The Oracle’s words beat like a war drum inside of Raegan, awakening things sleeping in river muck and lost to bonfires long ago extinguished. All of these lives, all of these years, and so many of them had not meant anything at all because she’d always bent to Fate. The only lives where she had made a dent—Nyneve in the place called Camelot, and Titania during the Uprising in the Otherlands—were when she had spat in Fate’s face and pulled her own fortune from the silt.
