Chapter 42
TIME OF NEED
IMOGEN TOOK A MOMENT TO process Mender Vulgren’s words.
Her mind had been so distracted over the past few days with preparations, contingency plans, and pervasive worry that she felt simultaneously depleted and overstimulated.
Now that plans for their escape from this wretched city had been set into motion, her subconscious had difficulty understanding that she still had to be here and act as if nothing had changed.
“Apologies, what did you say?”
Vulgren’s attention sharpened. “Perhaps I shall oversee things myself, dearest. You seem…overextended.”
Imogen straightened, pulling herself together.
“That is not necessary, Vul—Mender. I am perfectly capable.” Capable of what exactly?
She couldn’t remember. This lack of awareness was unlike her.
Her attentiveness to her surroundings was like a warrior’s armor.
Without it, she felt exposed, vulnerable.
And within the bowels of this stone Stronghold, any measure of vulnerability gave lurking dangers a perilous advantage.
Vulgren assessed her a moment longer and nodded.
“Very well. Our youngest mother is ready. Fertile as the Goddess’s own womb.
I checked her myself this morning.” Vulgren’s long spider leg fingers twitched.
“You will deliver her to the ceremonial chamber today. I expect you to be present for the servicing, to comfort her during her time of need, yes?”
Imogen stared stupidly, fixating on Vulgren’s eerie, pale eyes.
Then her stomach bottomed out. Railah. Fucking gods.
She’d completely forgotten about the youngest Fate’s cycle.
The other Fates had willingly taken the infertility capsules she’d given them.
She’d meant to manipulate Railah’s compliance, but had entirely neglected to do so.
And now she was fertile? How? How could she be so irresponsible?
Imogen fisted her hands behind her elder vestments to stop their shaking. “Yes.”
Vulgren smiled broadly, and the expression made Imogen’s insides writhe. “Very good, dearest. I have business with our queen, but I hope to return for the recovery. Poor timing, if I dare say,” he added, smile slipping. “I should have very much liked to be here for the special moment.”
“The queen’s need surely supersedes that of a lowly servant,” Imogen forced out in an even tone.
“Do not hurry back unnecessarily.” In fact, Vulgren, don’t come back at all.
If only the gods bestowed such blessings.
Lately, it seemed all they did was curse her with ill fortune. “I will send word if I must.”
Vulgren beamed, then departed, leaving Imogen shaking in the hall to face an oncoming disaster she had no idea how to avoid.
Twenty minutes later, Imogen stood before the door of what Vulgren called the ceremonial chamber and couldn’t bring herself to go inside.
The last time she’d been in this room, she’d been with Karrick.
Now she and Karrick would be forced to enter it again, but this time, they wouldn’t be alone. This time, she’d be a witness.
“Elder?” The maidservant who accompanied her peered up with hesitant curiosity.
Prestyn Gore stood to the side of the door, his stern face unreadable but for the flicker of tension above his brow.
Of course, he would notice her hesitation.
Imogen worried that lately he’d been watching her too closely.
Ever since their encounter outside the temple and the horror of seeing Mender Edmore hanging from that wooden star, the young lieutenant had shadowed her every move.
Imogen hadn’t been able to stop herself from inquiring about the prisoner’s fate.
Blessedly, he’d been found dead the next morning.
Someone had pierced Edmore’s heart with a well-placed arrow.
The crown saw the act as that of a citizen outraged by the Cozened’s presence within Asteros.
Imogen saw it as an act of mercy. Either way, when she’d mentioned it to Prestyn, he’d been reluctant to offer information, and she had more sense than to pry.
The only thing he’d said was that the shooter remained unidentified.
Imogen hoped they stayed that way.
“Elder Imogen?”
She looked over at the maidservant. Shook herself. “Please go in. See that the room is adequately prepared for a…”
A thing from my nightmares.
Imogen cleared her throat. “…for the servicing.”
The maidservant bobbed a curtsy and did as she was bidden.
When the door opened, Imogen dropped her gaze to the amethyst lapels of her vestments and smoothed her fingers over the gold stitching. She didn’t look up again until the door had firmly shut once more. When she did, Lieutenant Gore’s probing stare was waiting.
“Is something bothering you, Lieutenant?”
“I’m only curious as to why you did not inspect the chamber yourself, Elder.”
