Page 14

CHAPTER 14

Elva felt as if her insides had been scooped out and rearranged as the priests moved to the door, Advisor Gudren and King Dermont alongside them.

Fyn didn’t acknowledge their departure, nor they him.

‘Captains, now the ceremony is over, I would so love to speak with you in private,’ Mystic Agnes said.

Elva pulled her hands from Fyn, the warmth of his touch fading as she faced the demigod.

Had someone intervened in the ceremony – was that why Advisor Gudren had looked so mad?

But who would be stupid enough to do that?

The thin layer of protection that had encased her during the reading ebbed, and she rubbed her fingers together in assessment, nearly forgetting Mystic Agnes had asked her something.

‘About what?’ Fyn asked, glancing at her before turning back to Mystic Agnes.

‘Follow me.’

A discreet door down the hallway opened, and Mystic Agnes shepherded both Fyn and Elva through with little fanfare.

She straightened her back and plastered on a calm facade as she followed.

Was this still part of the ceremony?

She was paranoid someone was going to arrest her, and she tried to channel Neve’s blasé attitude to hide the fact that her Ever was writhing in warning.

Had the tug been her own magic, protecting her from Mystic Agnes’ prying?

A means of self-preservation?

Her magic had never behaved like that before – was there something specific about Clochain that had triggered it, or Fynton?

Or was this how all Ever Blessed people felt here?

The Seacht decreed capturing an Ever Blessed person before they drained the source of the magic was imperative to keeping the balance of the world.

Maybe she was finally becoming the problem.

Mystic Agnes took a seat behind a desk, and Elva finally looked around the room.

Hues of maroon and navy dominated the space, the spines of books were stuffed in tall bookshelves and stacked on top of one another so tightly she couldn’t see the walls behind.

The ceiling soared far above her head, lit by a skylight in the alcoves that cast dramatic shadows in the space.

She turned on the spot, amazed at the sheer mass of knowledge crammed inside the tiny room.

Fyn moved beside her and she drifted closer.

‘We librarians are a nosy bunch. I wanted to speak with you before you’re ushered back to the castle.

Advisor Gudren hates it when we encroach.

’

‘What do you want?’ Fyn’s voice was sharp, and for the first time Elva heard the Crown Prince in his tone.

Never would she think to speak to a demigod in that manner, but then she hadn’t been raised among them.

It only emphasised how much she didn’t know about the hierarchies in Clochain.

‘Your lines are unlike any I’ve seen, interwoven as if something greater than a marriage treaty brought you together.

’

‘And?’ Fyn replied, bored.

‘And...’ Mystic Agnes smiled patiently.

‘If given more time, I believe I could unravel great fortunes for you both.’

Elva nodded in faux understanding.

None of what Mystic Agnes said made any sense but she smiled, pretending she knew what the mystic spoke of.

‘These books, do they contain the Ever?’ she asked, probing in the dark.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Mystic Agnes said, standing gracefully.

She glided over to the nearest bookshelf and pulled down a tome, her movements as precise as a dancer.

‘Ever is vast and timeless and takes different forms depending on the caller. My gift lies in reading the lines of hindsight. These books help me place that knowledge into context. That wall’ – she pointed to the wall behind her, full of thick navy-jacketed books – ‘is the known history of this world.’ She gestured to the wall in front and to the right, the maroon books on those shelves thinner, spaced further apart between vases and knick-knacks.

‘Those books contain foresight, sourced by the students of Rivalin. Things the Ever whispers to us which haven’t yet happened.

’

Elva looked at the wall, eyes wide.

‘They tell the future?’ She had always assumed Rivalin’s powers were sequestered to himself, but seeing the number of texts before her.

.

.

she realised she was wrong.

How many demigods could tell the future?

‘You make it sound simple.’ Mystic Agnes laughed.

‘You want to read our lines again and compare them with these books?’ Elva confirmed, trying to make sure she’d captured the gist of Mystic Agnes’ request.

The demigod looked at her, a radiant smile on her face.

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you do that during the ceremony?

’ The words escaped her lips before she could bite her tongue.

‘Are you questioning my ability?’

Elva shrank back under Mystic Agnes’ gaze.

I managed to get out of one reading unscathed, do not insult a demigod who could potentially uncover your secret, idiot.

Yet a small part of her was intrigued; foresight had always fascinated her.

‘No.’ Fyn moved to stand in front of her.

