“Lies.” Heka studies Freya dispassionately. “Did your Omega tell you that she met me? Or did she hide that as well?”
Shocked, I meet Freya’s anguished gaze.
“Lanlin, I…I didn’t…I mean, I d-didn’t want…” She stutters.
I take a careful step away from her.
“She was snooping by herself in the House of Life. So, I told her about my fascinating experiments with lodestones, also known as the Bone of the Gods.” Heka’s eyes gleam. “I explainedthat the magic wasn’t ready yet but eventually should be a powerful talisman that could work as anti-metallicum.”
“Anti-metallicum?” My pulse races. “To counter Maximinus?”
Heka nods. “I also hoped that I could have tested it on this subject tonight.”
“You told me that it was still experimental.” Freya is suddenly furious. “That it could cause extreme pain or even death. You’d fucking risk that with a king?”
My eyes flash with answering rage.
Heka merely shrugs. “With this king, absolutely.” Freya blanches. “Of course, I can’t unmask this fae tonight because interestingly, the Bone of the Gods went missing after your Omega’s visit.”
My heavy gaze settles on Freya. “Did you take it?”
She swallows, opening her mouth to answer, and I know that she’s about to lie.
Then she hesitates, before replying, “Yes.”
Devastation howls through me.
I’ve never broken before. But my heart is broken now.
I set my jaw. My expression shutters.
Isis, Horus, Ruin, and the entire Blood Court are watching for my reaction.
And I want to scream.
Mother betrayed me. Aurelius betrayed me. Now my beloved nest mates have as well.
Is it my fault?
The Void Devils prophesied that all I would know was betrayal, fighting, and suffering.
Should I trust them? Allow them to wipe away this horrifying pain with their Void?
Did I bring this on myself by defying the Void Devils? Then by swearing that the thing that was worth saving in the entirerealms were the Omega, fae, and dragon who have now turned against me?
The three people, for whom I would die.
“The Golden Prophesy,” Freya mutters, staring at the altar in horror. “It can’t mean this. It fucking can’t.”
What does she mean?
When Heka wraps his hand in the trickster fae’s curls, I wince at how roughly he tugs Dove into position to move the knife over his hair and then his wings, tracing magical hieroglyphs.
The fae attempts to struggle, thrashing side to side.
Isn’t that an admission of guilt?
I steel my heart.
