“The resistance.” I whisper in disbelief. “It’s the heirs, isn’t it?”
“Our mothers were exiled here, Ivy. It’s Marks’ fault that they’re dead and that they were forced to live in the shadow of human men who believed his lies and wanted to make him a king. You can’t blame us for wanting to change our fate.”
I don’t blame them for wanting change—I could never blame them for that. It’s what I want too, even more so now that I know the truth.
But what stings, what cuts me to the core, is the realization that they all knew. Kieran, Silas, Micah, and possibly even Marianne knew what we are—what I am—and they never said anything. When did their powers manifest? How long have they been in this group, this resistance? And why did they never tell me?
“Besides you and Marks, the remaining governors of Corinth are all demigods. Four of the five ruling seats want to see the Lord General disposed of and they’re on their way to Amale to make that a reality.”
Cal’s hand finds me, tanned fingers wrapping around mine to steady me as Kieran’s words land. We have a real chance to change our country, and maybe even our world. There’s no need for political strategies and negotiations, no necessity for thechess game that I’ve mapped out in my head. If this is true, we win the Ascension Vote in every scenario.
But I know in the hollow pit of my stomach that it can’t be that simple. Magic scrapes its beastly claws under my skin again as I turn my attention to the pained expression on Cal’s face.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” I ask tentatively.
Cal lets out a ragged exhale, the throb of his distress spearing me in the chest.
“There’s more at stake than just the Amethyst Throne, princess. When Nobus exiled the rebellious gods here, Selene cut a deal with the God King.”
The weight of both men’s gazes slice into my skull at the mention of my mother. When I don’t lift my eyes from the blade of grass I’m focused on intently, Cal presses onward.
“A mother’s love runs deep. I don’t know the terms, only that it gave the exiled gods a chance to go home again. Under the agreement, they will remain in this realm until the one with the power to unite us rises.”
The one with the power to unite us rises—the prophecy from the strange, otherworldly woman in the streets of Eida, the words I easily dismissed now falling from Cal’s lips.
“What does that mean?” Kieran asks.
“There’s a doorway of sorts, a portal to the god realm. Marks wants it open—and he wants to be on the throne when it happens.”
“That’s why he’s forcing the entire country to worship Nobus,” I say on an unsteady breath.
“We’re his offering to the gods,” Kieran adds. “Fuck.”
“The understatement of the century, Rollins.”
Whatever part he played, Marks was definitely a member of the rebellion, an uprising that I’m beginning to think was more about stealing power than invoking change. And now half amillion people are going to pay the price for his deeds with their lives.
We are his collateral, his sacrifice to the God King to reclaim his favor and return home, our own existences be damned.
I’m not aware that my hands are trembling until Cal squeezes them, the increased pressure of his magic against mine sending my traitorous heart skittering.
“Why don’t we go get some water, princess?”
Kieran disappears into the tent, granting us precious privacy. Cal and I gather our vessels in silence before he directs us towards the water his magic detects.
He doesn’t push me to speak while we walk to the small stream. He doesn’t prod me as he takes the canteens and fills each one with the clear water. And he still doesn’t question me as he sits on the bank and removes his boots.
I follow suit, letting my toes feel the biting cold of the flowing water and the thickness of the mud underneath before I speak.
“Kieran and the heirs are all demigods, but I’m not. My father … isn’t Ansel Fellows.” It’s not a question anymore, but a fact.
“I’m sorry.” He scoots closer to me, his shoulder pressing against mine. “I know this feels like a betrayal, but Ansel was still your parent in every way that matters. Rhea was Henry and Theo’s mother, but she took me in and loved me like I was her own son. That’s what makes someone a parent: not their blood but their heart.”
Cal’s grief mingles with mine, the shared wounds weeping with the endless, chasmic pain of loss. We sit in silence, the cold water numbing our skin until it matches the feeling that swarms within us at their memories. There’s camaraderie in our commiseration, strength in the weakness that we both keep buried.
“Who is the prophesied one, Cal?” I ask on a shaky exhale, eager to feel a pain I’m more comfortable with.
As if his thoughts are my own, I know his next words before they ever leave his lips.