‘Thank you for the offer, Mystic Agnes, however, my betrothed and I are abject followers of the ceremonies. Anything additional to this will need to be discussed with Advisor Gudren, as our primary objective is to fulfil the treaty, and the union, by spring equinox.’ He reached behind and fumbled for Elva’s hand, bringing it up to show Mystic Agnes their clasped palms, as if they were some sort of trophy.

Elva stared at him.

‘We appreciate your guidance and will pray for Rivalin’s blessings while we eagerly await the outcome of the third ceremony.

Blessed by the Seacht, in the shadow of Caius we follow.

’ He dropped Elva’s hand to make the sign of the diamond, then reached for her again.

Without a gemstone pressed between their hands, she could feel the calluses on his palms, skin rough against her own, and warm.

So much warmer than she remembered.

Mystic Agnes looked between them, her smile frozen in a way Elva could only describe as sharp.

She didn’t understand the hierarchy when it came to the crown and the demigods, but glancing between the two it seemed as if Mystic Agnes stood lower on the chain of command than Advisor Gudren, and closer to Fyn.

The mystic and the Crown Prince were in a stalemate.

‘Well, if you change your mind, please let me know. It is in the combination of foresight and hindsight that the truth will be revealed,’ Mystic Agnes said.

‘Thank you.’ Fyn bowed, and Elva dipped her head.

Mystic Agnes stared at their hands as Fyn turned to open the door.

He ushered them out into the light, and steered them down the corridor.

Elva turned to ask Fyn one of the million questions on her tongue, but she was drowned out by raised voices echoing from around the corner.

‘I told you, she’s busy.

’

‘And why would I believe a mutt like you?’

She glanced at Fyn, astounded that yet another thing was interrupting any chance they had to debrief.

However, her frustration morphed when she recognised Avi’s voice.

‘Because,’ Avi said slowly, as if he were talking to a child, ‘I’m her guard.

Just because you don’t like an answer doesn’t make it any less true, Winsten.

’

Elva dropped Fyn’s hand as they rounded the corner.

The absence of his warmth was a shock to her system, which only faded when she placed the voice of a man she had hoped to never see again.

Winsten, the ruddy-faced soldier from the ship, smirked.

‘You know being her guard’s a joke, right?

Your father pulled strings and took the opportunity away from someone who deserves it.

Someone who isn’t a halfer.

’

Avi growled, a low warning that sent a ripple of surprise through her, but it was Fyn who spoke.

‘What do you want, soldier?’

Winsten turned to Fyn, a look of alarm flashing across his face as he stood at attention.

‘Apologies, Your Highness, I was looking for her.’

Avi shot Winsten a look of pure hatred as Winsten pointed a finger at Elva’s chest.

‘Advisor Gudren requires the princess back at the castle.’

‘Captain,’ Fyn said.

‘What?’

‘Advisor Gudren requires Captain Elva back at the castle.’ Three sets of eyes turned to Fyn.

Elva didn’t know what to say.

To have not one but two people correct her rank after weeks of being dismissed as a mere princess elicited a feeling she couldn’t articulate.

And to have Fyn do it in front of his soldiers made some of the confused, brittle feelings she had towards him soften.

She tore her gaze from Fyn, too aware Avi was staring at her.

‘You’re dismissed.

’

She didn’t think Winsten’s face could go redder, but it transcended scarlet and went straight to a mottled purple before he scampered away.

Avi stared after Winsten in disbelief, then turned and bowed.

He did a bad job of hiding his grin.

‘The ceremony went well, Your Highnesses?’

If Avi meant their lives weren’t forfeited, then, yes, the ceremony had been a success.

But Elva couldn’t help but remember the look of shock on King Dermont’s face, or the anger on Advisor Gudren’s when the priests had announced the good news.

Not to mention the fact that Mystic Agnes had asked to read their lines again.

So many things didn’t make sense, and she was still woozy from the aftershocks of the tug.

Her sanity was unravelling, and she didn’t have anyone to talk to: Fyn ignored her questions; Lady Oriann was an unknown entity; and Avi – well, she wanted to trust him.

But was that enough?

‘The ceremony went well,’ she said.

‘Did it?’ Fyn’s eyes pierced her own.

‘Did it not?’ A spark of hope shot through her – was he finally going to explain?

He opened his mouth, closed it.

Then Fyn turned and strode through the middle of the library, leaving her staring after him in disbelief.

Again.