Page 34 of The Never List
I can be that. I can be different. I can be whatever they need me to be, in order to keep myself alive.
“The Athanry is dangerous,” Mirren says, finally answering my earlier question. “I wasn’t alive when the kings were turned, but I’ve…heard about it enough.” She shifts nervously. “The goddesses laid forth in their rules that the princes’ mate won’t gain any power beyond the responsibility of keeping them grounded to maintainthe balance between the four. I believe they wanted one, singular mate for their sons because of the stories of the goddesses being pitted against each other too often when they shared power with their own mates…but that could be nothing but speculation and rumor. Either way, becoming immortal goes against nature. It breaks all the rules of our bodies and minds. The kings survived, but it wasn’t easy.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes I think that’s why the previous potentials have rejected the princes early. The minute they decide the princes or their shot at the throne isn’t worth their life, they leave. They take their rise in nobility status andleave.”
I swallow hard. “Do you think them cowards?”
“Not at all,” she says. “Survival is the most primal instinct. They were smart. Realizing they’d never survive the Athanry is a show of intelligence. But the princes need someone who is not only intelligent but strong, brave, and passionate. Someone who isn’t afraid to check them if they get out of line. That takes more than love. It takes courage and a level of understanding between mates that I’ve never seen in my long life.” She shrugs as if she doesn’t believe she’ll ever witness that kind of connection.
And I can’t blame her. The way she’s describing it… Goddess, what have I gotten myself into?
But I also can’t deny the intensity inside me, screaming just as strongly to play this game. To get to know these princes who I haven’t stopped thinking about since last night. A foolish intrigue, for certain—one of those dangerous cravings Ivy likes to playfully chide me about—but I’ve always been at the mercy of my own sense of adventure.
“Any other questions?” Mirren asks. “We only have tenminutes.”
Filled with a confidence in my plan that is likely foolish, I shake my head.
“Good,” she says, reaching in her pocket and pulling out a small glass vial. “Drink this.”
I take the offered vial and examine the clear liquid inside. “What is it?”
Her brow furrows. “Have you never taken the anti-fertility tonic before?”
“Not in this form,” I admit, hoping it doesn’t give me away. Ivy always gave me the tonic in tea form, using the spiny leaves from amber thistles that stop one from becoming pregnant, but that’s the way the poorer classes prepare it.
“It’s a concentrated dose,” Mirren explains. “It’ll last a month. I’ll give you another one at the end of your stay at the Ruby Aire. The princes want a mate, not an heir.”
I drink the tonic. I absolutely do not want to be linked to them that quickly in the form of a child. It tastes earthy, much like the tea Ivy makes, only much more potent.
“Good,” Mirren says, taking back the empty bottle.
The next step is to get dressed, but when I open the wardrobe doors, I’m overwhelmed by the amount of clothing inside. Dresses and pants and suits and blouses, leggings and tunics and shoes, all organized by color. I run my fingers over the luscious material, starting with the reds before trailing over the blues, greens, and finally blacks.
The colors of the Legends, hand tailored to make me as attractive to them as possible.
“Did the previous potentials wear the Legends’ colors when living with them?” I ask.
“Of course,” Mirren answers, eyeing me.
I grin a wicked smile, biting my lip, and pluck a sapphire outfit from the wardrobe.
“Oh, for goddesses’ sake,” Mirren says.
The lapis-colored pants pool around my feet and climb to just over my belly button. The top consists of a piece of tight fabric over my breasts and a sharply cut jacket covering my shoulders, leaving just a strip of my stomach bare. I grab a small, beaded bag that matches the outfit, placing a compact of cover-up and some red lip tint into it. After slipping on a pair of blue heels, I survey myself in the mirror, smiling at the overall effect.
Axl would love this. But I’m not going to Axl’s city today. I’m going to Kal’s, and he’ll be expecting me to wear red.
“What do you think?” I ask, smoothing my hands over the jacket.
Mirren releases what I’m quickly learning is her signature sigh, the weight of all of Lumathyst behind it. “You look like trouble,” she says.
I grin triumphantly.
“Why not the red?”
“I’d rather they know now,” I answer.
“Know what?”
“That I’ll never be what they expect.” I motion for Mirren to lead the way, clutching the small bag beneath my other arm.
