Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I had thought my vision of Nyaxia had been debilitating. I had been wrong. It was nothing compared to what she was in person—a force so great that you had no choice but to bow, a beauty so intense you had no choice but to avert your gaze, a presence so strong that the threads themselves couldn’t define her.
All at once, she was here, and all at once, the world rearranged to suit her.
She was as she had appeared in the vision—the tendrils of long black hair, floating like freestanding night, the pale skin, the blood-drenched mouth, the eyes of nebulas and galaxies. And yet, she still was so much more.
The terror that fell over me had me on my hands and knees against the stone.
And yet, through that fear, my attention fell to Atrius—Atrius, who now hacked off the Sightmother’s head, presenting it to his goddess.
He didn’t show it, but I could feel his fear, too. He was drowning in it.
He bowed to Nyaxia and held out the head to her.
“My lady,” he said. “A gift for you.”
Nyaxia chuckled. The sound felt like a fingernail up my spine—a promise of something either very pleasurable or very dangerous.
She reached down and took the head, examining it.
“My,” she purred, “and what a gift it is.”
“I promised you a kingdom of the White Pantheon conquered in your name,” Atrius said. “I do not make promises I don’t keep.”
“And yet I didn’t expect the head of my cousin’s devoted acolyte.” A slow smile widened over Nyaxia’s mouth, another drop of blood trickling down her ice-pale skin. “A kingdom is one thing. But this... what a delightful surprise. For too long my cousins have thought my children are free for them to hunt. How nice to see the roles reversed.”
The earth itself shivered with her pleasure. I’d never been in the presence of such wicked delight. I knew that gods, petty as they were, loved to be offered sacrifices that spat in the face of their rivals. But this... Nyaxia seemed to love the spite of it more than the gift of the kingdom she had sent Atrius on an impossible mission for.
She lowered the head and ran one blood-soaked hand over Atrius’s cheek, a mother’s caress. He stiffened beneath her touch.
“You,” she purred, “have exceeded my expectations, Atrius of the House of Blood.”
Just then, the air shifted again. All the air ripped from my body, leaving me heaving on the ground.
It wasn’t enough to say the threads shifted. They changed. Suddenly they were more alive than they ever had been, every one of them bound to a new source—their only true master.
Only the Weaver herself could shift the threads of life itself like that.
“You always were far too quick to make your decisions, cousin,” a low, melodic voice said—a voice that sounded like every age layered on top of the other, child and elder and everything in between, ever-moving, like the unknown itself.
I forced myself to lift my head. Forced my senses to reach out for her—my goddess, my Weaver, Acaeja.
The entire world bent to her. No, flowed through her—like every sense and element and tiny speck of time was held in the palm of her hand. While Nyaxia emanated breathtaking, dangerous beauty, Acaeja’s was constant, stable, like the powerful grace of the horizon where the stone met the sea. She had rich, deep skin, her features strong as stone, her large eyes pure white and clouded with mist that shifted and changed with every passing second. She had six wings, three on each side, each one offering a glimpse into another cryptic version of the future or past or present—snowy skies or churning seas or flames of a fallen kingdom. She wore a long, simple white gown that trailed over her feet, fluttering in the breeze. Her hands, which had ten fingers each, were fanned out in front of her. Each finger was tattooed with symbols that indicated a different fate—and from those fingers spilled threads of light. Threads of fate itself, surrounding her like the moon circling the earth.
A slow smile spread over Nyaxia’s face—a wicked smile. “Acaeja. It’s been so long.”
“A shame for us to meet with my acolyte’s head in your hands.”
Nyaxia’s smile withered. “I seem to recall once we met with my husband’s head in yours.”
The air grew suddenly cold, the stars shifting to storm clouds overhead.
Acaeja’s presence soured. The fates in her wings darkened, all cold nights and smoldering ashes.
“We have discussed this many times, cousin,” she said.
“And perhaps now you’ll tell me that we’ll discuss it many more,” Nyaxia snapped.
Acaeja didn’t answer. But a small, knowing smile curled her lips.
“Yes,” she said. “I expect we will.”
