Jonas reclined on the dirt floor, next to the fire, his mind in turmoil.

When he’d come here, he’d at least had a sense of direction, of purpose. He needed to get Lucia to her family.

The Damoras. The King of Blood who had oppressed his people. Who’d murdered Chief Basilius. Who’d lied to two armies about his reasons for starting a short-lived war with Auranos.

Felicia was right. Amara Cortas had ended all of that with this occupation.

How had he found himself on this path? He was a rebel, not the simpering assistant to a sadistic king.

It took a long time before he fell asleep. In a dream, he found himself in a lush green meadow under a bright blue sky. In the distance, a city that looked to be made from crystal sparkled in the sun.

“Jonas Agallon, we finally meet. Olivia has told me so much about you. I am Timotheus.”

He turned to be greeted by the sight of a man who appeared to be only a handful of years older than him. His hair was the color of dark bronze, his eyes a pale copper. He wore white robes that fell all the way to the emerald-green grass.

“You’re in my dream,” Jonas said slowly.

Timotheus raised a brow. “A brilliant deduction. Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“I expected you’d be full of questions for me.”

Of all the sensations he felt at being face to face with the immortal Olivia had told him little about, he felt no shock, no surprise, only weariness. “Questions that you’ll answer?”

“Some, perhaps. Others, perhaps not.”

“No, it’s all right. Just let me sleep. I’m tired, and I can’t be bothered with solving riddles.”

“Time is running out. The storm is nearly upon us.”

“Do you talk like this to everyone, so annoyingly vague?”

Timotheus cocked his head. “Actually, yes. Yes, I do.”

“I don’t like it. And I don’t like you. Whatever this is,” Jonas patted the mark on his chest, “I want it gone. I want nothing to do with your kind. I’m Paelsian. I’m not a Watcher, or a witch, or whatever you think this makes me.”

“That mark makes you very special.”

“I don’t want to be special.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I always have a choice.”

“Your destiny is set.”

“Kiss my arse.”

Timotheus blinked. “Olivia did mention that you’re rather single-minded in your observations. However, I’m sure you’ve noticed that you now possess a sliver of magic. Phaedra’s magic. Olivia’s magic. You absorbed these like a sponge absorbs water. What you are is rare and, I’ll say it again, special. The visions I’ve had of you are important.”

“Right. The visions. The prophecy of me delivering Lucia Damora to her family.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Seems like that’s where this destiny of mine is taking me.”

“No, not exactly. You will know when it happens. You will feel—”

“What I feel right now is the need to put a knife in your gut.” Jonas glared at the immortal. “You dare enter my dream now, after all this time? Olivia’s helped to keep me alive, just like you told her to. I guess she’s done with me now. Or maybe she’s spying on me from above as a hawk, just like you all do. All I know for sure is that I’m through with this. I don’t care what you have to say. You dangle half truths as if the lives of mortals are a game.”

Timotheus’s voice lowered. “This is not a game, young man.”

“Oh, no? Then prove it. Tell me my destiny, if you think it’s something I can’t avoid.”

Timotheus studied him. “I didn’t foresee Lucia’s pregnancy,” he admitted. “That was a surprise to me, as I’m sure it was to her. It’s been shielded from all of us by the Creators, and there must be a reason for this—an important reason. My original vision of you was that you were to assist Lucia during the storm—”

“What storm are you talking about?”

Timotheus raised his hand. “Don’t interrupt me. I’m being as blunt with you as I’ve ever been with anyone, because I see now there is no time to be anything else.”

“So spit it out,” Jonas said. He felt frustrated with everything in his life, and he wanted to take it all out on this pompous immortal.

“Lucia’s son will have great importance. Many will wish to kidnap this child or to kill him. You will protect the child from harm and raise him as your own son.”

“Is that right? And Lucia and I will, what? Get married and live happily ever after? Unlikely.”

“No. Lucia is destined to die in childbirth during the coming storm.” He nodded firmly, a frown creasing his brow. “I see it now, clearly. I originally thought that her magic might transfer to you at the time of her death, making you a sorcerer, one who could walk between worlds, one whose destiny was to imprison the Kindred after they are all freed. But Lucia’s magic will live on through her son.”

Jonas gaped at him, stunned by his proclamation. “She’s going to die?”

“Yes.” Timotheus turned his back on him. “That is all I can tell you. Good luck to you, Jonas Agallon. The fate of all the worlds is in your hands now.”

“No, wait! I have questions. You need to tell me what I need to do—”

But Timotheus disappeared then, as did the meadow and the city in the distance.