Chapter 13 · The Summoner's Right Beside Him

Mark grabbed Ella's wrist before she could back away from the table.

"You knew."

She didn't pull. Didn't deny it. Just stared at where his fingers pressed into the sleeve of her novice robe.

Veran moved closer to the chamber entrance, one hand on his sword. Not threatening. Listening. The stone corridor outside was quiet, but that wouldn't last.

"I didn't know," Ella said. Her voice came out flat. "Not like that. Not—"

"Bullshit." Mark let go. His hand was shaking. He shoved it in his jacket pocket.

"You've been watching me since day one. You lied about the translation. You told me the prophecy said hero. Pure-hearted. Eighteen years old. And now this—" He jabbed a finger at the parchment on the stone table.

The new English words still glowed faint gold against the old ink.

"—says they wanted exactly me. A washed-up, divorced, unemployed forty-one-year-old. So which part didn't you know?"

Ella's jaw tightened. For a second Mark thought she'd just walk out. Let Veran decide what to do with him. But then her shoulders dropped and she sat down hard on the bench against the wall.

"I prayed," she said.

Mark blinked. "What?"

"The summoning ritual.