Annoyance and frustration fill me, encouraging the enchantress’s attempt to force her way into the foreground of my mind.
“Endless winters,” the Seer continues. “Destruction. Death. Find the Serpent’s Hollow. Find the lost Heir. May the gods be with you.” With that, his head drops, the hood almost fully covering his face now.
I sit up straighter. “Wait. When do I need to go back? Now? And how will I find Durvla? How does the cure work? And the call? You barely gave me any?—”
Suddenly, Briony is up, tugging me along with her. “Come on,” she whispers with urgency.
We get out of that hut so quickly my head spins. I snatch my arm away from Briony, anger bubbling in my veins. The Seer gave me so much information that I can hardly wrap my mind around it but at the same time so few answers.
Odgar rushes toward us as soon as we step into the cold air. He takes in Briony’s fearful face and my irritation. “What happened?” he asks.
I only gnaw on my lip, afraid that I’ll turn into a dragon and spew fire if I open my mouth right now.
“We have to return to Erleya,” Briony says, starting to walk away from the hut as though she wants to put as much space between it and herself. Odgar and I follow as I force myself to calm down and breathe in the cool air.
We stop a distance away and Briony faces us again. She looks between me and Odgar before her eyes linger on me. As if silently asking permission to speak, she lifts her brows, but keeps her lips pressed together.
I stifle a groan and gesture sharply for her to speak. “Odgar will have to know sooner or later.”
She nods, relief loosening her shoulders. “There’s a prophecy, and it seems the answers lie withinourhallowedgrounds. Growing up in the temple, I heard stories of Siad Nahar—Serpent’s Hollow. It’s no coincidence the Seer mentioned it in addition to parts of the prophecy that involve you and … the other Heir. Durvla.”
Gods, Durvla is mysister. I don’t even know how to process that. My body grows cold, then hot. My muscles start to quiver. What else did my mother keep from me? And how is it even possible? Durvla is twenty-three, two years older than me …
Odgar’s jaw is tight as we make our way back toward the Hallowed Wood, but he stops just within the thick copse of trees that separates the dense woods from the statues of the gods. I halt as well, looking up at him. My insides are all knotted up.
“Your country believes you’re dead, and there’s an organization out to end your life or wield you for their mission. We’ve not been able to form a proper plan to get you back on the throne. Without reinforcement, it’ll be a death trap if you return there,” Odgar says.
I force myself to swallow. He’s not wrong.
“If you return to Erleya, you’re at least returning with protection. I cannot promise you an army. Not even close. But I can come along. Maybe we can be wed on the first day of Amodir once we return home. Before we depart from Uldarvik.”
Sweat beads at the base of my neck. I pull my coarse wool dress away from my throat and slowly exhale. “Odgar …” I wet my lips. “About being wed.”
He looks at me with his brows raised, his posture rigid. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No, but you might …”
His shoulders relax, his arms loose at his side once more. “Me?” His lips curve with uncertainty. “What in Fyera’s name would’ve given you that idea?”
“Because …” I hesitate for a moment. “I don’t want to have children.”
His smile collapses.
Briony looks between us, stepping back as she wrings her hands together. “I’ll … let you two talk.” She walks through the pathway made by the trees and disappears.
As much as I want to follow her and avoid this conversation, I lift my chin and face Odgar.
“Why don’t you want children?” he asks.
I shrug, now averting my gaze. “I have my reasons.”
Disapproval that isn’t mine whirls within me.
“Do you care to share?”
“No,” I say to a spruce tree on my right. A pine cone falls as a cold draft rushes through the branches. My warm cheeks cool, my body following. For a moment, I just stand there, inhaling the scents of fresh pines and soil.
“Revna.”
