The Rise of Fortune and Fury (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 5)

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter. As he takes me by the elbow, I ask, “Where are we going?”

“It appears your boyfriend has agreed to Kymaris’ request for a trade. You for the Blood Stone.”

My stomach curdles as we start up the staircase, knowing how heavy a price this trade is going to cost us all. I’m grateful I’m alive and it appears I might be that way for the foreseeable future, but I hate that we’re giving up the Blood Stone. Part of me thinks that maybe my sacrifice is for us to not give up the stone, which will probably enrage Kymaris into killing me.

Actually, she’d probably chop me up piece by piece and send them to Carrick to try to get him to relent, but if Carrick keeps the Blood Stone, the prophecy would be hard pressed to play out.

Ultimately, though, I have to trust in Carrick’s wisdom. I’m no fool thinking he’s making this play because it’s what’s best for our collective end goal. No, he’s making a completely personal decision to give up the final thing Kymaris needs to bring down the veil so he doesn’t lose me just yet.

Even though he’ll lose me eventually.

And I thought it virtually impossible for me to love the man more, but it appears that ceiling has been broken. He’s not acting with a demi-god’s cool wisdom, but as a man whose heart will be broken without me.

At the top of the staircase, Pyke leads me through hallways, up another flight of stairs, and finally into a richly appointed study that is decorated much the same as the bedroom that I was first brought to. The walls are done in a deep burgundy silk, the floors a gleaming parquet, while heavy tapestry covers the windows. There’s a large desk with ornately carved legs, a tall leather chair in dark chocolate, and a fireplace with dancing flames to help light the room.

Kymaris stands before it—turned away from me—with her hands clasped behind her back.

Quickly, I note her attire, actually stunned by how casually she’s dressed in tan corduroy pants, boots with fuzzy trim, and a thick sweater. I deduce we’re somewhere far colder than Seattle at this time of year, but still… I know from my one meeting with her at the gallery and the run-in that Carrick had with her that she prefers to dress in a sexually provocative way.

Right now, she looks like she wants to curl up by the fire with a good book and relax.

The juxtaposition from what I know her to be is confusing, to say the least.

But when she turns to face me, her angled features enhanced by an over-application of makeup and that god-awful sloping beehive, I have to bite my tongue not to offer her some beauty advice.

Which says something, because that’s about the last thing in the world I’d tell anyone I’m good at, but I could definitely give her some pointers.

Kymaris eyes me shrewdly, as if trying to figure out something. “It appears you mean more to Carrick than I originally thought. I never thought he’d give up the Blood Stone for you.”

I shrug carelessly. “I’m sure it has more to do with his own end game than with me. The gods are apparently going to favor him for his actions.”

There… hopefully that was vague enough, with just a hint that Carrick might not be her complete adversary, to have her doubt his loyalty to me. The last thing I want is for her to think she has anything figured out.

“And what exactly do you think your end game is?” Kymaris purrs as she saunters up to me.

“I honestly have no clue,” I reply with my gaze pinned on hers. “I only know I’m to thwart the prophecy, not how it will happen.”

“You think that means you’ll kill me?” she asks with a taunting laugh.

“Maybe,” I hedge, because, deep down, I know that’s what I’m supposed to do.

“Let’s test that theory,” she says in a tone that chills me to the bone. Before I can comprehend anything else, she moves so fast she’s nothing but a blur.

I feel her near me, brushing me, my arm moving, my hand clasping, then another blur has her standing back in front of me.

And I’m holding a sword in my hand, hilt gripped tightly and the pointed tip resting at her breastbone. The weapon is heavy. My arm immediately starts shaking, so I bring up my other hand to support it.

Kymaris smirks. “All you have to do is drive it in, Finley. You can end this now.”

The temptation is almost unbearable. Kymaris is no more than three feet from me with her arms held out to the sides in surrender while I hold a sword poised right at her heart.

But my sense of reason and logic prevail over passion. Knowing she’d never make herself vulnerable to me, I lower the weapon.