“Maybe it isn’t so bad for you to know what it feels like to mourn something,” Nyaxia spat, sneering down at the Sightmother’s head. “What do you feel for this witch, anyway? You have thousands more. I had only Alarus. Only him.”
Her voice cracked over those final two words, and it struck me just how childish she sounded—how lost.
I had been so ashamed of my inability to shed my grief from fifteen years ago. And yet here was a goddess, one of the most powerful beings ever to exist, and her grief was still just as raw, two-thousand years later.
The pain in the air hardened, sharpening to anger. Nyaxia’s flawless face twisted into a hateful sneer. “And all of you have exiled my people. You’ve hunted them. You kill them. I have defended Obitraes through force alone.”
Acaeja regarded her steadily. “I loved Alarus as a brother,” she said. “I have never had any quarrel with your people. And I have defended you, Nyaxia, from others who judge you in ways you do not deserve. I will not excuse the actions of the White Pantheon. But this?—”
Nyaxia cut in, snidely, “This is what I have earned?—”
“ This , Nyaxia, is a new sin.” Acaeja’s voice did not raise. She didn’t need it to. The power in it alone cut through all other sounds. “Your follower has murdered one of my most devoted acolytes. You intend to take a kingdom from the grasp of the White Pantheon. You have been wronged, cousin, I will give you that. But someone must pay for the blood that’s been spilled here.”
Her gaze fell to Atrius—Atrius, who was still drenched in the Sightmother’s blood.
The terror that spiked through me at that, just her attention going to him, paralyzed me.
And before I could stop myself, I leapt to my feet.
“I am responsible.”
The words flew from my lips before I gave myself time to reconsider them.
A bolt of raw fear speared Atrius’s presence—even though he hadn’t so much as flinched when it was himself under Acaeja’s scrutiny.
I couldn’t let myself pay attention to that, though, as both goddesses’ eyes turned to me. The force of their attention alone nearly made my knees buckle, like my body could not withstand the power of their gazes.
“I’m responsible,” I said again. “And it would be an honor to sacrifice my life to you, my goddess, in payment.”
I couldn’t acknowledge Atrius. I would break if I did. I had the attention of two goddesses on me—two of the most powerful beings to ever exist across time itself—and yet I felt his stare just as strongly as theirs .
Nyaxia laughed. “See, Acaeja? If you want to take a life in exchange for a life, here’s a pretty, young one ripe for your plucking. But you will not touch my acolyte.”
Nyaxia, it seemed, was suddenly very protective when it came to her rival gods. Perhaps more about competition than it was about benevolence, but I was grateful for it on Atrius’s behalf either way.
I told myself that I had never been afraid of death. And yet, I couldn’t stop the shaking when Acaeja turned to me, her ice-white eyes staring through me. She approached, feet gliding without movement over the tile floor.
She leaned down before me, our faces level. All the threads, every one of them, bent toward her, as if begging to return to their natural origin. Each layer of my soul peeled back for her, leaving me terrifyingly exposed, like at any moment she could reach into my ribcage and pluck my bleeding heart.
The past, the present, the future blended. I felt uprooted in time, a million versions of myself over a million moments now standing in this spot, on trial under her judgment.
“Tell me, child,” she said, “why would you offer yourself up to me so willingly?”
One of her many fingers, this one marked with a thorned circle—the symbol of the heart—reached out and trailed down my cheek.
“Because I did betray my Sightmother.” Despite my best efforts, my voice wavered. “And because I have offered you my entire life, and it would be a greater honor than I deserve to offer you my death, too.”
She regarded me, face stone, the light of her eyes peering through even my most deeply hidden threads.
“It is useless to offer me false truths, Vivi,” she said.
My heart leapt to my throat. “I swear it, my goddess, I?—”
“Just as it is useless to offer them to yourself.” That single finger slid down, over the angle of my chin, lifting it. “So very terrified of that beating thing within your chest. That is the wrong enemy, child.”
My mouth closed. Acaeja straightened, drawing herself up to her full height. The light of her eyes flared, and the threads at her fingers shivered and rearranged, as if mapping the path to a new web.
