So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)

“Fine.” Sorcha emptied the oranges from a brass bowl on the sideboard, then 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 painted them with colors and numbers. After the stones were deposited in a bowl and covered with a cloth, each sister would grab a small handful of 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 said, repeating the line they spoke before each prediction. “Reveal to us the secrets of the Telling Stones.”

“What the hell?” Sorcha muttered, 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 the tall and handsome stranger she’d foretold in specific detail, using the Telling Stones. And if that hadn’t been amazing 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.

When they’d boarded this morning, she’d quickly assessed the captain and his crew. None of them had struck her as particularly tall or handsome. Captain Shaw was portly, bald, and old enough to be her father.

As for the seven suitors vying for her hand, she had initially been thrilled, considering the idea wildly exciting. But when her sisters had likened it to her being a prize in a tourney, she’d had second thoughts.

Why would seven men compete for her? She had nothing special to offer. Even the gift she possessed for being Embraced was hardly special. And did this contest mean she would have no choice but to marry whichever man won her? The more she’d thought about this competition, the more it had made her cringe.

So, five months ago, she’d played the game again, hoping to achieve different results. But to her shock, there had been four stones in her hand.

Blue, gold, seven, and five.

Had some sort of mysterious countdown gone into effect? Reluctant to believe that, she’d attempted the game again a month later. Blue, gold, seven, and four. Alarmed, she’d sworn never to play again.

But one month ago, Sorcha had dared her to play, taunting her for being overly dramatic. Those words never failed to irk Brigitta, so she’d accepted the dare. With a silent prayer to the moon goddesses, she’d reached into the bowl, swished the pebbles around, and grabbed a handful. And there, in her palm, four stones had stared up at her.

Blue, gold, seven, and one. A fate was shoving itself down her throat whether she liked it or not.

And she did not.

Brigitta had been raised on the Isle of Moon, where women were free to determine their own futures and everyone worshipped the moon goddesses, Luna and Lessa.

It was different on the mainland. Men were in charge there, and everyone worshipped a male god, the Light. Luciana had been fortunate to find a good man who respected her independent nature. As king and queen, they had declared it safe to worship the moon goddesses in Eberon.

But it was not that way elsewhere. In the other mainland kingdoms, Brigitta would be executed for making the sign of the moons as she prayed. Executed for being Embraced. So why did she keep picking the blue and gold colors of Tourin?

And why would seven suitors compete for her? She glanced at her sisters. Sorcha had always seemed the strongest, with a fiery temperament that matched her fiery red hair. Gwennore had always been the smartest. Maeve, the youngest, had always been the sweetest. And Luciana—now married—had been their brave leader. Brigitta had never been quite sure where she fit in.