Page 107 of The Stolen Throne
I’m afraid to ask. “What did she say?”
“She said that she bound his power to the second born.”
Bound his power.
Instead of surprise or panic, everything in me goes numb. Because it makes sense if I put it together with the words of the curse itself that I heard an echo of the first time Eidolon and I locked eyes.
Upon first glance, her soul shall be bound to his forever, so that good may balance evil as the goddesses will.
The difference is the wording. “Soul” versus “power.” Does that mean because our souls are bound, I can access his power? Or because his soul is bound to his power, which is now bound to me, that means I can—
I cut my thoughts off before I go in circles with this all night long.
Goddess, I am so tired of riddles.
Omma holds up her hands. “I know I’m guessing, but it’s better that we explore every option we know about.”
Which sounds like something I would say. I shift on my cushion. “No. It makes sense. We should talk to the others. See what they think.” I’m done with secrets. After Reven was attacked in the Shadowood, I promised myself no more. Not with my friends and allies.
Secrets are dangerous. I’ve learned this the hard way, but at least I’ve finally learned it.
“Is there anything else I should know that I don’t?”
After a long, searching pause, Omma shakes her head. “Turns out I didn’t know all that much.” Then her gaze shifts to fall on the amulet back around my neck and still hanging outside my clothing. “What’s your plan moving forward?”
I lay it out for her quickly.
After taking a second to mull it over, she gives a haughty sniff. “I’d say you should send me to one of the dominions to talk to a sovereign, but I think, given that the old queen of Aryd is well known to be dead, that wouldn’t be wise.”
“Probably not.” Now I’m picturing several sovereigns dying from shock. King Panqui of Tropikis is the oldest. I doubt his heart could take it.
She ignores my sarcastic muttering. “My power can’t help in any way,” she says more to herself than me. Then her mouth forms into a sly smile. “The zariphate.”
What now? “What about it?”
“Your sister is there, and I want to see for myself the state she’s in. More to the point, it sounds as if this Zariph Cainis needs someone…formidable…dealing with him.”
And there’s no one more formidable than Omma—both as herself and in full queen mode when she used to stand in for Grandmother. The man won’t stand a chance. I actually almost smile.
“I’ll have to get Pella to take you.” Or maybe Cain after he heals. He won’t be able to come with us to approach Trysolde anyway.
Omma shakes her head as she gets to her feet. “I’ll find them.”
How exactly does she think she’s going to do that? Even Cain had to have predetermined places to meet. I also stand up. “Um…”
She lifts a single imperious eyebrow. “What? You think I never bothered to learn about all of my people, including the Wanderers? I have ways to track them down.”
I pause, then make a face. “I really should stop being surprised about anything these days.”
She eyes me and can probably see right through to the scared little girl I still feel like around her. Actually, I feel like that most of the time. “I used to think that attitude of yours would get you discovered—or worse, killed.” She huffs a laugh. “Now I think it probably saved your life.” She looks for a second like she wants to reach out to me but doesn’t. “Don’t lose that.”
Then she makes her way up the stairs, where she pauses. “I’ll take care of the zariph and your people and your sister. You worry about the amulets.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Use what I’ve taught you. Do your duty. Never trust Eidolon.”
It’s almost exactly the last thing she said to me the night Grandmother died and Omma passed her torch to me. Only its sounds different this time. Like she cares.
Her gaze hardens. “Not even his Shadow.”
Reven.
