they’d even met Charity. She’d had the details perfect, even down to the blurry people to the right and left.
The whole idea was ludicrous. Charity leading Roger into battle? Charity deciding the victor? She’d only ever looked out for herself, and now she was supposed to stand at the head of an army of shifters and fae? Not likely.
The only thing that stopped her from discounting the whole thing was Vlad. It seemed inevitable that she would face him again in battle. And apparently Lucifer was after her, too. What she’d thought was another hallucination—her fighting demons in a beautiful field—had apparently happened. Devon had given her the highlights, and although he’d been strangely tight-lipped about the whole confrontation, she’d gotten the gist. Lucifer was trying to drag her down to the underworld for a meeting. Yeah, right. Now that she was actually lucid, she wouldn’t mind another crack at either of them.
Apparently, if her father and the Red Nutter could be believed, she’d get that chance. Though the First had seemed dismissive of the whole thing.
“The Red Prophet has defined your quest as life-altering. She is convinced it will affect us all, even if my mother questions the validity. If you complete it successfully…” His chest rose, and he beamed. That, she didn’t need any help interpreting. It meant he expected great things. “But if you do not, your right to the title Third Arcana of the Flush will be revoked, and you will be held in shame.”
“Right. So…no pressure,” she mumbled.
“None at all.” He smiled at her, not picking up on the sarcasm. “You have all of our people behind you. We will not let you fail.”
Devon squeezed her hand, and she lowered her suddenly burning face. She had no idea why that sentiment should embarrass her when it felt so good to hear.
“A proficiency in fighting is also required of any Arcana,” her father said. He raised his hands in triumph. “And you have already passed. That is exemplary for one so young. So far, your place is assured. There is just one more thing.”
“This is the sticky part,” Devon murmured, translating a silent message Charity hadn’t even noticed.
“Every person of status in our humble little village has a skill set to benefit the people as a whole. It is a skill set that sets an individual apart. That defines them.” Her father’s smile was gentle. “I know your skill set will be highly applauded.”
She frowned. “What skill set would that be?”
“That’s what he’s here to find out,” Devon whispered, taking a cup of tea from Kairi—the steeping and adding of random embellishments made pouring tea a sort of event.
Charity took her own cup, worry eating through her. “Well…I’ve always only excelled at fighting.”
“You’re an excellent student,” Devon said. “You made straight A’s this last semester.”
“Oh, that is something. A scholar.” The Second sipped his tea, his eyebrows pinched. Charity didn’t need translating to know that he was not overly ecstatic at the prospect.
She searched her brain for anything domestic or natural she did, since that seemed to be what these people were into. Flowers and painting and needlepoint—none of her schooling had ever prepared her for this stuff. Metal shop, wood shop, sewing—those courses had all been canceled due to lack of funding. At college, she was studying chemical engineering with a minor in computer science, something that would have set her up for lots of job opportunities with good paychecks in the Brink, but not something that could be applied in this setting. They probably didn’t even know what computers were.
“You’re an excellent cook,” Andy offered. “Something I am reminded of both because I’m hungry, and this place could use you. They don’t make plants taste nearly as good as you do, Charity. And the meat? A little ketchup, please. I need some flavor. Only, they don’t have ketchup!” Andy stilled. He dropped his head. “No offense.”
“They have people to cook. They don’t need—”
“Cooking, did you say?” The Second scrutinized her. “Yes, your mother did outstanding things in the kitchen, I remember. Why didn’t I think of it? Of course she would’ve passed on her mastery to her daughter, as my father passed his skill set on to me. Silly of me not to remember. Yes, that will do nicely. I was but a boy when our master culinary designer passed. We lost him early, sadly, and his excellence has not since been matched.”
“I mean, I’m all right.” Charity shrugged. “I’m sure I’m not…” But