So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)

Gwennore, with her superior intellect, had always been the best at translating books into different languages. Maeve had excelled in penmanship, and Sorcha in artwork. Luciana had been good at everything.

But Brigitta … the nuns had despaired with her. When transcribing a book, she could never stay true to the text. A little embellishment here, a tweak there, and eventually she would take a story so off course, it was no longer recognizable. This, of course, upset the nuns, for their male customers on the mainland were paying for an exact copy of an old tale, not the romantic fantasies of an overly dramatic young woman.

Whenever the nuns had fussed at her, her sisters had come to her defense, insisting that her story was much better than the original. And each time the nuns tried to use Brigitta’s overly dramatic mistakes for kindling, her sisters always managed to rescue the pages and give them to her. They’d even begged her to finish her stories about dashing young heroes, so that they could read them.

Brigitta adored them for that. She’d do anything for her sisters, including this voyage to Eberon that she was so afraid would activate the events she’d been dreading.

She shifted her gaze back to the rolling motion of the ocean, and her stomach churned. Did a person’s destiny have to be set in stone, in this case the Telling Stones? This was her story, so why couldn’t it be one of her making? Surely she didn’t have to stick to a text that had already been written without her consent. Couldn’t she be the author of her own destiny?

“Ye should watch the horizon, not the waves,” Maeve said as she sat next to Brigitta on the window seat. “’Tis a sure way to make yerself ill.”

“Oh.” Brigitta turned to her youngest sister. “I didn’t realize…” Her stomach twisted with a sharp pain, and she winced.

Gwennore gave her a worried look. “Ye look pale. Would ye like some bread or wine?” She motioned toward the sideboard and the food that had been left for them.

Brigitta shook her head. Perhaps if she sat perfectly still for a few moments, the nausea would pass. “Did ye finish playing the Game of Stones?”

“Aye,” Maeve answered. “Didn’t ye hear us giggling?”

Brigitta groaned inwardly, not wanting to admit she’d been too engrossed in her own worries to pay her sisters any mind.

“My prediction was the best,” Maeve continued. “In four years, I’ll meet a tall and handsome stranger with green teeth, purple hair, and three feet.”

Brigitta wrinkled her nose. “Ye call that handsome? How can he have three feet? Does he have a third leg?”

Maeve waved a dismissive hand. “We didn’t bother to figure that part out. But he is taller than most.”

“Aye.” Sorcha snorted. “By a foot.”

Maeve grinned. “As ye can see, the game is nonsense. Besides, I have no desire to meet any man, no matter how tall or handsome. I plan to live the rest of my life with all of you at the convent.”

“Aye,” Sorcha agreed. “I’m not leaving my sisters for an elf in a pink gown. ’Tis naught but a silly game.”

“Exactly.” Gwennore gave Brigitta a pointed look. “So ye shouldn’t believe anything the stones say.”

They were doing their best to relieve her fear, Brigitta realized, and as her heart warmed, the ache in her stomach eased. “Thank you. What would I do without ye all?”

The ship lurched suddenly to the right, causing Brigitta and Maeve to fall against the padded wall of the window seat. The oranges rolled off the sideboard and plummeted to the wooden floor. Empty goblets fell onto the floor with a series of loud clunks.

Sorcha grabbed on to the table. “What was that?”

Loud shouts and the pounding of feet sounded on the deck overhead.

“Something is amiss,” Gwennore said as she gazed up at the ceiling. “They’re running about.”

Maeve peered out the window. “I believe we made a sudden turn to the south.”

“That would put us off course,” Gwennore murmured.

The door slammed open, and they jumped in their seats.

Mother Ginessa gave them a stern look, while behind her Sister Fallyn pressed the tips of her fingers against her thumbs, forming two small circles to represent the twin moons.

“May the goddesses protect us,” Sister Fallyn whispered.

“Stay here,” Mother Ginessa ordered, then shut the door.

“What the hell was that?” Sorcha muttered.

A pounding sound reverberated throughout the entire ship. Thump … thump … thump.

“Drums.” Gwennore rose to her feet. “The sailors beat them to set the pace. They must be using the oars.”

“Why?” Sorcha asked. “Is something wrong with the sails?”

Gwennore shrugged. “I suppose we need to go faster. Perhaps we’re trying to outrun another ship, but there’s no way to know unless we go up on deck.”

Sorcha slapped the tabletop with her hand. “Why do we have to stay here? I hate being in the dark.”

Brigitta clenched her fists, gathering handfuls of her skirt in her hands. The prediction was coming true, she knew it. Her stomach roiled again, and her heart thudded loud in her ears, keeping time with the drums.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The drums pounded faster.

Beads of sweat dotted her brow, and she rubbed her aching stomach as she rose shakily to her feet. “The fate of the Telling Stones has begun.”

“Don’t say that.” Gwennore shook her head. “Ye cannot be sure.”

“I am sure!” Brigitta cried. She’d had eight months to consider this fate. Eight months to prepare herself. “’Tis happening now. And I will not remain hidden in this room, meekly accepting a future I do not want. I’m going on deck to face this me self.”

Sorcha jumped to her feet. “That’s the spirit!”

“Aye.” Maeve ran to the bed where they’d left their cloaks. “And we will go with you!”

They quickly slipped their brown cloaks over their cream-colored woolen gowns.

Gwennore rested a hand on Brigitta’s shoulder. “Ye don’t look well. Are ye sure ye’re up to this?”

Nay. Brigitta drew a deep breath. “I have to be…”

“Aye.” Gwennore gave her a squeeze. “Ye’ll do fine.”

“Come on!” Sorcha opened the door, and they filed into the narrow passageway, then climbed the steep wooden stairs to the deck. When they pushed open the door, it bumped into a dog that had been sitting in front of it.

“Julia!” Maeve cried out when she spotted the shaggy black-and-white dog. “It is you, aye?”

With a low growl, the dog backed away.

“How many times do we have to tell you?” Sorcha grumbled. “That dog is a he.”

Brigitta narrowed her eyes. The last time she’d seen this dog, he’d been guarding Luciana at the royal palace in Ebton.

“If I remember correctly, his name is Brody.” Gwennore squatted and extended a hand to the dog. “Is that right?”

With a soft woof, the dog placed his paw in her hand.

She grinned. “Good boy.”

“Nay, she’s too pretty to be a boy!” Maeve wrapped her arms around the dog, and he whimpered with a forlorn look.

“Why is Luciana’s dog here?” Sorcha asked.