserved to know. And I wanted Liam to know his father.
“I’m so sorry, Fin,” I said, reaching across the table to cover his hand with mine.
Fin pulled his hands off the table before I could touch him.
I froze, my stomach tangling in knots, then slowly retracted my arm. He didn’t want my touch because, with me, it was neverjusta touch.
I set my jaw, refusing to let him see how much his physical retreat hurt, and inhaled a shaky breath. “You shouldn’t be here,” I told him, scanning the inn’s bustling common room.
“Are youcommandingme to leave your city?” Fin asked, his voice razor sharp.
“That’s not what I said,” I corrected him gently. He was on edge, his already raw emotions irritated by the alcohol. “You belong in the castle.” I looked at Fin, meeting his shadowed stare. “With your son.”
For long seconds, Fin didn’t respond. He simply stared at me. “Does he know?”
“About you?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “No. But I’ll tell him tonight, and you and your people—” I paused and frowned. “You did mention someone was here with you, correct?”
