How to Tame a Beast in Seven Days (The Embraced #1)

But only in Eberon, Brigitta thought as she studied the deep blue waves. Being Embraced was a death sentence anywhere else on the mainland. The other kings abhorred the fact that each of the Embraced possessed some sort of special power that the kings themselves could never have.

When Brigitta and her adopted sisters were born, the only safe haven had been the Isle of Moon. They’d grown up there in the Convent of the Two Moons, believing they were orphans. But almost a year ago, they’d discovered a shocking truth. Luciana had never been an orphan.

Since then, Brigitta had wondered if she had family somewhere, too. Had they hidden her away, or worse, abandoned her? She feared it was the latter. For in all her nineteen years of life, no one from the mainland had ever bothered to contact her.

You are loved, she reminded herself. She’d grown up in a loving home at the convent. Her sisters loved her, and she loved them. That was enough.

It had to be enough. Didn’t it?

Sorcha lowered her voice. “I still believe Mother Ginessa knows things about us that she won’t tell.”

Brigitta silently agreed. She knew from her special gift that most everyone was hiding something.

“Let’s play the game and let the stones tell us,” Maeve said. “I need to do something. This cabin is feeling smaller by the minute.”

Brigitta sighed. Sadly enough, this was the largest cabin on board. Captain Shaw had lent them his quarters that had a large window overlooking the back of the vessel.

The ship creaked as it rolled to the side, and Sorcha grabbed the sideboard to steady herself.

“Have a seat afore ye fall,” Gwennore warned her.

“Fine.” Sorcha emptied the oranges from a brass bowl on the sideboard and plunked the bowl onto the table as she took a seat. “Let’s play.”

Brigitta’s sisters gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head and turned to gaze out the window once again. It had been twelve years ago, when she was seven, that Luciana had invented the game where they could each pretend to be the Seer from the Isle of Mist. They’d gathered up forty pebbles from the nearby beach, then had painted them with colors and numbers. After the stones were deposited in a bowl and covered with a cloth, each sister would grab a few pebbles and whatever colors or numbers she’d chosen would indicate her future.

“We’ll just have to play without her,” Sorcha grumbled. A clattering noise filled the cabin as the bag of Telling Stones was emptied into the brass bowl, a noise not quite loud enough to cover Sorcha’s hushed voice. “Ye know why she won’t play. She’s spooked.”

Brigitta winced. That was too close to the truth.

She could no longer see the Isle of Moon on the horizon. As the island had faded from sight, a wave of apprehension had washed over her, slowly growing until it had sucked her down into an undertow of fear and dread. For deep in her heart, she believed that leaving the safety of the convent would trigger the set of events that Luciana had predicted.

But how could she have refused this voyage? Luciana would be giving birth soon, and she wanted her sisters with her. She also needed Mother Ginessa, who was an excellent midwife.

“I’m going first,” Sorcha declared, and the stones rattled about the bowl as she mixed them up.

“O Great Seer,” Maeve repeated the line they always said before each prediction. “Reveal to us the secrets of the Telling Stones.”

“What the hell?” Sorcha grumbled, and Maeve gasped.

“Ye mustn’t let Mother Ginessa hear ye curse like that,” Gwennore warned her.

“These stones are ridiculous!” Sorcha slammed them on the table, and out of curiosity, Brigitta turned to see what her sister had selected.

Nine, pink, and lavender.

Gwennore tilted her head as she studied the stones. “In nine years ye will meet a tall and handsome—”

“Nine years?” Sorcha grimaced. “I would be so old!”

“Twenty-seven.” Gwennore’s mouth twitched. “Practically ancient.”

“Exactly!” Sorcha huffed. “I’ll wait nine months for my tall and handsome stranger, and not a minute more.” She glared at the colored stones. “I hate pink. It looks terrible with my freckles and red hair.”

Maeve’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Who said ye would be wearing it? I think yer true love will look very pretty in pink.”

“He’s not wearing pink,” Sorcha growled.

“Aye, a lovely pink gown with a lavender sash,” Gwennore added with a grin.

“Nay, Gwennie.” Maeve shook her head. “The lavender means he’ll have lavender-blue eyes like you.”

“Ah.” Gwennore tucked a tendril of her white-blond hair behind a pointed ear. “Could be.”

“Are ye kidding me?” Sorcha gave them an incredulous look. “How on Aerthlan would I ever meet an elf?”

“Ye met me,” Gwennore said. “And apparently, in nine months, ye’ll meet a tall and handsome elf in a pink gown.” She and Maeve laughed, and Sorcha reluctantly grinned.

Brigitta turned to peer out the window once again. Over the years, the Telling Stones had proven to be an entertaining game. But then, a year ago, something strange had happened. Luciana’s prediction for her own future had actually come to pass. She’d met and fallen in love with her tall and handsome stranger. And if that hadn’t been glorious enough, she’d become the queen of Eberon.

Eager to experience something equally romantic, Brigitta had begged her oldest sister to predict a similar future for her.

A mistake. Brigitta frowned at the churning ocean.

Blue, gold, seven, and eight. Those had been the stones Luciana had selected. Blue and gold, she’d explained, signified the royal colors of the kingdom of Tourin. Seven meant there would be seven suitors to compete for her hand. And eight … in eight months, Brigitta would meet a tall and handsome stranger.

The eight months had now passed.

She pressed a hand against her roiling stomach.