“We weren’t much help at first. We hate prophecies.” Holland laughed dryly. “It wasn’t until Eythos came to ask what, if anything, could be done about his brother, that I recalled the prophecy and Kolis’s interest in it. We shared it with him, and Eythos seemed to have some sort of understanding.”
“What was it? This prophecy?” Nyktos asked. “Can you tell us?”
“What I saw was just disjointed images. People ruling in the mortal realm that didn’t appear mortal—places I don’t think yet exist.”
“Like what?”
“Like cities forever laid to waste. Kingdoms shattered and rebuilt. Great and…terrible wars—wars between Kings…and between Queens.” Her brows pinched. “A forest made of trees the color of blood.”
Nyktos frowned. “The Red Woods?”
She nodded. “But in the mortal realm, and full of death. Steeped in the sins and secrets of hundreds and hundreds of years.”
“Well,” I said, exhaling slowly. “None of that sounds good.”
“But I also saw her. I saw them. A Chosen and a descendant of the First.” The eather burned brightly in Penellaphe’s eyes as they met mine. “A Queen of Flesh and Fire. And him, a King risen from Blood and Ash, who ruled side by side with man. And they…they felt right. They felt like hope.”
I really had no idea who they were or what that meant, but I would have to take her word for it. “Did you see anything else?”
“Nothing that I can understand enough to tell, but I remember the words. I’ll never forget them.” She looked down as Holland squeezed her hand once more and then let go. She cleared her throat. “‘From the desperation of golden crowns and born of mortal flesh, a great primal power rises as the heir to the lands and seas, to the skies and all the realms. A shadow in the ember, a light in the flame, to become a fire in the flesh. When the stars fall from the night, the great mountains crumble into the seas, and old bones raise their swords beside the gods, the false one will be stripped from glory until two born of the same misdeeds, born of the same great and Primal power in the mortal realm. A first daughter, with blood full of fire, fated for the once-promised King. And the second daughter, with blood full of ash and ice, the other half of the future King. Together, they will remake the realms as they usher in the end.’”
She paused, looking up with eyes as bright as polished sapphires. “‘And so it will begin with the last Chosen blood spilled, the great conspirator birthed from the flesh and fire of the Primals will awaken as the Harbinger and the Bringer of Death and Destruction to the lands gifted by the gods. Beware, for the end will come from the west to destroy the east and lay waste to all which lies between.’” She exhaled unsteadily. “That’s…that’s it.”
I started to speak and then stopped, glancing up at Nyktos. There was a thoughtful pinch to the set of his lips and a whole lot of what the hell to the arch of his brow.
“That sounds…” Nyktos blinked slowly. “That sounded intense.”
Penellaphe laughed lightly. “Isn’t it, though?”
Nyktos nodded slowly. “I think it’s safe to assume that the latter part is referencing my uncle. He is the great conspirator—the rightful Bringer of Death. He, along with my father, were born in the west.” Nyktos looked down at me. “They were born in the mortal realm. Roughly where present-day Carsodonia stands.”
“And the last part of the prophecy means that he will destroy all the lands, from west to east, including the mortal realm?” I wiped my hands down my thighs.
“Depends on how one defines Chosen,” Holland said. “It could be speaking of those chosen to serve the gods or…or those like you, chosen for a different purpose.”
“And the ‘birthed from the flesh and fire of the Primals’ could mean a rebirth of sorts,” Nyktos said. “Not an actual birth.”
“Okay. I get that, but how can that be referencing Kolis?” I asked. “How can he be awakened when he’s already…” I trailed off,
“Unless he goes to sleep,” Nyktos murmured, looking over at Holland and the goddess. “That will never happen.”
Holland head inclined. “Prophecies…they are only a possibility. So many things can change them, and from what I understand, not every word is to be taken literally. The problem is, we do not often know which words should be.”
I snorted at that. “The first part? The desperation of golden crowns? Could that be referencing Roderick Mierel? He was desperate if not yet a King at the time the deal was made.”
