Page 5 of Divine Fate (Cursed Legacies #4)

4

EVERETT

Douglas pushes through the extremely heavily warded double entry doors of Everbound Castle. We pause when we see Lillian Oakley waiting for us, bundled in a couple of colorful coats since this place is constantly freezing.

My keeper’s longtime caretaker and friend looks a hell of a lot like Kenzie Baird, but shorter and somewhere in her fifties. I brought her here right after the battle because anyone who was a friend of my snowdrop is now under my protection. I thought I would be the one taking care of her, but when I was too far gone to the world to remember to eat or sleep or breathe after my world shattered, it was Lillian who took care of me.

Even on my worst days, she’s kind.

Too kind. Especially when she lets people into my stronghold—and I can already tell from her small, apologetic smile that she’s done that.

Again .

I rub my face wearily. “Damn it, Lillian.”

“Any luck?” she asks hopefully, avoiding my accusatory tone.

She’s one of the few people who know about the Crypt’s disappearance. Hell, she’s one of the few people who gives a shit about that monster spawn.

I shake my head. Her hope wilts, but she quickly falls into step beside us as Douglas and I make our way into the castle toward the library, where I’m sure Lillian has whatever guest she let in waiting. We pass through two hallways and then out into one of my more decorated courtyards.

The sun is bright through the haze of white in the sky, putting a soft golden gleam on all of the ice sculptures out here. Well, they’re not actually sculptures.

They’re people.

Some of them are stray Legacy Council members who came here trying to manipulate me months ago, before the rest of the fallen council disappeared. Others are shadow fiends or hired hitmen I caught before dragging their frozen bodies out here to stand with the rest of them. One was a dissident acolyte messenger who claimed he came here to deliver a message from the Garnet Wizard’s Sanctuary. He made the mistake of brushing my hand when he handed me a forged letter.

And then there are the ravens.

Countless frozen ravens. Even now, I hear the low croaks of those damned birds from somewhere high above, like they’re watching me beside the gargoyles perched high on the castle.

Douglas grumbles as he walks behind Lillian and me. “Your collection of frozen corpses is creepy as fuck. I swear I can feel their eyes on me.”

“You do. They’re frozen, not dead.”

“People don’t usually survive being frozen,” he argues, frowning over his shoulder at the ice-encased figures.

“They do when it’s nevermelt.”

Which is something I discovered by mistake. When my curse returned tenfold, I didn’t know that meant I would lose control of how much power went into my abilities. Now there’s roughly a fifty-fifty chance that I’m accidentally creating an unbreakable substance instead of regular ice.

I have no control.

Lillian tosses a sympathetic look over her shoulder at the frozen decorations. I throw open another door before finally stopping in front of Everbound’s smaller library, where a legacy in a Reformist uniform dutifully stands guard outside.

I recognize him as a caster I met during my second year as a student at Everbound. When he sees us approaching, he salutes me, but his attention lingers on the left side of my face.

“Dude,” Douglas prompts after too many seconds pass, exasperated.

The legacy realizes where he’s staring and clears his throat uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Commander, it’s just the first time I’ve seen you since…you know.”

Yeah. I know.

Hard to forget when people keep staring like he is yet again.

“Move,” I say coldly. He moves aside quickly, but I pause to look at Douglas before entering. “You have an hour to eat and visit with your pet flea ball before we head out again.”

“Sure thing, hard-ass.” He turns and strolls away, whistling.

I push through the doors, and Lillian follows quickly after me. When I see two purple-clad prophets and a priestess standing in the room next to the large hearth Lillian constantly keeps lit, I’m surprised.

I’m also pissed.

“Oh, look. There are liars in my stronghold.” I give them my dead-eye look.

“Everett, please,” Lillian chides gently, gesturing at the quacks. “This is Priestess Anna, Prophet Julius, and Galene’s Second High Prophet, Vincent. They’ve come from the makeshift temples in Halfton.”

The only temples left are makeshift ones. As far as I know, the others have all been destroyed by shadow fiends, Limbo Zones, rioting humans, and Crypt. Now, there aren’t many prophets, priests, or other holy servants left. Those who survived ended up fleeing to strongholds and building shabby temples for the six gods.

“And?” I ask flatly.

I don’t miss the way my flippant tone makes Julius’s eye twitch.

“Well—” Lillian begins diplomatically.

“ And we are the gods’ servants,” Prophet Julius admonishes me, lifting his chin. “I have heard much about you these last months, Commander Frost. I came because I received a great divination from the gods, who told me your soul desperately needs redemption. If you would only turn your substantial monetary support to the building of the temple of?—”

I freeze him solid to shut him up.

Yet another greedy idiot. No fucking surprise there.

The other two temple workers startle in shock. I overhear Lillian’s muttered prayer to the gods—something about mercy for hurting one of their chosen saints.

What a waste of her time.

As if a damn prayer is going to save these con artists from me. The last time I prayed was six months ago, when my first and only love died in my arms and took the better version of me with her. All that hell and suffering my keeper fought so damn hard to survive for the sake of countless innocents, only for her to be gone in the next breath?

Yeah, no. The gods can rot for all I care, right along with everything we should have had together.

I level a look at the other two. “Anyone else want to join my collection?”

The priestess wisely rushes out of the library without a single word, dipping her head respectfully as she goes. But my irritation lingers when the Second High Prophet of Galene remains in place, watching me calmly in his ceremonial purple robes.

“Everett Frost,” he greets quietly. “The Knowing has blessed me with a great sense of clairvoyance. Knowing what I do of these last several hours, I am compelled to share what I have sensed of the telum .”

The irritation quickly transforms to silent outrage, crystallizing in my blood.

