“Like fae and daemons,” I conclude.
“Or make a blind man see,” Carrick counters. “It’s very powerful and would most definitely let your friends see underneath fae and daemon veils.”
“Do you think I should tell them?” I ask hesitantly, and I have no clue why his opinion would even matter.
Apparently, it doesn’t matter enough for him to answer me, because he turns the subject back around to Veda. “What did she say to you about the prophecy?”
“Who says she did?” I reply vaguely.
Carrick glares at me, and there’s no sense in hiding it from him. I’m sure he could compel me to tell him the truth. He is, after all, the gods’ servant, and he has powers to make people do things.
“She came to see me to tell me I had a choice in this prophecy. She said I could choose to ignore it if I want, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Carrick doesn’t fall for it, merely narrows his eyes. “She said more than that.”
Sadly, she did. Her visit wasn’t reassuring at all. Although I’m loath to admit it, I tell him the truth. “She said I can ignore it, but chances are it will come to fruition, and my loved ones and I will be in jeopardy.”
“Or…” he drawls, knowing instinctively there’s more.
I sigh loudly. “Or… I can take my destiny in my own hands and have more control over the outcome.”
“She’s always been the wisest in my opinion,” Carrick murmurs with a fond smile as his gaze drifts out over the water.
“She seemed cool,” I admit.
Sharply, his head whips back my way. “Don’t ever get comfortable around the gods, not even Veda. I don’t know what her angle is, but you trust no one but me, you understand?”
“But I don’t trust you.” The words come out unbidden. I have to assume they came from my heart and are true.
“You should,” he warns. “Because death will be coming after you, sooner or later. Veda was right… your best bet is to join the fray and take control of your fate.”
I pull my legs up, plant my feet—gray chucks with red trim today—on the wooden bench, and wrap my arms around my shins. Resting my chin on my knees, I stare at the Fantasia. Unable to meet his eyes, I feel incredibly weak and lame when I say in a small voice, “I don’t want to die.”
Carrick doesn’t respond so I turn my head his way, draw my arms up on my knees, and lay my cheek on them. “Can you guarantee I won’t die?”
To my surprise, I experience what I believe to be the first genuinely strong emotion from Carrick. Pain flashes across his beautiful face, and he doesn’t even try to hide it.
“No,” he replies gently. “I can’t guarantee you won’t die, but you will be safer with me at your side as we try to figure this thing out.”
I consider his words, even mustering a smile. “I appreciate you being candid with me.”
Perhaps mistaking my soft words and almost surrendering tone, Carrick smiles back. I let him keep the victory for a moment before advising him, “I don’t want any part of this, Carrick. Veda said it was my choice. Right now, I have no proof this so-called prophecy will even occur.”
“It will,” he assures me.
“And I can’t trust that.”
Gaze turning hard, Carrick rises from the bench. As always seems to be our positions, I have to tip my head back to see him. I think he does that to remind me he’s stronger and more in control than I ever will be. It’s a metaphor I should always look up to him. “You’re unsafe, Finley. I’ve done my best to shield your home and this boat, but you’re going to become a target and you can’t stay holed up forever.”
“But maybe I’m not a target,” I counter, because I need to be right about this. “It’s just as plausible knowledge of me stays contained.”
“That’s true,” he agrees, but then his jaw locks tight. “But consider this… the abomination that killed off your sister is, as we speak, surrounding herself with dark daemons. She’s here for a purpose and I can tell you, she is beyond villainous. I promise you, if just one of those creatures tells her about your abilities, you’ll be dead within hours.”
Those words cause a shudder to ripple up my spine. “Are you trying to scare me?”
“Yes,” he admits. “But I’m not exaggerating either.”
I don’t respond, and he doesn’t say anything further. Eventually, he takes my silence as my refusal to acknowledge his warning and gives a heaving sigh of frustration.
What he doesn’t know is that I’m not refusing to understand the grave circumstances I’m in. But I’m also not willing to commit my life to him and the gods’ little game. It offends me on principle and maybe, just maybe, I’m willing to forfeit my life so as not to be a pawn on their chessboard.