by Angie Fox
Oh no. “We could have less than twenty-four hours.”
Galen’s grip tightened on my waist. “Have faith.”
“Why?” I asked, sick and tired and, well—done with it. “Why should I trust anything these people do?”
He shook his head. “Not in them,” he pressed, “in me. In us.”
How could he say that? I wasn’t ready for this kind of leap. “I’m a doctor, Galen. I need to see things.” Or at least be able to prove them, to know them. This went against everything I thought I knew.
He tipped my chin to face him. “You will do this.” He swore under his breath. “I believe it. Why can’t you?”
Because I was a nobody. I wasn’t the first in my class. I wasn’t the smartest or the bravest. Sure, I believed in peace. But when was that ever enough?
I fisted my hands in my lap. “I want to make a difference, Galen. I do. But I just can’t believe in it like you.”
“Nobody has to have faith all the time. That’s impossible.” The sincerity in his words blew me away. “When the time is right, you’ll understand what needs to happen.”
I swallowed hard, overcome with the enormity of it. At the same time, I knew I’d do everything I could to stop the tragedy that was about to happen. “Okay.” I’d stand up for what was right. I knew that much about myself.
I would protect these people. I would make a difference.
I’d even die if I had to.
The armies of the gods would not sell me, my friends, my colleagues into hell.
The mess tent crowd grew louder, and I focused back on the television to see the oracles emerging from the cave. Cheers erupted all around us as I stared at Galen.
This was it. I slapped a hand down on Galen’s thigh. “They’re coming out with a verdict.”
He grinned like he was the one who’d done it. “We can do this.”
We can do it. His words stayed with me.
“I’m BeeBee Connor, reporting live from the Oracle of the Gods. The oracles are about to announce the third prophecy.” She pursed her lips, her green eyes sparkling.
Oh, come on.
“My sources say they have indeed transcribed the oracle in blood onto the living rock of the cave behind me.” She pointed as if we didn’t know where the blasted cave was. “And here comes Li-Hua.”
I leaned closer, despite myself.
“She’s the leader of the group.” The camera panned in on Li-Hua as she squatted at the edge of the cliff face, wearing what appeared to be a bloodstained sack. Her straight black hair tangled around her face.
My fingers tightened on Galen’s leg.
The oracle let out a guttural moan, her lips moving. I could feel my palms go clammy.
BeeBee Conner whizzed up to the oracle, microphone out. “Could you say that again?” she asked.
Galen pulled me closer.
Li-Hua gazed into the camera, her eyes sunken and ringed with dark shadows. “As armies rage,” she rasped, “the lifesaver will fall in love.”
I about choked. In love?
I wasn’t ready for that. I mean, yes, he lit me up. He made me laugh. He was strong and brave and handsome and the most intriguing man I’d ever met. I could be myself with him in a way I never could with anybody else I’d met in years.
But love?
He’d seen into my soul on the day we’d met. He knew me in a way no one else ever would. And he accepted me for who I was.
I’d also seen him, the real him, that day. The hero who gave his all for others and asked nothing for himself. The man who had never been loved.
Oh my God. I did. I loved him.
The oracle hissed out a breath. “And after, she will find new peace as he finds death.”
My heart slammed in my chest. “What did she just say?”
It was cruel and twisted and unfair—exactly like the gods.
Galen gave no reaction. He simply sat rigid, like the soldier he was.
He couldn’t be considering…
“You’re not going to die,” I vowed. There had to be another way.
”Shhh…” Shirley elbowed me.
Galen shook his head. “Petra, I—”
“I’m not going to kill you,” I hissed. My love wouldn’t kill him, either. I wouldn’t let it.
There had to be a loophole, a way out. For starters, I simply wouldn’t feel it.
I’d turn it off. I’d shut it down. This prophecy—this farce—was against everything I stood for. I didn’t kill people; I saved people. And Galen wasn’t just any person to me. He was the man who’d saved me in more ways than one. Now I’d save him.
But if I saved him, the armies would keep advancing.
He turned to me slowly. “I’m a soldier.”
“I don’t care.” Fear trammeled through me. I was prepared to make the final sacrifice. I would be perfectly willing to die in order to save the people in this camp and countless other mortals. Why couldn’t it be me?
He gave me a gentle, tight-lipped smile. “I do what’s right. I fight. I die so others don’t have to.”
“I’m not going to kill you. There has to be another way.” But as my mind scrambled to find one, I knew there was no hope.
It felt like a joke. A sick, sick joke.
He looked me straight in the eye. “It didn’t say you were the one who had to kill me,” he said, as if that made a difference.
I couldn’t believe we were discussing this. “That’s not the point.”
Galen—damn the man—was as stubborn as a rock. “It’s not up to us.”
It had to be. My mind swam as I fought back rising panic. “I don’t know what to do.” It didn’t make sense. It was so unfair.
So wrong.
He watched me, his expression open. Vulnerable. “Hey,” he said, taking my hand. “If it makes any difference, I have to tell you, it feels really good to be loved.”
