Nightweaver #1

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“Owen?” My breath hitches. I stumble a few steps, starting toward him. “Is that… is it really you?”

Owen flourishes a bow, lips curved in a taut smile. “In the flesh.”

A sob chokes my voice, and for an instant, I feel like a child. Small. Helpless. Weak. I’m dreaming—I must be dreaming. I want to run to him. Want to throw my arms around him and never let go. My brother—my best friend—stands not but ten feet away from me, looking more alive than he ever has before.

Alive. My chest squeezes, painfully tight. “How?”

Owen pushes off from the trunk with fluid grace, his dirty-blond hair creeping into his eyes—eyes that I find are no longer kind. His eyes… they’re all wrong. Shrewd. Empty. Mocking. Not like Owen’s.

“You’re not really him,” I say, staggering back. “You’re… you’re just a Shifter pretending to be Owen. Owen is dead. I saw him die.”

“You’re only half wrong,” he says, using the same patient voice he used when he taught me how to cut an onion without crying and the proper technique for giving someone a quick, dignified death with a knife.

He takes a slow step toward me. “You saw me die.” He opens the purple coat, unbuttoning the black shirt beneath to reveal a gruesome scar where the blade pierced his heart. “I died, Aster. But I was… reborn. The Guild of Shadows made me a Shifter; they gave me a new purpose. A new life. I’m still me, only… better ,” he adds with another wink.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. And yet, it all makes sense. “It was you,” I say. “You were in Albert and Elsie’s room that night.” I stagger back another step, blood beating in my ears. “The card I found on that poor girl… it was yours.”

He dips his head, encouraging. “Very good,” he says, the way he would if I landed a blow during a sparring match, his eyes lit with pride. “What else?”

Cold horror floods my veins. “You carved the message into Mr. Hackney’s and Mrs. Hackney’s foreheads.” My throat tightens. “You left their eyes for me to find.”

Another nod. “I never thought it would take so much effort to lure you here, beyond the boundaries of their estate,” Owen admits. “But that Nightweaver …” A muscle in his jaw tenses, his lips curling into a sneer. “Every time I left a clue for you to find, he steered you away.”

Will. He was misleading me, just not for the reasons I thought. Which means… Will knew . He knew how to find the Shifter tormenting me—knew how to find Owen —and he didn’t tell me.

More secrets. More lies.

“You killed Dearest.” My voice is barely a whisper. “You hid the knife under Annie’s bed.”

Oh, Stars. No. No.

“You compelled Father,” I croak, my legs swaying beneath me. I search Owen’s eyes for any trace of kindness, for any trace of our father, but find none. “He tried to kill me.”

“I specifically instructed him not to kill you.” Owen heaves a terse sigh, examining his tar-black nails. “But really, Aster, after the lengths I’ve gone to get your attention, I thought it might be easier to have someone drag you here. And considering you’d put up a fight, I figured wounding you would give whoever brought you a fair chance.”

A scream builds in my throat. “He’s dead, Owen! Father is dead!”

There—something flickers in his eyes. Something human.

He arches a brow, glancing away from his nails to examine me with a cold, dull look. “How unfortunate.”

The childlike feeling I had at seeing Owen alive, standing before me, is replaced with unbridled, all-consuming rage, like fire in my bones. “‘How unfortunate’?”

He shrugs his shoulders, rolls his eyes. “For you, of course.” He takes another step, closing the distance between us, merely five feet from me now. “I know it hurts, but it doesn’t have to. It won’t.” He draws a black dagger from a sheath strapped to his back, its dark blade inscribed with glowing purple script—ancient words I can’t make out. “Not for much longer.”

The pit in my stomach deepens. “You intend to kill me, then?”

“There is no death for people like us, Aster,” he says, taking another step.

“People like us?” I step back. I wonder if Owen would know—if he knows that I’m half Nightweaver. Wouldn’t that make him half Nightweaver? Wouldn’t that mean the rest of our siblings are, too? “I’m not—not like you.”

“Not entirely. But we’re more alike than you think.”

“There is a ballroom piled high with corpses because of you,” I snarl. “We are nothing alike.”

