The Rise of Fortune and Fury (Chronicles of the Stone Veil #5) - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,91

and Faere. She’ll lay it to waste with the Blood Stone.”

Deandra sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. It’s such a human move that I actually warm to her just a bit more. “I know Kymaris will do all that you say. But Nimeyah isn’t going to believe me.”

“She’ll believe me,” Carrick says staunchly as he stands from the table. “We’ll go to Faere together to tell her.”

“Now?” Deandra asks as she rises from her chair. I stand, too, wondering if I’m invited.

“Tomorrow,” Carrick clarifies, then slowly turns his gaze toward me. “I have some things I need to handle today.”

I swallow hard. He’s still just as mad as he was when he rescued me from those daemons.

“Tomorrow then,” Deandra says as she grabs her purse, glances my way, and gives a curt nod, bending distance so fluidly that she just blinks out of sight.

Carrick sighs and sinks back down into his chair, swiveling it toward me. Elbow propped on the armrest, he sets his chin in his palm to stare.

I decide to go on the offensive. “I know you’re mad at me for going to rescue Blain without you, but I don’t see why we need to hash it out. We accomplished our goal—”

“—only with my help,” he points out.

“—and I’m safe and sound.” I give him a determined look as I repeat slowly and with clear enunciation. “I am safe and sound. So let’s not fight about it.”

“Not going to fight with you, Finley,” Carrick replies, but his tone causes me concern. It sounds fatigued. “I’d prefer you not rush off to do those things on your own, but I don’t own you.”

I study this man… my heart. My partner. Everything that is good in my life. I regard him critically because yes, he seems tired, and I know he can’t be. He’s a demi-god. He doesn’t get tired.

Scooting forward in my seat, I reach out and hold my hand palm up. A silent request that he place his hand in mine, and he does. “What’s wrong?”

Carrick shakes his head, causing a lock of hair to fall forward. He doesn’t want to share.

“What’s wrong?” I repeat, squeezing his hand.

His eyes hold mine for the longest time as he wars internally, deciding whether to share a burden with me. I don’t take offense that he might not think I can handle it. He knows my shoulders are strong, so I’m fine letting him be the partner who wants to care for and protect me.

“The Blood Stone,” he finally says softly. “It’s more powerful than I imagined.”

“You said she threw you through the wall.”

Carrick shakes his head again. “That was a mere flick of the wrist for her, so to speak. And Maddox and I both tried to block it.”

My eyes widen. “You mean your magic was ineffectual against it?”

“No,” he assures me, squeezing my hand. “It was a fast move she made, and we underestimated the gemstone’s power. Now that we know, we can counter her. But…”

His words trail off, and pain shadows over his features.

“But what?” I press.

“She’s at least as strong as I am,” he admits to me. “Which isn’t really a problem for me, but that means you will be going up against someone with the strength of a demi-god.”

A hard knot forms in the bottom of my stomach, and there’s a rolling sense of nausea. I knew Kymaris would be powerful. I knew I hardly stood a chance, but at least I thought there was a chance.

But how do I fight someone who has the indestructible power of a demi-god?

“Can she be killed?” I ask hesitantly.

“I don’t know,” Carrick replies gravely. “Micah grew immensely powerful using the Blood Stone and he became hard to kill. I think Kymaris is far more deft in her command of the stone. It’s possible she might have made herself immune from iron.”

“Then how can I stop her?” And I hate myself for the fact my tone is slightly fearful. Carrick picks up on it and tugs me out of my chair, pulling me right onto his lap to hold me tight.

“Thwarting the prophecy doesn’t mean killing her,” Carrick reminds me. “It only means stopping her from opening the veil. If she can’t be killed, she needs to be distracted. We need to kill the ritual in some way. That has to be our plan.”

“You know this means I’m going to die,” I say, laying my head on his shoulder.

That is said without any whine to my tone. No self-pity