“Your offering is very noble,” she said, “But I do not want it. Your death is of no value to me. But your life... I see that something of great usefulness may come of that.”
I released a shuddering breath.
But that brief, powerful wave of relief crashed down hard when Acaeja turned back to Nyaxia and Atrius. For a split second, I thought that perhaps I was about to witness Atrius’s death—or a battle between the goddesses that would destroy all of us.
Yet Acaeja’s voice was calm when she spoke again.
“I have great sympathy for your pain and your grief, cousin. So, I will let you keep these victories. Let you keep the head of my acolyte. Let you keep this kingdom. But .” Her face darkened, the light in her eyes shifting to blue. The sky above us grew unnaturally purple, soundless cracks of lightning dancing over the stars. “Know this, Nyaxia. You have crossed a line here today. Done what cannot be undone. I have fought too long and too hard on your behalf to be disrespected like this. And you know that if it were any other but me standing before you now, the punishment would not be nearly so light.”
Nyaxia smiled sweetly. It reminded me chillingly of the smile I had seen in Atrius’s vision—the smile that doubled as a death promise.
“I long ago tired of the White Pantheon’s petty threats, Acaeja,” she said. “If Atroxus or his ilk want to come for me, let them come. I will fight harder than my husband did. I have none of his compassion.”
Acaeja stared at Nyaxia for a long moment. The threads on her fingers danced and wove, fanning out behind her wings as if running through a thousand possibilities of a thousand futures.
“I tried, cousin,” she said, softly. “You will not remember it. But let the fates show that I tried.”
And then, in a blaze of clouds and smoke and wings, Acaeja tipped her head to the heavens, and she was gone.
Nyaxia barely glanced after her.
“Such catastrophizing,” she muttered, pushing a sheet of star- dotted hair over her bare shoulder. Then she turned to Atrius, and that slow, night-hewn smile spread over her beautiful mouth again.
“Atrius of the Bloodborn,” she crooned. “You have served me well. You have exceeded my expectations. In return, I lift the curse I placed upon you, just as I promised.”
She leaned down and touched Atrius’s chest.
With that touch, a sudden burst of darkness overtook the world.
A soundless scream rang in my ears. My knees hit the stone ground before I knew what was happening, my body curling in on itself. The vampires restrained on the pillars slumped, barely conscious, against their restraints.
Atrius had doubled over, clutching his chest, his pain ringing out even through the chaos.
Nyaxia offered no further parting words. In that maelstrom of night, she was gone. And when it faded, my senses slowly slipping back to me, I pushed myself to my hands and knees only to immediately sense Atrius lying on the ground before me, lifeless.
I choked out his name and crawled to him. My head swam, and my limbs were wobbly beneath me. Darkness clawed at the edges of my senses, ready to pull me away at any moment.
But I still managed to make it to Atrius’s side, my hands sliding over his bare chest.
Fragments of his memories flashed through me—memories of the way Nyaxia had cruelly killed the Bloodborn prince even after he had fulfilled her greatest demands. For one terrible moment, I thought that she had done the same thing to Atrius.
If she had, I would—I would?—
I couldn’t let myself finish the thought. I used the last of the energy I did not have to reach into Atrius’s aura, as deep as my exhausted magic could take me, right down to the core of his heart.
And there, I felt his soul. Weak. But alive.
And there was no rot here. Nothing consuming him.
I let out a shaky breath and sagged against him. With the rush of adrenaline leaving me, so did the rest of my sparse energy.
Atrius shifted weakly. He lifted his head, grunted a wordless sound. One hand found its way to my arm—rested there for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure what he was feeling.
His eyes opened, awareness returning to him just as mine slipped away.
His fingers tightened, and with that pressure, the reality of our relationship crashed down around me.
I had betrayed him. He would kill me for it. Any king would do the same.
These truths took root in my heart.
Perhaps I hallucinated the way he said my name.
I opened my mouth to speak as Atrius sat up, but darkness took me before the words could come. They’d be useless, anyway.