A Matter of Forever (Fate, #4)

Kellan throws himself down in a chair. “Fine. If you say it’s sincere, I’ll believe you. What else did it tell you of consequence?”


“Kel, he’s been telling us everything we need to know for weeks now,” Jonah says quietly. “He’s let us know that the Elders are not a cohesive unit, at least ideologically. They’re held together by fear of punishment. Without Enlilkian, they pose no real threat to us. And if Enlilkian loses some of his biggest weapons, i.e. Bios, then he’s going to be hampered in his efforts.”

“You think a death wish is for the common good?” Kellan asks skeptically.

“I’m not sure,” Jonah admits. “I just know it’s real. And Bios seems to feel that, if he’s out of the picture, it’d be a blow to whatever his father’s mission is.”



When Bios strolls into the dining room for breakfast, the entire table goes silent. He’s wearing a very tight t-shirt and jeans that show just about everything, but at least I’m grateful he followed through on dressing. His long hair is tied back into a messy ponytail, and other than resembling a statue of Adonis, he looks like he ought to be on a beach.

I turn to Zthane, shocked. He let Bios out of his cell?

For his part, though, the head of the Guard is just watching Bios carefully.

“Oh my gods,” Iolani whispers to me. “This is what the guy looks like?”

Bios drops down into the chair on the other side of Kellan, right across from me and Jonah. Kellan doesn’t bother disguising his revulsion, but Bios doesn’t mind. In fact, I’d even go as far to say that he rather enjoys needling Kellan.

This cannot end well. Even though I know he’s on his best behavior, none of this feels like it will end well.

“Do you eat?” I’m acutely aware that I’m the only one speaking at the moment. Every other person is watching Bios in fascination.

“Occasionally.” Bios’ eyes drift over the communal plates on the table. “If the food is delectable enough. But it’s not necessary, not like it is for your kind.”

“Oh, so sorry we couldn’t get that random fish you ordered,” Kellan mocks.

Bios doesn’t sense the sarcasm. “I informed you where you could fetch it for me.”

Kellan then gives me a look that basically screams, Are you kidding me by humoring it?

To me, Bios says, “The lodgings you modified are much more tolerable now.”

“Well. What a relief.” Kellan’s scorn is practically tangible. “We wouldn’t want somebody who’s gone out of their way to murder our kind the last few decades to be uncomfortable.”

“Murder and survival are two very different creatures, are they not?” Bios lazes back in his chair. “From what I can tell, your kind murders beings all the time in order to consume them.”

“Animals,” Kellan stresses. “Not people.”

“Interesting distinction,” Bios shoots back. “Are you saying that because they cannot speak, their lives are somehow less important than yours?”

Zthane asks mildly, “Do you not see the difference?”

Bios studies him carefully. There’s still a lot of contempt there, although maybe muted just a hair with this small taste of freedom. “As a matter of fact, I do not.”

“I’m sure those you have stripped of their souls and essences might disagree,” Kellan says. He has long since stopped eating.

“Perhaps,” Bios agrees. “But, would you say that any one of the animals you eat might not feel the same?”

“Tell me,” Kellan presses, “when you attacked our kind—you personally, not your band of fellow merry murderers—did you target whatever powerful Magical was around, or did you hunt out exactly the right one you needed?”

Bios says nothing.

“Kellan, don’t,” Jonah suddenly hisses. “Not now.”

“Why not?” Kellan asks. “Shouldn’t we all be aware of what’s sitting at our table?”

I’m uneasy with his hostility. “What are you talking about?”

He ignores me, as does Jonah. Instead they launch immediately into one of their silent conversations. Minutes go by before Kellan opens his mouth and says, voice as cold and hard as ice, “Cannibalism is a nasty thing.”

“What’s this about cannibalism?” Iolani asks. Her fork is on the plate, too. Seems nobody is interested in bacon any longer.

Bios meets Kellan’s gaze dead on. “To answer your question, Empath—yes. When I consumed someone’s essences, it was always for my own benefit.”

“How many Shamans do you think you’ve killed or wounded?” Kellan asks carefully, and then it hits me.

Cora. Bios is the one who attacked and nearly killed Cora back when we were in high school.

“I don’t remember,” Bios says, yawning. “I have no need to tally such a thing. Do you tally the numbers of fowl you consume? Or the ones you have inspired to march into death unknowingly?”

Oh my gods. Cora.