Page 19 of Fated to the Frost King

It wasn’t enough, apparently, since she turned to go without responding.

Her head tilted in a clear command for me to follow. “The portraitist is expecting us.”

She tapped her staff lightly before walking back into the sitting room. I followed her out into the main hall, my mind spinning with questions that had no good answers, and my palms aching from where my nails pressed against the broken skin.

Every few feet, the Visionary tapped her staff against the floor once again. The rhythmic sound was oddly entrancing. I focused on the sound, taking a deep breath in with one tap, andletting it go with another. Slowly, it began to comfort some of my frayed nerves.Is that why she does it, out of habit? Or does it have a purpose?

“It helps to guide me,” she answered the unspoken questions for the second time.

Shards.

“Can you Seethoughts too?”

She gave a wry shake of her head. “Not everything is about mana. Some things are obvious when you aren’t staring them in the face.”

Once again, I was left guessing at the layers in her words, wondering whether they were truly an explanation, or whether she was applying them to me.

I wouldn’t have believed that a life among so many people, surrounded by the threat of exposure, could feel tedious, but as it turned out, even the impending threat of death could not make sitting for a portrait less boring.

The royal portraitist infused his art with mana, but he still made every single brushstroke by hand—painstakingly, and after much consideration. On top of that, he had a sharp tongue that he clucked every time I had the nerve to twitch.

The endless ordeal left me no opportunity at all to speak with the Visionary. Not during the portrait, and not during the meeting with the palace financier who had me sign at least seventy-five documents with a quill dipped in ink made from dragon’s blood. It was binding, of course. Like my marriage wasn’t binding enough.

I barely read them. I had nothing to my name anyway, as he reminded me several upon several times when he noted clauses that didn’t apply to me.

When we were finally finished, the Visionary led me back to my suites. She bypassed the sitting room door, continuing through the double doors that led to the entryway I now shared with the king.

The doors closed behind us, leaving us in relative privacy. Whether that was an invitation to speak or a coincidence, I still took my chance to question her. There were so many things I wanted to know, but nothing as important as trying to decipher whether she knew what I was.

“Do you choose what youSee?” I asked as we stopped outside of the bedroom door.

She pursed her lips, her hand tightening on the silver staff.

“It is generally considered rude to ask a Visionary about her powers.” Her even voice belied the light rebuke in her words.

“Not as rude as shackling someone to the Frostgrave King,” I returned evenly.

She huffed out what might have been a scoff or a laugh; it was impossible to tell. Then she leaned against the doorframe, turning her sightless eyes on me.

“Technically, that was the Shard Mother. She chooses what to show me. What has been, what is, and the possibilities ahead.”

Possibilities. Not certainties. Was that why she had nodded when I chose to accompany her today? Had it solidified one of the possibilities in her mind’s eye? One that meant I kept my secrets long enough to leave?

It was as close to hope as I was going to get, I supposed.

“Thank you for answering, Visionary,” I told her.

Though I wanted to encourage her to open up for selfish reasons, my words weren’t insincere.

I believed her when she said it was considered rude, and I doubted she would have bothered to respond under normal circumstances. Whether she felt guilt over my marriage to a monster or had some other motive for telling me, it was information, nonetheless.

I wasn’t sure yet how it could help, but it was a step in the right direction.

“Nevara,” she murmured.

“Nevara?” I echoed dumbly.

She took a breath, straightening to her full height.

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