“I believe so,” Holland confirmed. “Eythos made the deal with Roderick shortly after he learned of the prophecy. But again, so many things can change a prophecy. That can change the meaning and the intention behind every single word.”
“Well, that’s great,” Nyktos muttered, and I almost laughed.
Holland’s smile was sympathetic. “There is never just one string that charts the course of a life or how that life will impact the realms.” Holland opened his hand, spreading his fingers wide. I gasped as numerous strands appeared, no thicker than a thread and shimmering a bright blue. “There are dozens for most lives. Some even have hundreds of possible outcomes. You.” His gaze lifted to me, and I swallowed. “You have had many strings. Many different paths. But they all ended the same.”
A chill skated down my spine. “How?”
“Sometimes, it’s better not to know,” he answered.
Penellaphe drifted closer. “But, sometimes, knowledge is power.”
I nodded. “I want to know.”
A brief, fond smile appeared, and then Holland said, “Your paths have always ended in your death before you even saw twenty-one years of life.”
I went numb. Before age twenty-one…? That was…gods, that was soon.
Nyktos stepped forward, partly blocking me. “That’s not going to happen.”
“You may be a Primal,”—Holland’s attention shifted to him—“but you are not a Fate.”
“Fate can go fuck itself,” Nyktos growled. His skin had thinned, revealing the swirling shadows underneath.
“If only.” Holland’s smile was faint, clearly unbothered by the storm brewing within Nyktos. “Death always finds you, one way or another.” His focus had returned to me. “By the hands of a god or a misinformed mortal. By Kolis himself, and even by Death.”
I stilled, my heart lurching.
“What?” Nyktos snarled.
“There are many different threads,” Penellaphe said softly, looking up at Nyktos. A great sadness had settled into her features. “Many different ways her death could come at your hands. But this one.” She lifted a finger, nearly touching one of the shimmering strands—a thread that appeared to have broken off into another shorter thread. “This was not intentional.”
“What are you talking about?” Nyktos demanded.
“She has your blood in her, doesn’t she?” she asked.
Nyktos went so still, I wasn’t sure he even breathed. My gaze darted between them. “I don’t have his blood. He hasn’t—” I sucked in a breath. The night Nyktos had fed from me. I’d bitten his thumb and drew blood. I’d tasted it. I saw the moment Nyktos remembered. I twisted toward Holland. “It was just a drop. Barely even that.”
“But it was enough,” Holland stated. “The ember of life in you is strong enough to cause you to have the symptoms of the Culling, but it wasn’t strong enough to push you into the change. The symptoms would’ve eased off, but not now. Not with the blood of a powerful Primal in you. You will go into the Culling.”
“No.” Nyktos shook his head, twists of eather swirling in his eyes. “She can’t. She’s not a godling. She’s mortal—”
“Mostly,” Penellaphe whispered. “Her body is mortal. As is her mind.” She looked at me, her eyes glistening. “But what has always been inside of you is Primal. It doesn’t matter that both of your parents were mortal. You were born with an ember of not one but two Primals inside you. That’s what will attempt to come out.”
“That can’t happen.” Nykt
os thrust a hand through his hair, dragging the strands back from his face. “There has to be a way to stop it.”
“There isn’t.” I gripped my knees as I looked between Holland and the goddess. “Is there? No special potion or deal to be made?”
Holland shook his head. “No. There are some things that not even the Primals can grant. This is one of them.”
“She won’t—” Nyktos cut himself off as he turned to me. I’d never seen him so pale, so horrified.
“This isn’t your fault.” I stood, surprised that my legs weren’t shaking. “I did it. You didn’t. And it’s not like you had any way of knowing that would happen.”
“So reckless. Impulsive,” Holland murmured.
A laugh choked me. “Yeah, well, you’ve always known that is my greatest flaw.”
“Or greatest strength,” Holland countered. “Your actions could’ve given whatever it was Eythos believed upon hearing the prophecy a chance to come to fruition.”
