Her hands tremble from their grip on mine. But the rest of her is still. Those haunted eyes nearly glow golden in the daylight. There are the ghosts of his hands on her. She sees him, still, I can tell. But there’s something else in her gaze now.
Defiance.
I would admit it to no one, but in a small way, I am secretly grateful for Ravin destroying the Stone Citadel. It bought Arina time to continue healing. Allowing anyone to push her to ink her major would’ve been a grave mistake.
“My power will never be taken or forced from me; it is mine to give. Let me give it to you.I want to—to know I can, that I still control it,” she says with a note of finality.
Unshed tears burn my eyes. How is it that I feel like I’m about to fall apart when she’s the one who suffered horrors beyond imagining?
“All right.” I release her hands and reach for the holster on my thigh, opening the flap and retrieving my deck. I just refilled it from my room in Kaelis’s apartments. I pass it to her, trying to hide my hesitation and worry as I do so.
She holds the deck in her lap and just stares. There’s a hitch in herbreath as she smooths her fingers over the pristine edges of the cards. She exhales, and her shoulders relax as though she’s greeting an old friend.
Slowly, she shuffles the cards. Without warning, she stops, satisfied. I know that intense stare. Power overtakes her before even the first card is drawn—a magic I’ve not understood for as long as I’ve known her. I can feel it flood the room like spring water, pooling up from that endless well within her.
She begins.
Arina has never read from any sort of strict spread. Instead, she pulls cards on instinct, laying them before her. The Eight of Coins comes up first—I don’t need her to say anything; we both know that card represents the academy, as the Eight of Coins symbolizes apprenticeship and learning through repetition. Diagonal over it is the Page of Swords, another card about a hunger for knowledge.
Then there’s the Prince of Swords, laid atop the Page.
Kaelis on top of me flashes before my eyes, and a flush rises from my chest to my cheeks. It wasn’t until just now that I realized I’d begun inking my Knights as Princes—an interchangeable title for the card between Page and Queen. Yet it feels like doing so carries so much significance.
Her eyes flick to mine, and her stare knots my stomach as she draws another card. The Four of Wands—the card of romantic union and celebration—has never been more damning.
“You love him.” It’s not a question.
“I…” What can I say when she can already see the truth?
Arina returns her attention to the cards with a weary smile; she drags her fingers over top of them. Her eyes narrow slightly. She tilts her head. “Did you marry him in secret?”
I wonder if she can see the future he gave up to the Chalice somehow ghosting upon this world like ink bleeding through parchment. “No, I didn’t.”
“Notyet,” she clarifies.
“I will marry no one without you there,” I vow. But as soon as I do,I realize what I’ve said—implied.I will marry the man whose brother did this to you.I look away in shame. Left. I look left.Damn it.
Arina touches my hands as lightly as the cards, drawing my attention back to her. “You don’t have to be ashamed.”
“I’m not ashamed.”
She raises her brows in response.
“I…I love him.” Saying it to someone else makes it so much more real and so much more terrifying. “It’s just that he…he’s Ravin’s brother.”
“And you fell in love with him anyway.” She clearly considers this. “Which tells me that he’s not our enemy as we once thought.” She’s so quickly confident in this; her implicit trust in my judgment is staggering.
“He hates Ravin as much as we do.” As soon as I say it and she gives me a blank stare, I quickly remedy: “He hates Ravinalmostas much as we do.”
With a satisfied huff, she turns back to the cards, reading them as they’re drawn…
The Two of Wands. “A difficult decision is before you.” Seven of Cups. “And you’ve deluded yourself about some of the options and circumstances. It’s not like you to give in to such indecision and wishful thinking.”
I squirm in my seat. Rarely has she given me a reading about me. It’s usually for a job, or a task, or a circumstance. Notme.
Just because you can know fate’s design doesn’t mean you always want to.
Ace of Swords. She pauses, blinking at the card, as if something new has just come into focus. Her fingers move faster now, turning cards without speaking between them.