His father had been busy fighting a war. His mother had abandoned him.
“Galen, I—” How did he know? How did anyone know when I’d just realized it myself?
I needed to tell him officially, to say it out loud. But how could I, knowing it would kill him? The back of my eyes burned hot. He was making it really hard to be stoic about this.
“Thanks for giving me that,” he said, drawing a lock of hair out of my eyes. “For the record, I think I fell in love with you the minute I saw into your soul.”
Then he kissed me.
His kiss was sweet and warm and wonderful and everything a kiss should be. His kiss was right. Like coming home.
He loved me. And I loved him.
And that meant he was as good as dead.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was too much. I had to get out of there. I broke the kiss and took one step back from Galen, then another.
I had to get my head on straight. I needed to think.
I needed to figure out a way to save him before he did something crazy—like get himself killed.
Fear welled up inside me, and I dashed for the exit, pushing through the mass of bodies.
They were oblivious, talking a mile a minute, blocking the aisles with their animated chatter.
“Hey, Petra.” Rodger grabbed my arm not five feet from the door. I hadn’t seen him. I’d been too focused on the darkness outside. “What do you think?” Rodger beamed, and it took me a second to remember he was talking to me. “Isn’t this fantastic? Do you know what this means?”
I stared at him. “No.” I didn’t know what any of it meant anymore.
Only that this prophecy was no cause for celebration. It was wrong and degrading and tragic. Galen deserved to love, and he shouldn’t be killed over it.
But Rodger couldn’t stop smiling. “Aw, come on.” He clapped me on the arm. “I know PNN is a little crazy. But if this prophecy comes true, I get to see my kids again. I can go home.”
“That’s right,” I managed to choke out. If this awful charade actually played out, soldiers like Rodger woul
d get to be with their families again. It was the one thing he lived for down here, his only hope in the middle of this barren wasteland.
I didn’t want to have to be responsible for the souls of thousands of innocent people. If I didn’t stop this, I was banishing soldiers like Rodger to hell for all eternity.
He’d never see Mary Ann and the kids again—not even when they were all dead.
I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t do that to anyone.
There had to be a different way.
A third option.
A way to satisfy the gods and save Galen’s life.
“Galen!” Rodger waved over the crowd.
“I gotta go,” I said, ducking away.
“What’d I say?” Rodger called after me as I dashed out into the night. The cool air cleared my head.
Think.
They’d check my hutch first, so I went the opposite way, past the motor pool and through the cemetery.
I was used to deciding between two bad options—which wounded soldier needed to be on the table first and which would wait for care. Whether to leave my family for good or try to explain I was part fae.
Whether to doom Galen or damn every mortal in camp.
There had to be another way.
And so I ran. I kept running until I saw the red lantern burning outside Father McArio’s hutch.
I stopped, out of breath. Hands on my hips, I turned to look at the path behind me. Shadowy hulks of machines littered the minefield.
Amazing. I’d made it through without tripping any of the booby traps.
I sniffed and wiped my nose and eyes on my sleeve.
God, why was I here? For all I knew, Father McArio was back in the mess tent. And if he wasn’t, what would I say to him?
How would I explain it? Galen was a good man. He was the reason I’d gotten so far. He’d pushed me as I fought him. He’d let me rile against him. He’d saved me from the Shrouds in the desert. I wouldn’t be here, doing this, if it weren’t for him. We had to find a way to save him.
A collar jingled, and pretty soon I had a hellhound jumping on my leg. He yipped, his red eyes glowing in the night. I hesitated for a split second, but after what I’d been through, hell, who was I to judge?
“Hey, Fitz,” I said, reaching down to pet his velvety head. I melted a little when he tried to press his entire body against my hand. “Oh, come here,” I said, picking him up and just holding him for a moment. He wriggled like a piglet, but I didn’t care. He was soft and warm, his fur stubbly against my cheek.
“I see you found Fitz,” Father called, his lantern bobbing as he ambled down the path.
“More like he found me.” I swallowed and shoved some of the hair out of my face. I was a mess.
Father saw, and his expression softened. “Come on inside.”
Once we made it into the father’s hutch, Fitz was eager to attack a table leg. I sat on a camp chair. Father hung his lantern and, calm as ever, took the chair across from me. He didn’t press. He simply waited.
Thousands of thoughts and emotions collided, but I couldn’t get a handle on them. I couldn’t force the words out. It left me feeling turned-around, helpless.
It was too much to take. Impossible to explain.
Father placed a hand on my knee. “Start from the beginning.”
I nodded and worked to pull myself together. It was almost as if speaking out loud would make it real.
I wanted out. I needed a do-over. Whatever I did to bring us to this point, I wanted to take back. Destroy it. Burn it. Scatter the ashes and hide.
But there was nowhere to run anymore. I was trapped, with this knowledge, and love, and fear eating a hole inside me.
I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. Before it slipped away, I said, “Galen told me about the Mountain of Flames—” I swallowed “—how the new gods will make a deal with the lords of the underworld and sell us out before they risk losing it.”