Both Nyktos and I stared at him. “What?”
“Look closer at this thread.” Penellaphe lifted a finger once more to the string that had broken off. “Look.”
Nyktos’ head lowered as he stared. At first, I saw nothing, but when I squinted… I saw it—the shadow of a thread, barely there and ever-changing in length, stretching farther than any of the other threads and then shrinking to the length of the others.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It’s an unexpected thread. Unpredictable. It is the unknown. The unwritten,” Penellaphe explained. “It is the one thing that not even the Fates can predict or control.” The corners of her lips turned up. “The only thing that can disrupt fate.”
“And what is that?” Nyktos asked, his hands closing into fists at his sides. “And how do I find it?”
“It can’t be found,” she said, and I was one second from screaming my frustration. “It can only be accepted.”
“You’re going to need to give us a little more detail,” Nyktos snapped.
“It’s love,” Holland answered. “Love is the one thing that not even fate can contend with.”
I blinked.
That was all I could do.
Nyktos appeared to be as dumbstruck as I was, unable to formulate a single response.
“Love is more powerful than fate.” Holland lowered his hand, and all but one thread disappeared. Only the broken one, and the shadow of an ever-changing string remained, glittering in the space between us. “Love is even more powerful than what courses through our veins, equally awe-inspiring and terrifying in its selfishness. It can extend a thread by sheer will, becoming that piece of pure magic that cannot be extinguished by biology, and it can snap a thread unexpectedly and prematurely.”
“What exactly are you saying?” I asked.
“Your body cannot withstand the Culling. Not without the sheer will of what is more powerful than fate and even death.” Holland looked to Nyktos. “Not without the love of the one who would aid her Ascension.”
What Aios had told me about the godlings and the Culling resurfaced. “You’re talking about the blood of a god. Saying that I would need the blood of a god who loves me?” I couldn’t believe I was even speaking the words.
“Not just a god. A Primal. And not just any Primal.” Penellaphe’s blue eyes fixed on Nyktos. “The blood of the Primal the ember belonged to—that and the pure will of love can unravel fate.”
Nyktos jerked back another step, the shadows churning around his legs, and I…I sat down again. Or fell down. Luckily, I landed on the edge of the dais. Heart twisting and squeezing, I watched Nyktos’ head slowly turn toward me. His eyes were as bright as the moon as he stared down at me, and I didn’t need his power to read emotions to know that he was horrified.
And I didn’t need to be a Fate to know that I truly would die.
Nyktos could never love me.
Even if I hadn’t planned to kill him. Nyktos was incapable of love. It was simply not in him. He knew that. I knew that.
“This isn’t fair,” I said hoarsely, angry at everything. “To do this to him.”
“To do this to me?” he rasped as silvery streaks of eather appeared in the shadows swirling around him. “This isn’t fair to you.”
“It’s not fair to either of you,” Penellaphe stated softly. “But life, fate, or love rarely is, is it?”
I wanted to punch the goddess for telling me what I already knew.
But I drew in a deep breath, briefly closing my eyes. There was a lot of information to digest—a lot of knowledge that was ultimately irrelevant and overshadowed by the fact that I would die, sooner rather than later—and painfully, too. Anger sparked in me again, and I latched onto it, holding it close. The burn of that was familiar and felt better than the sorrow and hopelessness.
“There is more,” Holland stated.
I laughed. It sounded strange. “Of course, there is.”
“You have had as many outcomes as you’ve had lives,” he told me.
“Many lives?” I repeated.
Holland nodded, and then the shimmery cords appeared once more. Dozens of them.
“What does that mean?” Nyktos’ gaze flicked from the strings to Holland. “Her soul has been reborn?”
Holland also stared at the strings. “Fate doesn’t know all because the actions of one can alter the course of fate. Just like she altered the course with a single drop of blood.” He looked up at Nyktos. “Just like your father altered fate, as did the Primal Keella, when they stopped a soul from entering the Shadowlands, leaving it to be born over and over.”
