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“Getwhat, woman?”
The woman grinned, her teeth yellowed and rotten. A rancorous sound that made Myra wonder how long the woman had been in Domitius’ captivity poured out of her mouth. “You’ll never win. The fates may appear to be in your favor one minute, buttheyhave one thing that you lack.”
Domitius lunged forward, brandishing a blade to her throat. “What could they possibly have that I do not?”
There was that laugh again. Then, a deafening silence filled the room as the woman quirked a brow.
The woman raised her chin as if to dare Domitius to kill her. The king was not that merciful, though.
“Love,” she whispered.
Domitius huffed. “Love?”
“Mhm.”
“How does that have to do with anything? Love is nothing. Love is—”
“Everything,” the woman spat, interrupting the king. “Why do you think the fates have changed?” When Domitius didn’t respond, she continued, “It is because, despite everything that has happened, the Pontians still have love in their hearts for that girl. You have manipulated your false daughter’s mind and her emotions countless times, but the one thing you cannot manipulate—the one thing you cannot falsify—is love. You thought making Kalisandre fear love was the answer, but that is far from the truth. It is because Kalisandre craves to love and be loved in return that you will never win. Despite everything you have done, she still has love in her heart for them, forher.”
Myra pressed her back against the wall, wishing she could disappear as the woman stared at her. But she was stuck in here. The door was locked, and Domitius was the only one with the key.
Domitius looked over his shoulder at Myra, then back at the woman. “What are you talking about?”
“The future is not a straight line, but rather it is like the knotted roots of a tree, and we seers stand at the base of it. There is always more than one path to choose from, and while we can sometimes predict which route a soul will take based on past decisions, the future is never certain. It branches and splits out in different directions. As relationships change, so too do our paths. The fates are ever-changing for this reason. A tangle of choices waiting to be unraveled. You never know what you’ll get until you pull, until you tug. Until youchoose.”
“Enough of the riddles. Speak sense, seer,” Domitius hissed.
She shook her head. “The handmaiden cares for your false daughter. Up until now, her love for her family has been leading her decisions, but something has changed.” The woman paused, her nearly white eyes staring at Myra thoughtfully. Her lip twitched. “Multiple forces now guide her.”
Myra’s body grew rigid, and before she knew it, Domitius was pressing the heel of his palm against her throat.
“So, this is your fault!” he shouted, his voice ringing in the cell.
Myra never wanted Kallie to get hurt. Despite betraying her trust since she entered the princess’ employment, Myra had grown to care for her. Kallie was troubled, her emotions twisted and torn. But Myra saw what lay beneath the tangled mess. She knew Kallie’s heart. Even so, she did not know what the seer meant. As much as Myra hated that Domitius forced her to manipulate Kallie’s emotions, she had no choice but to obey.
“I—I don’t know—” Myra choked on her words as he squeezed her throat. Her eyes watered as her lungs begged for air. She tried to focus on the king and bite back the fear bubbling to the surface, but her vision was clouding. Black splotches pulsed in her blurry gaze as he tightened his grip.
Anger painted the king’s face when he stared down at her. He had lost. He had lost, and the Pontians had won. They had taken Kallie and escaped.
And now Myra was forced to reap the consequences of his failure. She couldn’t defend herself. She couldn’t explain, for Domitius wasn’t here for answers.
He wasn’t here for an explanation.
He was here for an outlet for his anger, for a release.
The spots in her vision grew, and before she knew what she was doing, she pulled from the pit of her stomach. She instinctively followed the iridescent string that floated in the air, invisible to all but her. She tugged on it, grabbed it, tried to bend it to her will. She tried to coax it, soothe it. Snuff out the fire that coated its strands. But as she sent the emotion down the string that ran from the fingers wrapped around her throat to the nerves in his mind, Domitius’ nose twitched.
His fingers dropped from her throat, and Myra wheezed, gasping for air.
The oxygen struck her lungs in an icy and painful burst. Sharp and bitter. Before Myra could catch her breath, she was thrown across the room, and the wind was knocked out of her as she hit the wall.
Domitius’ mouth was moving, but Myra couldn’t make out the words as everything spun around her. The back of her head throbbed. Pain shot down her spine, and her vision pulsed. She couldn’t breathe. Her body had gone stiff as pain erupted all over her.
The door creaked open behind the king. Two figures entered the cell, but her vision was still too fuzzy to make them out. One of the figures shoved the other forward, and the second, shorter figure fell to their knees.
Myra inhaled, but her body couldn’t process the intake of oxygen. It stopped short, lodging itself in the middle of her throat, choking her.
She tried to move.
