“Oh dear…” The White Mare’s violet eyes met hers again, glistening with something akin to pity. “You do not know?”
Alena frowned. “Know what?”
But a memory surged, unbidden—the druids last summer, their voices searing through her mind, a curse she could never shake:One of Andrasta’s daughters is a demon with enough power to destroy us all.
A cold, sickening dread twisted through her. “The druids,” she whispered, her voice almost drowned by the faint croaks of hidden frogs. “They said one of Andrasta’s daughters was a demon powerful enough to destroy everything. Are you saying…” Her throat tightened, every word scraping like gravel. “Are you saying my sister is a demon?”
“Not a demon,” the goddess corrected. “A demigoddess. And a pretty powerful one at that.”
A demigoddess?The word rattled through Alena’s mind, a concept too enormous to grasp. “No. They’re just legends. Demigods don’t exist anymore?—”
Bright laughter spilled out of the White Mare, like birds bursting into flight. “Don’t be silly. You saw it yourself, didn’t you? Your sister’s strength, her uncanny healing abilities. ”
“Those are her Gifts—yourGifts.”
The goddess shook her head, her smile soft but knowing. “No. Those are simply in her nature. My Gift was an affinity to horses, just like your?—”
“By the Moon…” Alena’s voice came out strangled. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the rustling of the reeds. “How is that possible? Who is the father?”
The White Mare’s expression shifted, replaced by something darker, sorrowful. “Oh, my dear.” She sighed, long and heavy. “You already know the answer. You’ve known all along.”
Alena’s chest tightened, her heartbeat stuttering in denial while the truth slithered through her mind. Images of Katell’s ruthlessness during combat, the way her temper flared so easily, violence erupting before reason. “No…”
“You may not want to see it,” the White Mare continued. “But your sister carries bloodlust and violence in her heart.”
“Stop.” Alena’s breath came in shallow, panicked gasps.
But the goddess pressed on, unfazed. “They thought she was his Chosen One. When in reality?—”
“Don’t—”
“—she is his daughter.”
The world tilted beneath Alena’s feet, and the name crashed through her like a war drum:Laran.
The Rasennan god of war.
Katell was his daughter.
The Rebel Queen and Laran.
She was going to throw up. “No… it can’t be.”
She staggered back, her feet slipping on the soft, muddy earth, the chill of the marsh seeping through her boots. Her legs gave way, and she sank to her knees in the muck, her fingersclutching at the slimy earth, seeking something solid to hold on to.
Tears blurred her vision, turning the world into a dizzying smear of colours. The sound of her ragged breathing mixed with the croaking frogs, the rustling reeds—everything felt distant, muffled, as though she were sinking deeper into the bog.
Then the White Mare’s shadow fell over her. Her whimsical expression was gone, replaced by a severity that cut like a blade. “She is coming for you, child. The Rasennans control her now. Are you prepared to do what it takes to stop her?”
Alena shook her head. “She’s my sister…”
“She’s no longer the sister you knew. If you do not stop her, she will end you.”
Alena hunched over, a sob threatening to escape her. She had fought for so long to save Katell, to bring her back from whatever darkness had taken hold of her. She refused to let it end like this.
“No.” The word came out broken, more plea than statement. “There must be another way.”
The White Mare crouched down, her wildness tempered by sorrow. “I’m so sorry, dear. But there isn’t.”