“You’re speaking of Sotoria,” I said, and he nodded. “What does that have to do with this?”
Holland’s gaze shifted to me. “You are a warrior, Seraphena. You always have been. Just like she learned to become.”
Tiny bumps rose all over my skin. “No.”
He shook his head. “You have had many names.”
“No,” I repeated.
“You have lived many lives,” he continued. “But it is that one, the first one, that Eythos remembered when he answered Roderick Mierel’s summons. He always remembered her.”
Nyktos had once again gone deathly still. “You’re not saying what I think you are.”
“I am.”
“Eythos could be considered impulsive by many, but he was wise,” Holland said, sadness creeping into his eyes. “He knew what would come of Kolis’s actions. Kolis was never meant to be the Primal of Life. Those powers and gifts could not remain in him. What he did was unnatural. Life cannot exist in that state. Eythos knew they would fade, and they have. That is why no Primals have been born. Why the lands in the mortal realm are beginning to die. Why no gods have risen in power. He knew that Kolis’s actions would be the end of both realms as we know them.”
“Your father wanted to keep you safe,” Penellaphe restated. “But he wanted to save the realms. He wanted to give the mortals and the gods a chance. He wanted to give you revenge,” she said, looking at me. I shuddered. “So, this is what he did. He hid the ember of life, where it could be safe and where it could grow in power until a new Primal was ready to be born—in the one being that could weaken his brother.”
“I can’t be her. There’s no way. I’m not Sotoria. I’m…” My words faded as the rest of what she’d said broke through.
A new Primal was ready to be born…
“‘Born of mortal flesh, a shadow in the ember,’” Nyktos repeated slowly, and then his chest rose in a sharp breath. “What Holland said about no gods rising in power is true. That hasn’t happened since my father placed the ember in your bloodline. But you did it.”
“I…I didn’t mean to,” I started. “But I think that’s the least of my concerns right now.”
“You’re right. That is the least of our concerns right now, but it is what that means.” Nyktos turned to the Fate. “Isn’t it? It’s her.”
Holland nodded. “All life—in both realms—has only continued to
come into creation because the Mierel bloodline carried that ember. Now, she carries the only ember of life in both realms. She is why life continues.” Holland’s eyes met mine and held. “If you were to die, there would be nothing but death in all the kingdoms and all the realms.”
The floor felt as if it were shifting beneath me. “That…that doesn’t make sense.”
“It does.” Slowly, Nyktos turned back. His gaze met mine, and he didn’t look away. He didn’t blink. “It’s you.” A sort of wonder filled his features, widening his eyes and parting his lips. “You are the heir to the lands and seas, skies and realms. A Queen instead of a King. You are the Primal of Life.”
Coming March 15, 2022
THE WAR OF TWO QUEENS
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout
comes book four in her Blood and Ash series.
War is only the beginning…
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Discover The Blood and Ash Series
by Jennifer L. Armentrout
From Blood and Ash
Book One
Available in hardcover, e-book, and trade paperback.
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Captivating and action-packed, From Blood and Ash is a sexy, addictive, and unexpected fantasy perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas and Laura Thalassa.
A Maiden…
Chosen from birth to usher in a new era, Poppy’s life has never been her own. The life of the Maiden is solitary. Never to be touched. Never to be looked upon. Never to be spoken to. Never to experience pleasure. Waiting for the day of her Ascension, she would rather be with the guards, fighting back the evil that took her family, than preparing to be found worthy by the gods. But the choice has never been hers.
A Duty…
The entire kingdom’s future rests on Poppy’s shoulders, something she’s not even quite sure she wants for herself. Because a Maiden has a heart. And a soul. And longing. And when Hawke, a golden-eyed guard honor bound to ensure her Ascension, enters her life, destiny and duty become tangled with desire and need. He incites her anger, makes her question everything she believes in, and tempts her with the forbidden.
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