“Your what?” I ask, confused.
“Maybe it’s better if you sit down for this story, kitty cat,” Blaise answers instead of Sariah, his tone conveying a note of worry. He looks between the three of us and the mess on the floor, his earlier happy-go-lucky demeanor gone. “Perhaps we should move this party to your study, Killian.”
“So you’re half of the leadership of an ancient, occult order meant to wait for my arrival and awakening,” I say in a pained voice.
Sariah nods slowly, with measured movements. The only sign that she’s not as calm and collected as she looks is the slight tremble of her little finger that is tapping a hushed hum against the tabletop of Killian’s desk.
“And you were tasked with befriending me and keeping a close eye on me until said awakening, under the suspicion that it was I, the real savior of the prophecy, and not my sister.”
I keep waiting for the fury to build, for its flame to spark inside my soul before burning me.
But the only thing rearing its decrepit head inside me is loneliness.
The unmistakable, sinking realization that I’ve always been utterly alone.
Not now, in this moment, with Killian’s hand wrapped protectively around my shoulder in a sign of support.
Alone in retrospect.
The girl who ran away from home and started a new life in Annerough. That learned how to dance, moved in with a quirky and unapologetic Fae, and got a job at the Twinkling Meadow. That believed she had found one genuine friend, someone who made her better, who accepted her, demons and all.
Turns out that girl was always alone.
Just a mark.
A target to safeguard.
An unaware part of the prophecy that’s been hanging over my head since I drew my first breath, even before it was clear I was its central pawn.
Sariah’s bottom lip trembles as if she wants to say something, but she hangs her head low and gives another defeated nod.
Killian’s fingers squeeze my shoulder, and I lean into his touch unconsciously.
Isn’t it ironic that he’s trying to be here for me when the last good memory of my past crumbles to dust?
“Do you, um—do you hate me now?” she asks in a small voice, and I wish I could give her a resolute “Yes.”
Cold.
Unflinching.
Uncaring.
But I can’t.
“I don’t.”
The words escape my lips with a heavy sigh. “It pains me that my only friend for five years was a spy on a mission, but I think I understand. You did not mean me harm.”
“I truly didn’t. My brother and I, it runs in our bloodline to protect the Foretold One. We were sworn to secrecy by blood magic. You don’t know how many times I wished I could tell you the truth about the Dark Umbras, about everything,” Sariah says, her hand reaching out to touch mine. Her fingers hover in the air, as if she’s unsure whether I’d welcome the gesture.
I thread my fingers through hers, giving her a tired smile.
No, I could never hate Sariah.
I see the goodness in her. She might have lied to me, but her betrayal tastes bittersweet.
I lost the image of a friendship I thought I had, but we gained a powerful ally with unforeseen resources. And maybe we’ll build a stronger sisterhood, based on truth this time around.
