A Discovery of Secrets and Fate (Chronicles of the Stone Veil #2) - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,6
curiously.
“In another realm, of course,” Carrick replies.
“Created by a stone?” Because I’ve been fascinated by the concept of there being alternate realities or dimensions or realms or whatever they’re called layered right upon us. A meteor that crashed to Earth—and was hacked away by plunderers—provided the magic to create these realms.
“Not created by a stone,” he replies, and I’m shocked. I thought the stones that were chipped away from the meteor was the basis of all things otherworldly. “The gods themselves have infinite powers, far greater than the meteor that came to earth. They live where they want to live, the gateway to them only accessible if they want to be found. And remember, they’ve been around since the dawn of time. Long before the meteor crashed to earth.”
I take my teacup in hand, swallowing another sip as I absorb this information.
Carrick shifts, leaning back in his chair. He steeples his fingers in front of his face, his expression somber. “They advised me that you are an integral part to thwarting the prophecy and have commanded I help you.”
Once again, I go dizzy and my teacup shakes so much a little sloshes onto my lap. I put it back on his desk, unworried by the ring it will leave. “You’re sure I’m a part of stopping the prophecy?”
Carrick glances briefly at Zaid, who has remained quiet this entire time. “According to the gods you are.”
My throat feels parched, my head starting to ache. “And what exactly is this prophecy?
“They didn’t tell me,” he says, something he’s told me before. I think he understands I might need that reiterated a time or two.
I’m offended, though. “Well, why not? They want it thwarted, why can’t they tell us how to do it?”
Carrick’s hands lower to the armrests of his chair. “Because they’re the ones who created it.”
“They created it? Knowing it would be damaging and dangerous, and now they want us to fix it? Is this a game to them?”
The laugh that comes out of Carrick is mirthless and bitter. “That’s exactly what it is. A game to them. This prophecy was probably created eons ago by The Council, set loose to occur at a certain time, and they forgot about it. Most likely keeping entertained by other prophecies that were letting loose somewhere else in the universe. They do it to amuse themselves, for the most part.”
“For the most part?” I press.
“Some of the gods use these as teaching or growth tools. Sometimes to just an individual, sometimes to humanity itself.”
“That’s preposterous,” I sputter.
“On that, I’d agree,” he replies flatly. “But here we are, and you’re destined to be a part of stopping it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this a month ago when you learned about it?” I ask, and I hate that my voice sounds small and hurt. Because I should have no expectation that Carrick cares one whit about me.
Something flickers in Carrick’s eyes, but I dare not even consider it to be guilt. I’ve learned the man is sorry for none of his actions. “I wasn’t sure you could handle it a month ago. You’d just found out about daemons and fae. I also didn’t know what the prophecy was or when it would be. I was hoping to divine more information to help break the news to you more gently. Take your pick—those reasons are all true.”
“So, when we went to see Echo and Stan, you weren’t trying to learn about my abilities, you were trying to learn about this prophecy?” I ask, the accusation in my tone crystal clear because he was using me.
“No,” he replies emphatically. “I was trying to learn about both because your abilities are tied to this prophecy. They go hand in hand. I’m convinced.”
“What does The Council say about my abilities? Surely, they know, since I’m assuming they had a hand in creating them? And surely they had a hand in changing Fallon to a Dark Fae?”
“The Council won’t help. We’re on our own.”
This doesn’t surprise me. Especially not if they’re beings who get entertainment value over what they’ve done to me and my life.
My hands seem steadier, so I take the teacup and lift it to my mouth to drain it. It’s merely lukewarm now. Before I can set it down, Zaid leans forward to take the pot to refill it for me, but I shake my head. Instead, he reaches out and takes the empty cup, holding it in his hand.