Marked Prince - Michelle M. Pillow Page 0,7
where there is no tree.”
A murmur of voices came from the crowd as people commented on the answer amongst themselves.
“I don’t understand,” the woman complained.
Fiora could have told the woman that she needed to get married first to have a husband, and that she couldn’t have a baby with a husband until that happened, and the man she was with was not going to marry her. She could have also told the woman that she would get pregnant, but that man would be married to someone else.
Fiora preferred being cryptic in her response.
“What—?” the mistress tried to protest.
“Next.” Taw cut off the woman’s second question.
“Who will win this year’s Galactic Crown?” The words slurred together into one long, continuous sound, lacking enunciation.
Fiora pictured a drunken man holding tight to a betting chip as he stared at a viewing screen in a seedy ship casino. “Three gray eyes and forty brown will see a victory in black.”
“Three gray, forty brown,” the man repeated softly. “Three gray, forty brown.”
“Where is my grandmother’s heart?” asked a Slit’therne noble.
At the same time, another man announced, “This is a hoax. Anyone can make up riddles. I expected better of the Federation.”
Fiora was grateful that the doubting man didn’t ask her a question about his future. He didn’t have much of one. Timelines continued to come at her, bolder than before.
“Where is my grandmother’s heart?” the impatient Slit’therne demanded a second time. Aggression filled his words.
Fiora felt a shiver work over her body and forced her eyes to open. The Slit’therne were a snake-like race often found building their nests in boggy locales. The upper half of the man’s body was humanoid in basic shape, green-yellow scales covered his flesh, and his hands were webbed. A thick tail replaced what would have been humanoid legs.
“After the moon sets for the last time, you will journey to a tree, and there you will find the key to your victory,” Fiora told the Slit’therne. He wouldn’t like the answer, but that was too bad.
When it looked like the man would protest, Taw stepped forward in warning. The Slit’therne propelled himself backward on his tail.
Fiora wanted to scream. The harder they stared, the stronger their lives invaded her, shriveling pieces of her soul to make room. She glanced over the crowd, thinking with despair of how long it would take her to get through all of them.
It never ended.
“Next,” Taw said.
There was murmuring, but no one readily spoke.
“Next,” the guard repeated, lifting his arm toward a Lykan male to make an arbitrary choice amongst those watching.
The Lykan’s fur had been combed flat and fixed into place so that it barely moved. His voice was gruff as he commanded, “What of my wife?”
Fiora frowned and closed her eyes to concentrate. She opened them just as quickly. “You don’t have a wife.”
The Lykan stiffened, and she was sure his fur would have bristled if it could have moved. A tiny growl sounded in the back of his throat.
She held up her hands to stop his anger and closed her eyes to take a more in-depth look. The headache made it hard to think of a riddle. “I see a bride in your future. Two space years.”
He grunted and nodded, stepping back. She knew he’d be pleased by this news.
A new timeline surged to the forefront, bringing with it a blast of heat that prickled her nerves. Fiora inhaled sharply. She envisioned a man’s body ripping apart as a giant monster emerged from inside his flesh. The sound of screams echoed, and fires erupted all around her. The crowd did not react to the flames as the vision overlapped reality.
A man with reddish-orange skin and tufts of white fur on his face pushed his way to the front of the crowd. The mistress wanting a baby tried to take a second turn, but the new alien stopped her by grabbing the back of her arm and tugging her aside. The fiery images seemed to be coming from him, but he looked nothing like the monster in her vision. She didn’t recognize the alien creature.
Reaching behind him, he pulled a human woman forward as if she was the real reason that he’d put himself at the front of the gathering. Fiora didn’t recognize the woman. A tight dress hugged her generous curves, and her face looked as if it had been subjected to the inept laser of a second-tier MAPH surgeon. The Medical Alliance for Planetary Health had a monopoly on all things