Page 57 of This Cruel Fate

“I know.” Xolia furrowed her brows. “I didn’t know if I believed it at first either, that such a person could exist, but now I know.”

Adonis gave her a furtive look. She answered him with a slight nod. Maybe he didn’t believe, but he believed in her, and that would have to be enough.

“And what do you know?” Irvine asked. His face was still inscrutable.

“I was put on this earth to serve,” Xolia said, because it was true. Her happy ending wouldn’t be in living for herself, quietly tucked away in domestic comforts. Seven years of failing had proven that. She was made to make things right. She had to be the arm of justice where others reveled in injustice. “Ris needs help, someone to look up to. To shepherd them.” She echoed the words of the sermon, hoping that might instill some confidence in Irvine.

The neutral mask cracked, and he smiled. “I hope you are, sincerely. As I said, the church was removed from the fighting, but we were watching constantly. There’s only one way to know for sure.”

“And how is that?” Adonis asked. Xolia knew how much it had always irked him that there was nothing of the Selermine trials in any of the texts he had read.

Irvine’s smile widened. “I can’t say, it’s one of our most closely guarded secrets, though after Xolia’s test, I fear it will be a secret no longer.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“The test happens in front of the congregation,” Irvine explained. “With today’s technology and with this being such a historic event, someone will record it, no matter how much we might wish otherwise. You will be the last Selermine to be kept in the dark.”

“Or,” Xolia countered, “I could be the first to know what will be expected of me.”

“If you truly believe yourself to be the Selermine, you have nothing to fear,” Irvine responded, a hint of amusement bleeding through his even tone.

She couldn’t refute that. Nor did she want to admit to any lingering feelings of doubt she might be harboring about the whole ordeal. It was too important to back out.

“When will she go through the trial?” Adonis asked. Xolia wondered if she would need to tell Bridget about this. Probably. The woman had already started looking for every available opportunity to put Xolia in front of the public eye leading up to the announcement.

“Sel killed Lamina on the shortest day of the year. We are fortunate that that date falls two Sundays from today. Let it be then, to appease the spirit of Sel by uplifting a new mouthpiece on the day of their sacrifice.”

Two weeks. Xolia’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. Two weeks until she would go through whatever the church deemed appropriate for a Selermine trial. Three and a half weeks until the break of a new year, when she and Peter would stand side by side and announce her as the VC pick and would begin campaigning in earnest. In under a month Xolia would have little of her old life to cling to in the small moments of loneliness and doubt. She wanted Krista, wanted to hear her quiet reassurances and the way she could temper the warring emotions inside Xolia.

But what if Krista wouldn’t approve? She had been so adamant that Xolia only wanted a position in government because Silas had wanted it. Would she see this path as a regression on Xolia’s part? Xolia couldn’t go back to how she had been living before. She would rather die than sit in the dingy cubicles of the bureau and wonder what Rowan was doing on the third floor in her private office with windows. She couldn’t let Atlas do whatever he was planning. She couldn’t let him win.

“That will be fine,” Xolia said, her blood writhing under her skin. She somehow managed to stay in control enough to stop herself from feeling outwards to the other bodies in the room. “I’m ready now, and I’ll be ready then.”

“I know you will be,” Irvine said, standing up. “I will be honored to present you as our Selermine.” They shook hands, the gloves cool and soft under Xolia’s skin. She and Adonis were quiet, both contemplative, she guessed, as they made their way back to his car.

The entire drive home, she couldn’t tear herself away from her thoughts. Everything was happening all at once, and it was beautiful and terrifying. It was everything she dreamed, but not at all how she’d ever thought it would happen. Peter was sick. Atlas was impossible to read. All around her were other, more worldly and informed, political rivals. She understood Adonis more than ever, the feeling of being a renter in one’s own life. Her home wasn’t hers. Her money wasn’t hers. All these opportunities were gifted, and no matter how much she wanted to believe she was entitled to them, gifts could be revoked. Love could be revoked.

Adonis held the door to his apartment open for her, and she grabbed at his shirt collar, pulling his lips down to hers and crashing into him with teeth. She nipped at him and sucked on his bottom lip. He returned the kiss with equal passion, dragging his hands through her hair and pulling her body flush against his. He bit at her jaw and neck.

It was a fight. A taking of control. She pushed harder against him, all rough touches, and steadily led him to the bedroom. He vied for control, but not with the desperation of Xolia. He seemingly knew what she needed, how she needed to have this, because of course he would. He was her first kiss, her first relationship. He was the one who had seen through her complacent haze of mediocrity at the gala. He understood the only thing that would make her happy and didn’t judge her for it.

“Xolia,” he whispered into her hair as he opened the bedroom door with a hand behind his back. They pushed into the room, instinct taking them to the bed.

“Mine.” She put a hand on his flushed chest. “You’re mine.”

Hair in all directions and his eyes dilated to the point of being black, he nodded. “Yours.” They lost themselves in each other, Xolia clinging to the simple pleasure of touch. The immediate relief of control. The safety in knowing that she had an ally. She had opportunity, all springing from Adonis’s arms.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Xolia stood in the kitchen, her left palm splayed against the marble countertop, a knife in her right fist. She’d gone to Adonis’s apartment after another failed attempt to create water in the gym. He had assured her it would just take time, after all, no variants had probably managed to do this in over a thousand years. But he had. Xolia needed to catch up. Her hand wavered. Am I really going to do this?

She clenched her jaw. She raised the knife.

Sel, you just have to do it.

Right when she was about to let the knife swing downward, the trill of her phone broke that careful stream of concentration. She couldn’t stop from sighing, both her hands shaking even as she told herself she wasn’t affected by what she was trying to do. How Adonis had managed this day in and day out for months was a mystery. Still, she couldn’t deny that it had given him the desired results. If she could stop being so weak, she’d be able to manage it.

Flexing her left hand, she dropped the knife in an undignified clatter and grabbed her phone, swiping right to answer the unexpected caller.

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