Page 60 of Storm of Shadows

I manage a small nod, not allowing myself to imagine the possibility of a different reality.

“I don’t know,” she says. Is that the truth or is the priestess hiding the truth to spare my feelings? “What I do know, however, is that in every future I see where this evil is vanquished, it is you who brings the new dawn. In the futures where you fall, eternal night reigns over Imyria. And death with it.”

How can someone as useless as me be so important? Other than the fact Arluin and I tied our fates together, how else do I qualify for this enormous responsibility?

“Priestess,” Natharius demands from behind me. “Do you know what this necromancer ultimately intends?”

Taria shakes her head. “Unfortunately, I do not. My visions are never clear. I only see fragments of many possibilities and must piece them together through meditation.”

A solemn expression shadows Natharius’s face. Why does the demon care about Arluin’s intentions for this world? He belongs to the Abyss, not Imyria, and he hates mortals us and revels in all our suffering.

He must feel my gaze on him, since his crimson eyes flicker from the priestess and down to me. “I hate necromancers,” he growls.

I watch him for a moment longer, though his expression reveals nothing more, before turning back to Taria. “We’ve learned that Arluin and his necromancers are heading to a small orcish settlement in Jektar called Gerazad, but we don’t know why he wishes to travel there.”

Taria presses her lips together as she thinks. Neither of her guards offer any suggestions, though Caya is more focused on Natharius than the conversation which is unfolding. Her fingers drum on the hilt of her sword. Meanwhile, Juron watches Taria carefully—as if she may fall unconscious at any moment.

“I’m not sure either,” Taria replies. “I haven’t seen Gerazad in any of my visions.”

“You haven’t?” If Taria hasn’t seen Gerazad in any of her visions, then does that mean we won’t reach it in time? That we will fail to defeat Arluin?

Taria must notice the disappointment in my expression. “My visions are fragmented,” she says softly, “and they are not exhaustive of every possible future.”

“But a future remains where Arluin is defeated? It’s a possibility?”

“Yes, it is. However, the odds would have been more stacked in our favor if I’d reached you sooner. For that, I apologize.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I say.

The snort that comes from Natharius says otherwise. Caya grips her sword and her eyes narrow, ready to strike the Void Prince if needed.

Taria lowers her head. “I owe you a great debt, Reyna.”

“You owe me?” I exclaim, bewildered by her words. “You’re the one who saved my life today. The debt I owe you is unmeasurable.”

“I first started having these visions a month ago.”

“Before Nolderan’s fall?”

“They were fragmented at first, nearly impossible to piece together,” Taria says. “The Mother was trying to warn me of what was to come, yet I lacked the wisdom to see what she wanted me to see. Even up until that very night, I was blind. I only realized the truth when the Mother granted me vision through your eyes.”

Natharius scoffs. “Then maybe your precious goddess should have supplied you with clearer guidance.”

I shoot him a warning glance. The demon merely shrugs in response.

“Do not speak of the Mother in such a way!” Caya hisses.

Even Juron looks away from Taria long enough to wrinkle his nose at Natharius in disgust.

Taria raises her hand before he too can add to Caya’s words. “That night, the goddess sent me a vision through your eyes,” she continues. “I was there with you when Nolderan fell. I . . . I saw everything.”

I avert my gaze from her and swallow back the lump of grief swelling in my throat, threatening to overwhelm me here in front of the demon, the priestess, and her two guards.

“If I had been less foolish and had understood the visions sooner, then perhaps Nolderan could have been warned. Perhaps—”

“Don’t,” I choke. I can’t bear for the priestess to say it. That there could have been a future where everyone wasn’t dead. Where my home wasn’t destroyed. Where the man I once loved didn’t steal my best friend from this world and reanimate Father into a monstrosity. My hands tighten around the silken fabric of my robes, and I will myself not to cry. Not here.

Zephyr seems to notice the emotion swelling within me, since he nuzzles his nose against my cheek. I rub the soft scales on the top of his head and pull him a small smile.

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