Page 44 of This Cruel Fate

“Religion doesn’t have as much sway over people anymore. But surely, if the Rheathian church, the oldest remaining institution in the country, crowned a Selermine, variants would be likely to follow them,” Xolia mused. She tried to remember every word the priest had spoken to her, turning over his turns of phrase for any hidden meanings.

“That’s true,” Adonis said.

Xolia’s thoughts ran wild with possibilities. Hopes and fantasies. Hadn’t the priest told her they’d meet again? What if he meant something more by it? What if he wanted her to be something more? What if, what if?

“Do you think. . .” Xolia paused. What if this was her purpose? She wasn’t religious, but she could be. She could listen to Sel, and she could direct the country. Who else wanted a fair and equal Ris more than her or Peter? “How do you think they find them?”

Adonis shook his head, swerving out of his way to avoid hitting an elderly woman who was crossing the street. “I’m not sure.”

“I think we should figure it out.”

“Why?”

Xolia bit the inside of her cheek. “If FAR really is crumbling, and John Clemont is able to unite humans, we won’t stand a chance. I need to do everything I can to get Peter elected.”

“What are you saying?” Adonis whipped his head to look at her, and Xolia got the impression that he knew exactly what she was implying.

“What if it’s me?”

Adonis gaped at her. “Xolia. I don’t think it’s real.” He turned back to the steering wheel, his brows furrowed. “Though it doesn’t matter, I suppose, whether it’s real or not. Not if people believe it is. Maybe I could make another donation to the church.”

Xolia’s heart sank. It probably wasn’t real. What had gods ever done for anyone, anyway? But she wanted it to be real. She wanted to be special, truly special, like she had once believed herself to be. She wanted to be that girl again, the one who was unstoppable. “It’s a plan.”

“Good. This is good,” Adonis said. He pulled up in front of Xolia’s building, but rather than idling, he put the car into park. “If you want to come back to my apartment, you can.”

Xolia attempted a small smile. “Thank you, Adonis.” Do you really believe in me? Are we just using each other, or is this something more? “But there are some things I need to do here. Conversations I need to finish.”

Adonis’s jaw ticked. “You told me you broke up with him.”

“I did.” Xolia winced. Had she really? “But I just need to handle this first.”

“If we’re going to be. . .”—Adonis moved his mouth, but couldn’t seem to settle on the right word—“partners, then we need to trust each other.”

“I do,” Xolia said. Do I? She locked eyes with him. “Do you trust me, Adonis?”

A beat passed.

He nodded. Do you? Because she could, and because she wanted to, she kissed him. He responded immediately, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, pulling them even closer together. At the very least, she could trust in this. When he ended the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers. “Tell me what Peter says.”

“I will.”

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

With a final burning kiss, Xolia gathered up her bag and left the warm car. She waved back at Adonis, though his windows were too tinted to see if he returned the gesture, and she walked inside her building. Even though it had scarcely been twenty-four hours since she had been there last, she had the distinct feeling that she no longer belonged. The third-floor button didn’t work, forcing her to leave the elevator and go to the drafty stairwell.

Her dread only grew the closer she got to her door. Was Marshall home? Would they try to talk? Finally, the brass 3H on her door came into view. She shoved her hand into her pocket and withdrew her keys. All she had to do was unlock the door. Do it, she begged herself, but her arms didn’t want to cooperate.

Kicking at the door, she forced her limbs to listen to her, and she jammed the key into the lock. It turned, and in one swift movement, she opened the door. No Marshall. Everything looked the same as it had when she left. Nothing was out of place or touched. It was like stepping back in time.

Carefully, Xolia closed and locked the door behind her. Silence permeated the air, oppressive and heavy over her. “Hello?” she called out, mostly to break the quiet of the place.

No one answered. Xolia let out a sigh of relief, and she dropped her bag onto the kitchen counter. She took her phone from her pocket to check if Peter had messaged her. He had. Just once. Him asking to meet at the Presidential Palace the following day for lunch. Good. Xolia grabbed a glass from a cabinet and was about to turn on the faucet when the door handle turned.

Chapter Nineteen

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