“Oh?” His brows perk. He grins cheekily, but the expression no longer reminds me of Mother. “Don’t pretend you’re innocent, little sister. I’ve seen you kill. The ocean is full of bodies you disposed of. Men, women.” He glances at Annie, still rocking back and forth, muttering wildly. “Children.”

Something in my chest splinters. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Owen laughs, but it sounds foreign. “You’re still telling yourself that lie, then?” He takes another step, nearly backing me against a tree, but I pivot, standing between him and Annie.

He gives me a conspiratorial grin as he shakes his head. “You had a choice. You’ve always had a choice. You chose them —Mother and Father, Charlie, Margaret, Lewis, Albert, Elsie.” The grin fades, a sneer taking its place. “You killed to protect them. That was a choice .”

He takes another step. “You could have left here so many times, but you chose them over your own happiness.” Another step. “Over your own freedom.” Another. “Tonight, you chose to give your life rather than expose the Castors. Yes,” he adds when my eyes widen. “I’ve been watching you rather closely. My abilities as a Shifter allow me to transform into whatever I like—person, animal, raven .”

A raven—like the one I saw retrieve Owen’s lucky card from the deck of the ship just before we were led ashore. And again, after the Shifter jumped from Elsie and Albert’s window that night. I remember how I saw the raven perched on the roof of Hildegarde’s Folly the night I went for a swim. All this time, Owen has been here. Watching me. Tormenting me.

“Why?” I ask, blinking back tears. “Why are you doing this?”

He heaves an exasperated sigh, and I see, for the first time since he appeared, just how tired he looks. “Haven’t you wondered why, after we spent our whole lives at sea, the Nightweavers finally managed to catch up with us?” He takes slow steps, circling the perimeter of the clearing. “I did—when I woke to this second life.”

He flicks a glance at the bracelet. “Old magic,” he says. “That which came before the Nightweavers fell from Elysia, before they stole our lands, our thrones— our magic.” He touches his own wrist, where the band of braided leather once resided. “Mother and Father lied to us about a great many things.” His fists clench. “I’ll admit, it was clever to use the trinkets. Easy to ensure we wouldn’t take them off—wouldn’t question their… usefulness.”

I cover the bracelet with my other hand as if to shield it. As if to shield myself. All the while, he circles.

“They were enchanted.”

“Enchanted?” I balk. “But sorcery—”

“Is forbidden? Of course it is.” Again, that patient voice. “Mother and Father paid quite a bit of coin to have a protective charm placed on each of our trinkets. A spell that would ensure that no one could ever find us.” He stills, his expression hard as he surveys the edge of the clearing. He looks back at me, his eyes brimming with guilt. “So that no one ever found you .”

“Me?” My voice is small. “Why me?”

A knowing look. “You’re cursed, remember?”

A knot forms in my stomach as Annie’s senseless mumbling fades. Owen’s slow, methodical footsteps are the only sound in the silent wood.

“We were children when it happened,” he continues conversationally. “Mother and Father were forced to go ashore to find food somewhere just off the coast of Hellion.” He doesn’t look at me, his gaze trained on the brambles and thickets encircling the clearing. “You were bitten.”

The knot in my stomach tightens. “Bitten?”

A slow nod, his expression unreadable. “Nearly took your left arm.”

I reach for my shoulder, the feeling of teeth piercing my flesh like a remnant, lingering on my skin, in my bones.

When I look up, Owen has stilled again, watching me.

He scowls. “Mother took you to a Sorceress—a human, well-practiced in the magic of our ancestors. The woman managed to heal the wound and shield your heart, keeping the venom from turning you fully into a Shifter. But there was a Sylk present when we were attacked—it picked up on your scent. No matter where we went, we could be traced. Even on water. It’s why Mother had the Sorceress enchant our bracelets—to protect you.”

Above the treetops, the sun slowly crawls up the dark, crimson sky. The leaves appear to glisten, wet with blood.

“Our trinkets were supposed to keep us safe,” Owen says, his voice quiet as he takes a step toward me, his gaze trained on the bracelet. “We were never supposed to take them off.”

