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“Me? Why me? Isn’t Ceridwen—”
“Ah, the safety of knowing that it’s Ceridwen’s fate that’s at stake… is sadly not safe at all. When you think of it, I am the youngest daughter, your mother was taken by the curse, and yet a man still wrecked my life, left me in ruins, terrorized me for years and almost drove me to the same cliffs that took Elizabeth.”
Seren’s gasp landed on the wooden floor of the kitchen like lead. Victoria’s words felt like shrapnel.
“Rhiannon and Deryn have passed their tests, so to speak. Both had to go through hardships of their own, and had to make their decisions. But it was always their own lives they risked, Rennie. And putting your own soul on the betting table is easy. After all, you aren’t playing with anybody else’s fate.”
Victoria watched her unblinking, her gaze dark, shadowed. There was something acidic in her voice, capable of eating through metal at any moment.
As if to stop the stinging of her aunt’s words, Seren suddenly felt the bayou humidity on her face, mixing with tears. The hands in her lap were not hers; she knew it, yet the emotions of the moment choked her anyway. Underneath her fingertips, the dark uniform jacket bore the US Navy insignia. The woman on the cot in front of her was still, too still—
“It’s not time yet, darling girl. Not time for those thoughts.”
Victoria, standing up, her chair scraping the floor, jolted Seren out of…
“It was a memory. But not mine, right?”
“Maybe.”
Victoria poured herself a tall mug of what smelled like chamomile tea.
“Tell me, please.” Seren knew that her aunt would only reveal as much as she deemed necessary, and yet it felt completely imperative that she asked for more.
“There isn’t much to tell, Rennie. Only that when the cards are down, when all you have to wager is your own life, it’s much easier to push all the chips to the middle of the table. Not as easy when it’s someone else’s. And yet, you absolutely must. Do you hear me? Promise me!”
Victoria’s hand on her shoulder squeezed hard, and Seren felt her magic fill her, the one her aunt so rarely used or shared with anyone, its distinct, subtle tenderness.
“You’re saying the choices I will make, the decisions ahead of me… are not about me?”
Victoria’s gaze was unreadable.
“No, your decisions are very much your own and nobody but you will live with the bulk of the consequences. And still, you have to promise me you will do what you must. You will do what needs to be done.”
“But why?”
“Because there is nobody I trust more to do what’s necessary in the face of pain. Deryn will try to cheat it, Rhiannon to turn it into her favor, and Ceridwen will sacrifice herself before she—”
“Are you saying I won’t?”
Victoria leaned down and laid her brow on Seren’s, the tenderness of the gesture bringing tears to their eyes.
“I’m saying that you’re the only one who will do what needs to be done. And I’m saying I trust you to do it.”
Victoria gave her a long look. Something in the depths of the pale green eyes reached within Seren and squeezed her heart, but her aunt was not done, apparently. She suddenly looked away, toward the small window overlooking the Viridescent Cliff in the distance.
“A man once said that a hero is someone who simply does what they can.”
Seren shook her head in disbelief.
“You’re quoting a man?”
Victoria shrugged. “I don’t have much respect for him, but he was French and even a broken clock is correct twice a day.”
They shared a smile. Then Victoria sobered.
“Rennie, nothing is certain. Not in what I’ve seen and not in what I feel. I’m puzzled and conflicted, and you know how much I hate sitting on my hands. But there is nothing to do but wait and live and love. And when the time comes, do what needs to be done. What you can. Please, promise me that you will do what you can. What only you can.”
Seren started, her heart in her throat, her blood like molasses. Slow and sluggish. She had no gift of foresight, something she’d always been so grateful for, because who wanted that? The anguish, the knowing and seeing and losing your peace over something that was so far ahead and yet inevitable?
