Page 136 of A War of Crowns

Witchblade or no, how could she claim her soul was her own? When she often felt like nothing more than a card waiting to be played by forces far more powerful than she?

The Lord on High had gifted her a taste of foresight.

But to what end?

So she could suffer every night, watching the people of Elmoria who looked to her for protection dissolve into ash and shadow?

What could she possibly do to fight against such darkness? Such destruction?

Father Perero’s grip on her hand tightened. That heat radiating from the clasp of his fingers still quested for her answer. The truth.

Was her soul still her own?

No. She knew in her heart that it was not.

It was not her own. It was marked for something else. Something greater.

But neither did it belong to a witch of the darkness and the false flame.

Compelled by Father Perero’s Truth-Reading, Seraphina’s lips parted of their own accord yet again. “I am Seraphina de la Croix, the Queen of Elmoria and the last of my House,” she proclaimed to the room. “And no witch will ever lay claim to my soul.”

The moment those words were ripped from her, Father Perero released her hand. With the absence of his touch, that heat dissipated, and the golden glow along with it.

Panting for breath, the Shepherd sank to his knees next to her and whispered, “She speaks the truth.”

“Praise the Lord,” Duke Percival sighed as his own hold upon her loosened.

But Seraphina’s attention remained on the Shepherd. She reached for the elderly man with a frown.

He looked so weak. Sweat dappled Father Perero’s brow. His breath came in short gasps. The Truth-Reading had clearly taken more from him than it had from her.

Guilt pricked her heart when she gripped his shoulder and asked, “Father, are you well?”

When the Shepherd lifted his head to look at her, she frowned all the more at the sight of tears shimmering within his eyes. But it was not sadness she saw within in his gaze. It was not pain.

It was awe.

“The Lord has bestowed upon you a great gift, my child,” the Shepherd whispered for her ears alone as he moved his hand to cover hers. “A truly wondrous gift.”

Seraphina huffed out a breath and offered Father Perero a weak smile. “It hardly feels like a gift, Father. The Oracle’s vision. But she did warn me such knowledge would be a double-edged blade.”

Father Perero’s brow furrowed at those words. “No.” His eyes searched her hers, leaving more confusion sparking to life within her heart in the face of the holy man’s sudden scrutiny. “No, Your Majesty, I mean—”

But whatever the Shepherd intended to say was swallowed by a sudden flurry of activity. Duchess Edith and Alyx both descended on her at once. Even her godfather’s varhound shoved his large head back into her lap, clearly refusing to be completely forgotten.

“I’m so relieved,” her godmother whispered in the midst of peppering her cheek with kisses. “Are you hurt? Are you hurt at all? How do you feel?”

“No, I’m not hurt,” Seraphina was quick to reassure the duchess. After a moment’s pause, she even realized it was the truth.

The whole truth.

Her stomach no longer burned where the assassin’s blade had sliced across it. Now, she simply felt tired. It had been a long night filled with far more questions than there were answers to go around.

“Our dear girl,” Duke Percival sighed again while sinking into a chair on her other side. He joined his wife in wrapping an arm about her shoulders and pulling her in for a tight embrace. “Our brave, brave girl.”

Joy and agony mingled as one within Seraphina’s heart. Her own father had dismissed her. Scorned her. Reynard de la Croix had died utterly certain she would spell the end of their House and all that their ancestors had built.

And yet there sat Percival Umberly, holding her. Loving her.

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