word that may have been translated ten times over through the centuries, therefore changing. Again, minutely, but the word mortal and immortal in any language is very similar, enough that a scribe or a monk, half-starved and hiding in near darkness, might confuse the two.”
“Then how do I know any of it is real?”
The others went still, forks poised over their plates.
It was the first time she’d ever allowed herself to question aloud the prophecy, but the words had been loaded on her tongue for weeks.
Bell tucked a strand of his curly black hair behind his ear. “Perhaps if you explained how the prophecy originated in the first place, we could better understand it.”
Xandrian swept a longing glance over his fruit, sighed, and pushed the plate away. “Most people think the prophecy came from Freya herself, but it first originated from Varyssian’s most trusted blood augur. Most of the original foundation of the prophecy came from the augur. It was because of what this augur told Freya about your pivotal role in the future, along with Freya’s desire for a true child, that convinced her to die so that you could live.”
Haven’s throat went dry, as it did every time there was mention of her mother’s sacrifice.
“Most of the actual texts were recorded before she was transmuted into stone. First on sacred tablets that were broken and hidden and then, years later, on paper. But after she was awoken to have you, before she died, some claim she added more to the prophecy.”
“And where are those texts?”
“Not texts. Paintings. In her final days before she gave birth, she created a series of three paintings. No one knows why. If those paintings were simply an outlet for her madness after being asleep for so long, or a distraction during the first pains of labor, or . . . if they were part of the prophecy itself.”
An ache of longing welled inside her heart. Painted—her mother painted. “Where are they now?”
“Their existence caused such a rift in the order that they were eventually slated for destruction. The first painting was destroyed, but before the other two suffered the same fate, they were stolen.”
Haven took a long sip of her pomegranate juice to hide the sudden, overwhelming relief. Just the idea that something her mother created, something tangible and unique as a painting, existed made her feel lightheaded. “Stolen? Who? Why?”
“The who we don’t know. The why is . . . complicated. There are rumors, but nothing concrete.”
Haven lifted an eyebrow. “Rumors? Such as?”
“Such as, the paintings held a secret.”
“A secret?” Her pulse quickened. Why couldn’t he just spit it out already? “To what?”
“To immortality. Or, rather,” Xandrian clarified as he stabbed a fig with his fork and held it up for inspection, “the secret to obtaining immortality for those not blessed with it.”
Immortality for mortals.
Whatever Haven was expecting, it wasn’t that. And yet, the moment the words spilled from his lips, everything seemed to click into place. The problem she’d been turning over in her mind trying to solve suddenly had a solution.
Her mother knew Haven would be born mortal, just as she knew she would have to become immortal.
“She painted them for me,” Haven murmured.
Surai flicked Xandrian a dark glare before turning to Haven. “We do not know what the paintings really mean or where they are, or even if they still exist. Putting all our hopes into a rumor—no, the hint of a rumor—can only lead to disappointment.”
Of course Surai was being logical and cautious. And yet the idea of artwork created by Haven’s mother with instructions on how to become immortal seemed too fortuitous to overlook.
“Bell,” she said, talking quickly, “have you ever heard of such paintings?”
If there was anything about the secret to immortality in the history books, Bell would have surely found it.
She tried to stifle her disappointment as he shook his head. “Never. Not a single passage in any book I’ve ever read. And if such a thing existed, immortality for mortals, it would be mentioned somewhere.”
Runes, he was right. If King Horace or any of the other lords had stumbled upon even the tiniest inkling immortality was possible, they would have traded their entire kingdoms for the chance to hunt it down.
Surai couldn’t hide the concern behind her soft smile as she said, “Immortality is beyond the scope of magick, Soror. If such a thing existed, undoubtedly it would have been used by now.”
“Delphine?” Haven asked, wishing Stolas were here. With his wealth of knowledge