I glanced up to find Father leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
My head pounded and my body ached. I closed my eyes tight. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to be the one who changed this good man’s view of the world forever. Father believed in something more for every single person in this camp, something better. And now I got to shatter his illusions, tear at that belief, hurt him while he tried to help me.
But there was no other way. He deserved to know the truth. He’d earned my candor. And maybe, just maybe, he’d help me figure out a way out of this.
I explained to him about the underworld gods and their offer to back the army that delivered the souls of its mortal soldiers and staff. As I told him, I still couldn’t imagine any creature—god or not—willingly brutalizing another for all eternity. Hate rose in my belly.
They’d gladly send someone like Father McArio to hell.
His eyes widened as he grasped the enormity of it, the complete and utter wrongness. I laid it in his lap, watched him shrink into himself as the worry lines on his face deepened and his fingers instinctively found the silver cross he wore around his neck.
The old gods would damn us in a second. The new gods vowed to destroy us before the old gods could use us. They were playing chicken with our very souls. “The armies are attacking right now.”
Father gasped and began to cough. I rose to help him, but he waved me away. “But the prophecy,” he choked.
Acid crawled up the back of my throat. The prophecy. If I never heard that word again, it would be too soon.
How could he possibly understand?
Father watched me expectantly. Oh God. He actually had hope.
“Petra?”
The back of my throat tightened as I held back a sob. This was so impossible.
Say it. Just say it.
“ ‘As armies rage, the lifesaver will fall in love. Then’ ”—I forced myself to finish—“ ‘she will find new peace as he finds death.’ ”
Father leaned back. “I see.”
No, he didn’t. I didn’t even understand.
“Do you love him?” Father asked gently.
“Yes,” I admitted. “But I can’t. How can I do that to him?” Give him the love it seemed he’d been craving all his life and then doom him for it. Every fiber of my being said no.
“Love is a powerful force,” Father explained. “It’s not something you can control.”
“You know how the gods operate,” I prodded the good father. “You’re a thinker, and you deal with all kinds of beings, mortal and immortal. You have to help me think of a loophole, a way out of this.”
“The gods do like to play tricks.” Father nodded. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “They wouldn’t appreciate you pulling one over on them.”
I didn’t care. “It’s our only option.”
He nodded in agreement. “Tell me everything you know.”
I did. I told him the entire story.
“I mean, maybe we can…” What? Run? Hide? I’d already triggered the prophecy. There was absolutely no way around the gods.
“I’m thinking,” Father said, his hands clasped in front of him, his expression grave. “Tell me. How does Galen feel about this?”
“That’s what makes it worse. He’s willing to die.” Ready to sacrifice.
I stared at the red lantern above Father’s head as the flame flickered and danced. Galen was so willing to give, but me? No. Maybe it was because I’d had so little for so long. I thought I’d learned to live without comfort, affection. Love.
But at least I’d had it in my life.
Now I felt like a part of me was being ripped out whole. I’d never be the same again.
He’d die in glory and I’d be alone. Always alone.
I knew it was selfish and I knew it was wrong, but what about me? Bit by bit, he’d cracked open my defenses. He’d slipped past the barriers that had kept so many others out.
&nbs
p; He came to me. He saw the real me. He’d wound his way into my heart, and now he was going to march off into the sunset. His death would kill me, too. There would be nothing left whole and good anymore.
I was tired of fighting. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t either. Sometimes, there is no good choice.” Father placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Me too. I was sick as hell of people I loved being noble and dying. I knew I was supposed to applaud them, but the selfish, lonely, scared part of my being wanted to ask: What about me?
What about the person who gets left behind?
“I’m not strong enough for this.” I’d survived through blood and guts and war, but I was at my limit. “I can’t take it.”
Father touched my shoulder. “It’s the nature of sacrifice. To be willing to suffer for what you know is right. It applies to the one who leaves, and maybe even more to those left behind.”
It wasn’t fair.
I should have already known that nothing about war was fair.
“If there’s a way out, you’ll find it,” he assured me. “Have faith, Petra,” he added with utter conviction.
“You realize who you’re talking to.” I didn’t know how he did it, how he believed so fervently.
Father’s eyes flicked to the ground then back at me. “I’m sorry this had to happen,” he said. “I had the highest hopes for you two.”
I nodded, lips pressed together. “So did I.”
I still didn’t know what to think as I said my goodbyes to Father McArio. Nothing was clear. My world would never be the same. It hurt more than I could have ever imagined.
Father lingered by the door. “I’d really rather you stayed here.”
“No.” I needed to go. I didn’t want to talk anymore.
I didn’t know what I wanted.
Father nodded. “Take this,” he said, handing me one of the lanterns he’d made.
“Thanks.” It was a whimsical piece, welded from scrap parts into the shape of a star. Somehow it only made me feel bleaker and more alone. I held it out in front of me as I trudged down the path toward the minefield. A flame burned from the center, and tiny holes all around gave off their own flickering light.