The darkest seduction - Showalter Gena - Страница 58

“I have learned that everyone has several different futures, and the choices they make ultimately decide which road they will travel. Come,” he added without a breath, taking her by the forearm and ushering her through the long, seemingly endless expanse of the room. “There is something you must see.”

With every step she took, the portraits rearranged themselves, gliding over the wall, changing places with fluid grace. She didn’t try to pull away from him. Dizziness held her in thrall, and she needed the anchor of his hand to keep her upright.

“These Eyes, they do not always understand what they see, for they cannot determine the context of the actions they record. They do not know if they see past or future, how to stop something or how to make it come to pass.”

“And so you have to guess,” she finished for him.

“Correct.” He stopped, and so did the movement of the portraits.

In the frame now in front of her, warriors fought to the death in every direction. Not just any warriors, but familiar faces. There was Galen, his white wings outstretched, his long, bloody sword raised. Before him was Cronus, with a thin line of blood connecting one ear to another—his head about to slide from his neck.

Sienna’s heartbeat quickened as she took in the rest. There was Paris, off to the side, watching what happened to Cronus with wide, shocked eyes. Blood caked him. His mouth was open, as if he were shouting something.

“This is one of the futures that await me,” the king said. “Long ago, my first Eye warned me that a warrior with wings of white would someday slay me. I assumed it would be an angel, only to later realize there were other warriors, like the Lords of the Underworld, who were equally capable of doing so. And then my newest Eye painted this.”

“Why didn’t you kill all the Lords, then?” Sienna asked. She knew he’d already considered that route. A being like him wouldn’t have been able to help himself. “Just to be safe.”

He moved two steps forward. Again the pictures danced into new locations. “The reason is here.” He stopped, as did the pictures. “Look.”

Frowning, Sienna obeyed. In this one, a young Cronus sat on a throne of solid gold, the Lords of the Underworld lined up behind him, expressions reverent and stances determined. They were clearly protecting him, guarding him with their very lives. So badly she wanted to reach out and trace her fingertips over Paris’s lips. How beautiful he was. How strong.

“This is my real future,” Cronus said. “Or rather, the one possibility I must ensure comes to pass.”

“How?”

“The answer lies in the two warriors missing from this army.”

She gulped, studied every face. “Galen is missing. And…no one else.”

“Do you see the keeper of Wrath?”

“Of course. Aeron is right—”

“I do not speak of Aeron. He is no longer the demon’s keeper.”

“Me?” she squeaked.

“Yes. You are the key to this future, Sienna.”

Disbelief thrummed through her. “I don’t understand.” The angel had mentioned she would get her answers—and that she shouldn’t trust what she heard. Seemed like an eternity had passed since he’d issued the warning. She wasn’t sure what to believe, what to discard. “How am I the key?”

“Look closely at the bottom.”

She leaned over, gaze homing in on the portrait’s lower edge. Surrounded by a crowd of onlookers was a woman. Her profile was to Sienna, her skin freckled, her nose and cheeks and chin— Her eyes widened. Hers. Those features were hers. The woman’s hair was brown and wavy, just like hers, and black wings stretched from her robe. She stood beside a kneeling man who had his arms wrapped around her calves, holding on as if she were precious to him.

Galen, Sienna realized. He wasn’t missing from the painting after all.

“All those centuries ago, when my Eye spoke of my death, she also told me there was a way to save myself…or, to be precise, a woman who could help me do so. I looked for this woman around every corner. She never appeared, and I despaired.”

What came next was going to hurt, Sienna thought, straightening. Didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“Eons passed, and I was imprisoned when the worthless Greeks conspired with my wife, whom they later betrayed. I knew I would escape, for that, too, had been foretold, though the Greeks were too foolish to believe. When I at last reclaimed my rightful place on the heavenly throne, I sought out the Lords, thinking to destroy them before they could destroy me.”

He paused, sighed. “But newly returned to power as I was, I did not like the idea of killing the Lords and freeing their demons, thereby having more enemies knocking at my door. More than that, I likedthe idea of controlling Zeus’s warriors, of using the beings he created as my own personal errand boys as I searched for the one among them with the power to kill me.

“And oh, has that decision paid off. I have kept a close eye on their comings and goings and indeed, the Lords have proven surprisingly useful to me. That is why I know that the future you see before you in this painting, of me reigning in harmony with these warriors as my stalwart army, is already coming to pass.

“But still there is the matter of my predicted execution—and my predicted rescuer. Just when I had given up hope, you at last appeared, a woman who belonged to neither side of the war and yet also belonged to both sides. A woman who pledged her allegiance to Galen but whose interest had unmistakably been captured by Paris. A woman who had the power even in death to influence a warrior’s every thought and action.”

She could only shake her head.

“Oh, yes. He’s thought of you, only you, and that’s what brought you to my attention. I had never before noticed a human soul, but I had to know why he craved yours so very much. That’s when I discovered you were the one the Eye had foreseen. You look like the woman in the painting, and you have the same past as the woman I was told would save me. Both of those revelations can mean only one thing. You are to be my salvation.”

“I don’t care about your salvation,” she whispered.

“I know. But you care about Paris’s, and if Galen dies, so does he.” He waved his hand and another portrait appeared. In this one, Galen, Paris and a few other Lords lay in pieces on a blood-soaked floor. Her heart sank at the sight.

“And so we are back to your role as savior—mine, Paris’s, in the end it makes no difference, as either path leads you to Galen. You should thank me,” he went on. “I gave you Wrath. Made you strong enough to survive whatever the keeper of Hope chooses to do with you.” His gaze pierced her, a swirling black that increased the intensity of her dizziness. “Galen adores power, and you are to be his mate.”

“No.” A gasp, a plea.

Merciless, he continued. “Because of your demon, you will know those who lie to him, who befriend him when they truly hate him, and you will stop them before they are able to harm him.”

First sleep with him, and now protect him? “No! I hate him.”

“I did not say you had to love him to carry out your task. Merely think of the alternative if you do not carry it out. Paris dies.”

No. No, no, no. “What happened to learning Galen’s secrets and betraying him?” Fury sparked to life. “What happened to finding my sister? And why would you want me to stop others from harming him if he’s the man destined to kill you?”

Red flashed within the black of his eyes, scarlet pools of his own fury. “Let us say that I have my reasons, and my plans. So listen and listen well. There are but a few possible futures for me and thus, the world. The first is that I reign as king for eternity. The second, I am killed, which means my wife is killed. If we are both lost, chaoswill become king and the Lords will die.” He twirled his finger and the portraits began their dance anew.