Page 216 of Eldritch
“A death vessel for the goddess. It seems you were chosen to serve as her corporeal entity. Through you, she has power in our world.”
Frowning, I shook my head. “That’s where my blood magic comes from? Morsana?”
“Sweet child, it is not a simpleblood magicthat you possess. It is eldritch. Ancient. Yes, the power of a goddess.” Her finger traced the silvery lines of my scar almost longingly. “Some have attempted to steal the power of the gods. Very few are born with it.”
“I swear I didn’t steal it. I cut myself on the archway to The Eating Woods, and this just appeared.”
A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Of course you didn’t steal it, child. You were chosen.”
“Chosen for what?”
“To fulfill her promise.” She flipped the page of the book to another image, which showed men in the telling red robes of Vonkovyan clergy attacking the Lyverians. Blood spattered across the page as the Vonkovyan men attacked, shooting the Lyverian men with their rifles and dragging the women away. My brows pulled together, watching the brutality come to life across the page.
The violence I’d always suspected.
My own father’s violence.
The men who’d been slain sat up. They rose from the ground, from the red pools that surrounded them, pale but somehow stronger, the way their muscles had been painted with far more definition.
“Were they immortal?” I ran my finger over one of the men, and he turned toward me. A breath shot out of me as I stared back at his silver eyes.
“They were Hollowyns. In the early days of man, Magekae, the god of creation, bestowed immortality upon the mancers. And Morsana, the goddess of death, gifted the Corvi people with the ability to rise from the dead. In times of war and plague, our Hollowyns protected us.”
“They couldn’t become infected.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Very astute. However, the longer my ancestors remained in Vonkovya, our bloodline thinned.” Her lips flattened, brows tightening. “Particularly when our women were taken by the Vonkovyans. Our ability to raise our dead has waned in time. We’ve not been gifted the blessing of a Vasmora in nearly two millennia.”
I shook my head, my mind resisting the idea that a goddess would have chosen me—a clumsy mortal who lacked the ability to wield a knife properly, let alone ancient magic. “How? How was Ichosen?”
“Our fates are written the moment we are born. The gods cannot change that. Unless …” She paused, brow raised. “One’s fate is altered. The veil between what is and what will be is shattered.”
My skin prickled with the realization that crept over me like a cold shadow. “Could a single person alter one’s fate?”
“Our fates are strong and binding. They, too, would have to possess the power of a god to do so.”
Or the stubborn will of one, anyway. Was it possible that Zevander’s interference with my past had allowed Morsana to choose me as a vessel? “And, so, what is this promise that I’m to fulfill?”
“You will restore our bloodline.”
“Restore your bloodline?”
She turned the page to a different image. A woman who bore a striking resemblance to me, with pale skin, silver eyes, and long black hair. “For years, we thought my sister had been chosen. She resembled her so much.” She ran her palm over the image, and it sprang to life, just like the others.
The woman on the page mated with one of the men in black feathers, and her stomach grew, round and very obviously with child. Moments later, a child with silver eyes and black hair appeared on the page. Then another child. And another. Until there were at least a dozen children running across the page—all of whom boasted dark hair and silver eyes.
“These are the visions of a long-forgotten priestess. You bear the seed of our future. You will be mated to our strongest warrior, and the two of you will bring forth a new generation with Morsana’s blood running through them.”
A laugh tugged at the back of my throat, but I swallowed it back. “You’re telling me my fate is to be a baby-making vessel?”
“Your fate is to strengthen the next generation’s bloodline.”
“And if I refuse?”
Her face twisted with an indignant scowl, as if I’d insulted her with the question. “Why would you deny us?”
I didn’t dare speak the truth, for fear that she would refuse to help Zevander. That she would sense I was already in love with him and would sooner watch their bloodline fade to oblivion than choose another man over him. “I’ve seen a different fate.”
The tight furrow of her brows softened as her eyes widened. She reached across the table for my hand. “What is it? What has she shown you?”
