She swept back into the room, slid her feet into her shoes and grabbed her jacket, not caring that she hadn’t brushed her teeth or combed her hair or even had her morning cup of coffee. But when she turned she was very aware of the mammoth body blocking her exit.
“You’re not going anywhere, Acacia. This is none of your concern.”
None of her concern? Oh, screw that. She set her jaw. “Those are my people. That girl is one of my race. So don’t you dare tell me this is none of my business.” Her eyes narrowed, and the air crackled between them, but she didn’t back down. For the first time in her life, she had something to fight for.
“You can’t keep me here, Theron. One way or the other, I’m going to help find Marissa. So either move your ass out of my way, or make yourself useful and do something to help me.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She was seriously losing it.
Isadora paced to the windows, turned and wrung her hands together as she passed the settee. Four more steps and she was near the closet door, moving by the high-backed dresser and looping around the canopy bed again. This room had always been a place of comfort and solitude for her, but not now. Not when she was ready to claw her way through stone and mortar just to get free.
She jumped at the soft knock on her door. “Yes?”
“It’s just I, my lady.” Saphira poked her head around the door. “May I come in?”
Isadora breathed a sigh of relief. She’d half expected it to be Demetrius, or one of the other Argonauts. For a group of ándres who couldn’t stomach the castle, they’d sure been hanging around a lot lately. Which couldn’t be good on any level. “Yes, yes, come in.”
As the door opened she caught a glimpse of her latest sentry, Cerek, his short dark hair and broad shoulders easily discernible in the sitting room to her chambers.
Resentment burned hot in her, but she tamped it down as Saphira closed the door with a soft click. The younger woman held a tray of food—soup, crackers, a bowl of fresh fruit. The scent of stewed chicken and vegetables made Isadora’s stomach roll. She placed a hand on her abdomen, waving away the tray and its contents with the other. “I’m not hungry.”
Saphira set the tray on a low table near the fireplace. “You must eat, my lady.”
Eating was the last thing on Isadora’s mind. And she knew it would just come right back up if she tried. “Has Theron been back to the castle?”
Saphira glanced toward the door as if she was afraid to speak too loud. She moved closer and in a low voice said, “No, my lady. Not yet.”
Damn. Though being shackled to Theron wasn’t Isadora’s first choice, at least she knew he wouldn’t shut her in a room and forget about her, which was what her father and the rest of those mercenaries were doing to her now. “What about the king?”
“The same. Callia’s been to see him several times, but there’s no improvement.”
Isadora placed her finger to her lips and walked to the windows. The gown she wore weighed heavy on her shoulders, and not for the first time, she vowed to change the monarchy’s archaic traditions—clothing being the first—as soon as she became queen.
“Do you know where Theron is?” she asked.
Saphira’s voice held an edge of pity that gnawed on Isadora’s last nerve. “Word is he’s on an important assignment for your father. No one seems to know where he’s gone, though. And with one of the Argonauts outside your room every minute, few in the castle are speaking, let alone gossiping about what they know.”
Isadora closed her eyes. A personal favor for her father. That could only mean one thing. She had a pretty good idea where Theron had gone. And whom he was with. The question was, would he be able to convince her to come to Argolea with him? And if he did, would it be too late?
Isadora lifted bony hands and looked down at her pale skin. Even she knew she was wasting away. The way her energy was lagging lately, she guessed she had a week, maybe two, tops, before she lost the battle completely.
The prophecy flashed in her mind as she stood there. The one she’d stumbled across in her father’s books when she’d gone to sit by his side in his illness.
There shall be two in every era,
Born of god and earth and men.
One of strength and one of courage,
Two separate halves to bring the end.
And they shall be known by the markings they bear,
United in the twenty-seventh year.
Only joined will the strong survive,
To dissolve the pact and bring the end to life.
A shiver ran through Isadora at what her father was doing. But how could he know for sure what would happen? And how could he sacrifice one daughter for another?
Not for the first time, she thought about the half-breed sister she’d not known about until only days before. Would they have anything in common? If they met on the street, would they recognize each other? Would there be a connection?