“We didn’t—”

He cuts me off with a dismissive wave. “No, none of you did.” His jaw tightens, and he looks out at the edge of the clearing once more, glaring at something I can’t see. “For years, I searched for a safe haven for our family—for the Red Island. Devoted my life to it. But Mother and Father wouldn’t even consider looking. ‘A myth,’ they told me.” He sneers, a look so unfamiliar on his features that I wince. “Liars.”

My hands stray to the daggers at each hip—daggers Killian claims came from the Red Island, from our people. Owen’s gaze follows my movement, and he smirks slightly.

In his tawny eyes, I catch a glimpse of the boy my brother was. The adventurer. The navigator. The dreamer.

Before the Underlings made him into… this .

My chest tightens when I think about what it’s been like for him in the months since the Lightbringer sank—the things he’s been forced to do, to see, to become.

“The week before we came upon the Cross ship, I prepared a rowboat,” Owen says as the stars in his eyes twinkle out. His lip twitches, the makings of a frown. “I knew Mother and Father were never going to listen to me. I decided to find the Red Island on my own. I took off my bracelet—left it for someone to find.”

A long, tense silence stretches out between us.

“I couldn’t do it, though.” He smiles sadly. “I couldn’t leave you behind.”

His eyes meet mine, holding my gaze as he takes another step.

“I determined to wait another year—to let Elsie have a bit more time with you—before I tried persuading you to leave. ‘We go together,’ right?” His expression twists, full of a raw, mangled hurt I can’t begin to make sense of. “But I knew, even then, that you never would. You would never have chosen me over the rest of them.”

The splinter in my chest shatters. “Owen, I—”

“A week later,” he says, swiftly cutting me off, “we brought Mary Cross aboard the Lightbringer .”

I blink, startled. An image flashes into my mind: Mary Cross, the refugee we picked up along the Dire just before Nightweavers attacked our ship and took us captive.

Owen looks at the border of the clearing, his brows furrowed. “You see, when I removed my bracelet, I broke the enchantment. The Sylk began hunting us again. Hunting you.”

Realization dawns on me, a searing pain just behind my eyes. “Mary Cross was possessed.” The Sylk that killed Owen; the Sylk that jumped from one unknown Nightweaver into another, then to Percy, and finally to Trudy. I thought, all this time, that I was hunting the Sylk. But it was hunting me my whole life. It was aboard our ship for an entire week, parading as Mary Cross, a mild-mannered girl who no one would have ever suspected brought such evil into our lives.

Owen flourishes his dagger, looking pleased that I figured it out. “Mary was merely a harbinger,” he says, taking another slow step toward me, attempting to close the distance between us once more. “Queen Morana has searched for you for quite some time. ‘The child who should have been a Shifter.’ A human girl who possesses your unique talents, with enough Underling venom in your body that, if extracted, could transform a host of souls into Shifters, and yet continues to live.” He fixes me with an odd look of curiosity, somewhat pitying. “Your Nightweaver never mentioned you should be dead, did he?”

My heart pounds against my sternum, a throbbing ache in my chest.

Owen shakes his head, laughing sharply. “No, I didn’t think he would.” He takes another step, merely three feet away from me now—the closest we’ve been since the day he died. His tawny eyes bear a trace of kindness, as if the Owen I know is still in there somewhere. “The ocean aided the enchantment around your heart, keeping the venom subdued while hindering your… abilities . But from the moment you stepped foot on land, the enchantment began to weaken. And because the enchantment no longer protected you fully, you began to feel pain in your shoulder, where you were bitten—didn’t you?”

He takes another step, forcing me backward. I almost stumble over Annie, but I plant my feet, trembling hands lingering near the hilts of my daggers. He closes the gap between us, and for the first time, the metallic stench of blood and decay that clings to him causes me to gag.

“You will get sick. The venom will poison you from the inside out.” He looks as if he is about to take another step, but he wrinkles his nose, and I remember the perfume Margaret spritzed me with just before the ball tonight. It appears to stave him off; he keeps at least a foot of distance between us, his eyes narrowed.

“It will kill you slowly, Aster.” Owen searches my face, his cold stare lingering just above my lip, where blood crusted my skin. “It already is.”