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“We are bound to keep you safe within reason until he claims the debt he is owed, yes.” Luelle cleared her throat, and Violet got the impression that her relationship with Cullen, however short and messy, wasn’t a secret.
“Are you all under orders to sleep with me and get me pregnant, too?”
Luelle looked down at the table, clearly ashamed. “That was… his choice. Dargan never instructed us to do such a thing.”
Violet had suspected as much and doubted Luelle was up to the task either way. But she’d been surprised before. “Who else is coming then?”
“You’ll be visited by two other emissaries before he comes to collect.”
“Cullen used his magic to alter what I saw, to trick me. Do you also have the gift to alter visions?”
Luelle hummed, taking her time to give her an answer. Violet suspected she was trying to decide whether the information would hurt or help her position. “We all have a particular gift that makes us desirable to our god. Rare and coveted amongst the powerful. But no, I’m not an illusionist.”
So that was what Cullen was… The emissary answered one question and two more appeared.
“What gift is he expecting my child to have?” Violet had known Dargan had his eyes on her ever since Cullen’s arrival, not that the last emissary had shared much about the particulars. Instead, he had distracted her with his attempts to seduce her.
Twenty-year-old Violet had been an idiot.
The heaviness was back in her chest, constricting her breathing. No longer did she mourn the so-called friends who had slammed their doors in her face when she’d sought refuge. Now the reality sank in. She would never outrun fate, and even if she did so, it would come at the cost of being denied what she craved the most. A family of her own, like the one she’d been stolen from—those that she loved most.
“That is not for you to know… yet.”
“Well, fuck that! Why does it have to be me?” She slammed her hand on the table again. She doubted anyone cared. “I already have the Iron Crown trailing my steps. They forced me to wed, and they also want my future child.”
Hers and Gavin’s, but he wasn’t here to plead his case.
Luelle nodded like none of this was news to her. “It’s an unfair world, but it wasn’t always this way. To answer your question, your bloodline was very powerful. A special magical trait lingers dormant in your cells—however no magic has been granted to the Elders for many generations.”
“Why does he even care about that? He is a god.”
Luelle opened her mouth, but the chime of a bell rang in the distance, and the flames of the lanterns flickered with a current of icy wind blasting through the front door. A man entered the room and stomped the snow from his boots.
Violet straightened in her chair. The strain in her jaw echoed all the way down her neck and shoulders. She recognized his regalia. The Iron City’s traveling coat was made from thick gray fabric, and the kingdom’s emblem shimmered, neatly stitched, on the right side in golden thread.
How had he found her? Was he alone? She hadn’t told a soul what road she was taking, and the Obsidian mountains were unforgiving, especially when traveling alone. Known to house mostly non-magic-wielders, they should have assumed it would be the last place she’d head for.
Her gaze drifted toward Luelle, who was reclining in her chair. Her worn eyes fixed on the newcomer, her frown easing. “Your future has been in motion for quite some time. A gift from me to you, Violet: you have been betrayed and betrothed, and you will escape Dargan’s claim over you by the end of this journey, but it won’t be what you hope for. You can find a way back to her in the old libraries of the world.”
Who did Luelle mean by her? And how could she not want to be out of this mess? Could this mean that the old woman was a soothsayer?
Cullen, the illusionist. Luelle, the soothsayer… Who would be the next emissary?
The man had not seen her yet. If Violet was stealthy enough, she could escape out the back. She couldn’t stay, and yet she hesitated to leave.
“Will I see you again?” Her eyes trailed the sorcerer from the Crown across to the bar, where the bartender was cleaning a glass with his dirty apron.
“No,” Luelle said.
Violet swallowed as sweat dripped down the side of her face. She inched out of her chair, grasping the hilt of her knife tightly enough that her knuckles ached. “How do I break the hold he has on me?”
“You can’t avoid him.”
“But can I evade him?”
Luelle’s thin lips tilted down. She turned her clay mug with both hands, and the scrapping of its porous texture over the wood surface of the table set Violet’s already frazzled nerves on fire. “There is an artifact that can help those who seek to escape—for a time. The Stone of Clemency.”
A stone, really? Were all these undying bastards insane?
