Andrian scowled at Callamus. “I’m fine. Just a little hay fever.”
“Are you sure? Because you were fine until you mounted this morning. I didn’t know it was possible for one to be allergic to goats.”
“I’m not allergic to goats.”
“You lived most of your life in a palace. Have you ever been around a goat before?”
Andrian adjusted his grip on the reins. The shaggy beast beneath him tossed its head. His eyes still burned. “I’ve been around horses my entire life. They’ve never bothered me.”
“And how similar are goats and horses?”
Andrian grumbled, trying to hold back another sneeze. “I’m not allergic,” he repeated. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. That’s all.”
Callamus flashed him a knowing smirk. “It sounds like you enjoyed the Solstice, then.”
Some of his annoyance at the burning in his eyes lifted. That overbrimming happiness swelled again in his chest.
“It was everything we needed it to be.” He didn’t look at the god, focusing instead on the dark-haired girl riding ahead of them with a piece of his heart in her hands.
Tanzanite glinted on her ring finger. She’d almost removed it that morning while readying for the day’s travel.
He’d pinned her to the wall and fucked her until she promised to never take it off again.
Not his proudest moment, he would admit. But he didn’t know how many more they had left. He didn’t want to waste a single one.
“There is a question plaguing you. Ask it.”
Andrian glanced at Callamus. Though the god looked mortal at times, his strange, galaxy-filled eyes swirled with unspeakable knowledge.
A muscle tightened in Andrian’s jaw. “Once it’s all over,” he said, “if we survive and Kol is defeated and the world is left in whatever state it’s in…” He dragged in a deep breath. “Do Mariah and I have a chance at the end of this?”
Callamus cocked his head. “A chance at what?”
Andrian swallowed. “Happiness,” he said hoarsely.
It hurt to ask. Especially after last night and this morning and all the moments in between. It was always at times when things were as bright as they’d ever been that all his conditioned fears leaked back in.
Callamus gave a steady, knowing smile. Power swirled around him like the breeze, night and starlight and secrets. “There are some things even I cannot know, and that answer is one of them. But I have lived for thousands of years. If I can’t offer you answers, perhaps I can offer you wisdom.”
Andrian blinked, holding back another sneeze, waiting for the god to continue.
“Your future—and your queen’s future—is shadowed by unknowns. It is a veil I cannot pierce. But just because it is wreathed in uncertainty doesn’t mean you stop fighting for the ending you want. In fact,” Callamus said, “I think it means you should fight harder. It means your fate is still being woven, and only you can decide how it ends.”
Andrian shifted in his saddle. “Is it just our fates that you can’t see?” He nodded toward the trio ahead of them. “Matheo and Signe, for example—can you see how their story ends?”
Callamus’s expression turned wistful. “Yes.” He said nothing more.
“So why can’t you see ours?”
Callamus shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Helpful.
They settled back into silence, the cloven hooves of thebrusiclipping against the rocky mountain road. It was different from riding a horse; the strides were longer, the beats less steady, the saddle wider. The beasts traveled smoothly over the rocky terrain, not missing a single step as they climbed deep into the Everheim Mountains.
“I have another question.” The words fell out of Andrian almost unbidden. His mind had wandered, focusing on everything and yet nothing at all.
“Of course, you do.”