Again, Imogen collected herself, intentionally icing her tone. “Last I checked, Lieutenant, your purpose was to ensure my safety. Not to offer unwelcome curiosities.”
Prestyn’s warm brown eyes deadened, but not before Imogen caught the flash of hurt in them. The sticky slip of guilt dripped immediately over her conscience. “Apologies, Elder,” he said, voice as stony as his facade. “My mistake.”
Imogen sighed and turned back down the hall. After a few paces, she heard the lieutenant’s footfalls follow behind. She’d deal with the young man’s wounded pride later. Right now, she had worse to face.
She found Railah in her assigned room, two maids attending her.
One slipped a silky robe the color of fractured sunlight over the Fate’s slender shoulders.
The material was sheer, making Railah’s naked body appear as though garbed only in the sun’s pale-yellow rays.
The second maidservant rubbed a wombwillow balm onto her bare skin.
The aroma hit Imogen like a blow to the head, and she momentarily forgot how to breathe.
Years ago, she’d been in a room like this one.
She’d donned the same delicate robe, had that balm massaged into her skin.
After Karrick, Imogen had come to enjoy the soft, floral scent of wombwillow.
It meant she’d see him, that they’d be together.
Now it made her ill.
“Elder!” Railah turned, smile radiant.
Imogen dipped her head in greeting, words lodged painfully in her throat.
“What a glorious day, Elder.” Railah’s hands rested over the flat plane of her lower abdomen. “Mender Vulgren says my womb has ripened. This vessel is ready to receive our Goddess’s blessing.”
Imogen tried not to vomit.
The shorter maid dropped into a curtsy. “This Fate has been prepared, Elder. She has received the ceremonial brew.” The tonic Vulgren concocted for all Fates to keep them from shifting during their servicing.
Imogen unhinged her jaw. “Very well. Let’s get this over with.”
She hadn’t lingered in Railah’s room after the maid’s announcement. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. The ceremonial chamber had been readied. Karrick would be escorted by his guard. It was unfortunate she hadn’t had an opportunity to see him before.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. Imogen could have seen him before going to Railah’s room.
She’d just been too much of a coward to face him.
She’d been too selfishly focused on her own agonized foreboding.
What was the point of torturing each other further?
They couldn’t do anything to change their immediate circumstances.
Perhaps it was better that he be caught off guard—less chance of him attempting something reckless and jeopardizing their plans.
Imogen clenched her jaw until her molars ached. She was so close to getting both of them out. This was just another scourge they had to endure. She’d fucking steel her spine and take it, just like she had with every other tragedy life threw at her.
She and Karrick had survived so much already. They would survive this, too.
Imogen strode down the hall at a brisk pace, Railah struggling to keep up.
The female had donned her heavy Fate’s cloak before leaving her room, thank the divine.
The midnight fabric concealed Railah’s supple body from passing guards.
Not that she would have cared if they saw every inch of her pale, pink flesh.
The young Fate didn’t even see her body as her own.
Imogen suspected feelings of immodesty were beyond her.
The gray stone walls of the Stronghold felt particularly cold, the sconces lighting their path doing nothing to warm the chill that settled into Imogen’s core. They approached the simple wooden door to the ceremonial chamber. Imogen stopped abruptly before it. Lieutenant Gore stood to one side.
Imogen reached past her personal guard and gripped the iron handle, wrenching the door open with more force than was necessary.
She looked into Railah’s flushed face, those wide cornflower irises sparkling with an anticipation that made bile rise in Imogen’s throat.
Gods above, she was sick of the persistent nausea that plagued her with every new misfortune. “Please go in,” Imogen instructed.
Railah peered beyond her into the dimly lit chamber and nodded. “Mender said you will accompany me, I hope?”
“Shortly,” Imogen bit out.
Railah bowed and entered the room.
Imogen shut the door, sealing Railah inside, and resisted the urge to lean her forehead against the wood.
“Elder,” Prestyn Gore said, voice low. “The male will be here shortly.”
The male. “I know. Please go, Lieutenant.”
“Will you join the Fate inside?”
Imogen met his stern umber eyes. If only she had the option not to. “I must.”
“Then I will stay,” Prestyn said with conviction. “I am to ensure your safety. I would guard you during the Fate’s duties.”
An unexpected lure of gratitude tugged at her weary bones. “That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. I haven’t taken Vulgren’s brew. I am not without my own defenses.” Never mind that Karrick would die before permitting any harm to befall her.