Of course. Of fucking course I have to go through this again.

I’m not surprised another corrupt jackass is milking my keeper’s posthumous infamy for attention. Her name is on everyone’s lips—a whisper, a rumor, a byword, an inspiring story. They use her name like it’s a godsdamned joke . Amid the Upheaval that some blame her for, everyone wants to pretend they knew her.

Worship her or loathe her, no one will let my keeper or her name rest in peace.

It’s torture of the purest kind. I won’t sit here and listen to it anymore.

“Get out,” I warn him.

The prophet perseveres. “Everything is about to change. I have sensed Maven Oakley.”

“From the Beyond?” I snap. “In case you haven’t noticed, my keeper is dead , so keep her precious name out of your godsforsaken mouth before you join your friend.”

When he has the gall to open his mouth again, I freeze him, too.

Lillian starts to protest, but I turn and stride out of the room. I’m too riled up and volatile right now. Being around anyone is a bad idea unless they deserve it, which she doesn’t.

Lillian catches up with me as I storm back through the large courtyard.

“Everett—”

“Save it.”

“It’s not about what you just did. Please slow down.”

I don’t want to slow down. I want to get to the only place I’ve wanted to be for six months—at the honorary graveside of my keeper, whose body the gods didn’t even leave for me to mourn.

Lillian huffs. “Wait. Everett?—”

“ What?” I demand, whirling to face her as snow flurries around us. “Just spit it the fuck out!”

Lillian winces, stumbling, and I realize ice just encapsulated one of her feet.

Shit.

Now shame is mixing with the bile and anger. I glare at the ice I summoned by accident. Even after it’s melted, Lillian waits patiently for me to calm down, which just makes me regret losing my temper more.

I cover my ruined face and try to even out my breathing. “I wasn’t trying to?—”

“I know. It’s all right.”

It’s not all right. I’m not all right. I will never be all right again, because the memory of my snowdrop’s beautiful voice is like a dagger in my head.

I love you.

Ravens squawk nearby, fluttering to places where they can see me better.

Lillian is quiet for a moment before sighing. “You haven’t eaten since Sunday. I made soup and bread. If you sit down with me for a proper meal, maybe you’ll feel bet?—”

“I’m not hungry,” I manage, but I know I sound tired as hell.

Lillian clearly wants to protest out of concern, but she shivers because the snowfall has gotten more severe the longer I’ve been out here. She motions for me to follow and hurries back into the castle for its little warmth. I go indoors and start toward the isolated western wing of the castle because I haven’t checked on the iron prison yet today.

She doesn’t leave my side, blowing warm air into her hands as she tries to find the right words. “I think you should have listened to more of what that high prophet had to say.”

“No need. It was a lie. They keep leeching off of her memory, and it’s fucking disgusting.”

“This time could be different,” Lillian insists gently. “I’ve heard a lot of prophecies and listened to a lot of holy people throughout my life, Everett. I know he’s truly clairvoyant. Maybe?—”

We both slow to a stop when we hear the screaming.

“Foirnach ahr stad! Oculi ima mo’ceblath uraiseth!” Silas screams from inside the old classroom that he converted into a prison.

None of us know what he’s saying most of the time. Not even Lillian, who speaks fluent fae. He’s the one who built the damn iron enclosure, but I’ve kept him in there, hidden from anyone who would kill a necromancer on sight.

Which is most people these days.

Silas’s frantic voice breaks before he dissolves into hysterical sobbing.

“Did he eat today?” I ask, my voice barely audible as I decide this isn’t a good time for a visit.

She shakes her head.

I’ll have to tell Douglas to magically force-feed him again. Keeping this deranged fae alive has been exhausting, but I refuse to give up. And it’s not just because my keeper had me promise to take care of him. If I’m honest, seeing the cutthroat, annoyingly sharp prodigy I knew as a child reduced to this condition is just…harrowing.

I turn away from the iron hell comprised of stone, bare-boned iron fixtures, chains, and the iron cocoon he stays in most of the time. Heaviness weighs on my chest as I try not to think about what’s left of my old quintet.

“What about the Decimuses? Any word from them?”

Lillian tries warming her hands again. “A caster transported here earlier with a message about the water elementals you sent as reinforcements to the Purcell mountain range last week. They’ve been helping to contain the worst of the fires, but…”

Her hesitation tells me it’s bad news, so I make an educated guess. “But the dragon’s been killing them again.”

“Yes,” she admits sadly. “And there have been more hunters than ever trying to get to him.”

On autopilot, I’ve started wandering toward the only courtyard not filled with frozen trophies. The one that contains a large greenhouse now filled with snowdrops and a simple, honorary headstone, along with what few things she left behind. Douglas enchanted it so that only I and Lillian can enter, but I want to be completely alone right now.

Hurting alone is always better.

“Don’t let the soup go cold on my account,” I tell Lillian.

It’s clearly a dismissal, but she stays. “Everett. Can’t you sense it? Even as we speak, I feel like something has changed. Maybe my prayers are finally being answered. If you could hang on to hope for a bit longer?—”

Bitterness makes my words too sharp. “Hope is useless, and praying is for idiots. I should’ve listened to my keeper sooner because she was right about the gods. I’m done with them.”

Lillian studies me for a moment before sighing sadly. “Maybe visiting Syntyche’s makeshift temple to mourn would help you rest better at night.”

Damn it. Is it that obvious that I haven’t been sleeping again?

“There’s no shot in hell of that happening,” I mutter, turning toward the exit that will take me to the greenhouse. Back to the sweet oblivion of mourning the only woman I’ve ever loved, before I go out to see if I’ve lost another piece of my broken quintet. “Enjoy the soup.”