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

“You ready for this, Savior?” Boral asks in a lazy tone. Out of all of us, he’s the most laid back about all of this. I expect it’s because he’s killed so many people and creatures in his lifetime that death is nothing more than an ordinary day for him.

“Are you?” I return, crossing one outstretched leg over the other.

Boral shrugs a shoulder. “We all got to die sometime.”

“Except you’re immortal and I’m not,” I point out. “Your laissez fair attitude works better for you.”

“True,” he agrees, and we grin at each other.

Zaid can hear us as he paces nearby, and I normally wouldn’t want to say something that could potentially hurt his feelings. But time is ticking, and I’ve never said this to Boral.

“Thank you.” My earnest tone and expression causes Boral to go still. “For helping me over these past several weeks. For being on our team. For being loyal. And for saving my life on more than one occasion.”

Zaid stops in mid-stride, head turned his father’s way.

“You’re welcome,” Boral says in a gruff voice.

“You’re not bad for a Dark Fae Ravager,” I tease, not willing to risk a glance at Zaid. He’d probably hate me bantering with the father he hates.

But to my surprise, Zaid lightens the mood with some dark humor. “I bet you’re his favorite human he’s wanted to kill but decided not to.”

For a moment, Boral doesn’t know how to take that, but I’ve come to know Zaid well over these past months. Much better than his father does, and I crack up laughing.

It takes a second or two, but Boral eventually does the same.

Even Zaid chuckles before resuming his nervous pacing.

Glancing at my watch, I note just two minutes have passed since I last checked. I glance over at Carrick, crouched to examine a terrain map with the others huddled around. Maddox is pointing at an area, perhaps imparting information he found when he scouted the last few days.

As if sensing my eyes on him, Carrick actually looks over his shoulder at me. Eyes intense and focused with love, he seems to devour every detail of my face. I smile at him tentatively.

I have no clue if he smiles back because a flash of white light blinds me, along with a loud boom that shakes the ground. I scramble to my feet, my vision obscured by bright dots, and I yank my whip free of my hip holster.

Has Kymaris brought the fight to us early?

As my eyes start to clear, I realize it’s not Kymaris standing before me, but rather five tall, imposing and regal figures.

The gods.

I’ve only met Veda, Cato, and Rune in the past—the time with Rune I’d rather forget—but I know exactly who Onyx and Circe are by virtue of all the times Carrick has talked about them. They form a semi-circle before me, not five feet away.

I vaguely notice everyone around me is on their feet, but Carrick bends distance, flashing to put himself in between the gods and me, arms slightly spread to protect me. A reminder they are inherently dangerous creatures.

“Easy, Carrick,” Cato murmurs in a deep voice. “We are not here to cause harm.”

“I would hope not,” Carrick replies sharply as he moves to stand at my side, taking Cato at his word. “Given that you all appointed Finley as your biggest pawn in this game.”

“We came to wish her luck,” Veda says softly, and Carrick’s shoulders relax slightly. He takes each one in and it’s clear they are not here by unanimous decision. Veda, Circe, Onyx, and Cato are standing casually with smiles on their faces.

Rune’s mouth is pressed flat, arms crossed defensively across his chest. When my eyes meet his, they gleam with malice and my hate for him increases tenfold.

“The final motions of the prophecy are in play,” Onyx announces, as if this formality is required. “You have been fated to this prophecy as the only one with the ability to stop it. While the gods do not take sides or offer aid, we wish you success in your endeavors.”

My eyes move from Onyx to Circe, who blows me a kiss; to Veda, who gives me a slow nod of encouragement; and to Cato, who offers a slight bow of respect.

To Rune… his expression in exact opposition to his fellow gods.

I nod at him, my eyes refusing to avert from the harsh glare of antipathy. “He’s not here to offer wishes of good luck.”

Carrick tenses, because I’m sure that most would not ever dare to offer even the slightest insult to a god. Yet he doesn’t warn me off or chastise me. He lets me have my say.

“We are here by consensus,” Circe explains.

I don’t look at her, staying focused on Rune. “I don’t care about your consensus. I am doing what you have appointed me to do, but I don’t have to stand here and listen to what, as a group, is complete insincerity by virtue of Rune even being here.”