Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
LYRA
Atorrent of rain greeted our departure as we set off on horseback. The four of us wore oilskin cloaks over our leathers, hoods drawn against the downpour that pattered the tops of the trees.
Our horses made slow progress, their hooves sinking into the mud as it spattered our faces. The incessant hiss of the rain drowned out everything else, and the air smelled like crushed flowers and decay. The moisture drew those scents to the fore, obscuring even Kaden’s familiar smell.
My skin prickled. I didn’t like it when my hunter senses were dampened — especially not in the Ravenous Woods.
Somewhere overhead a bird gave a loud squawk, but when I whipped around to see if we were being followed, all I saw were our tracks in the mud.
I didn’t know how long we’d been riding when we finally reached the Great Oak. My boots and hair were drenched, and my teeth chattered from the cold as we dismounted and stepped into the shelter of the enormous tree.
Even Kaden looked pale as he drew a dagger from his belt. Strands of midnight hair were plastered to his face, and water streamed down the tip of his nose.
Wordlessly, Sorsha held out her hand, and Kaden made a small incision before slicing his own skin.
Side by side, they placed their bloodied palms flat against the trunk, and I watched in amazement as the golden runes that draped the tree were illuminated with an otherworldly glow.
Slowly, the bark began to crumble away, opening the familiar doorway that led into the Great Oak itself.
Kaden caught Adriel’s eye, and something passed between the two males — a language only they understood from centuries spent at each other’s side. I followed the royal guard into the shelter of the trunk before the bark rematerialized over the opening, blocking my mate from view.
I shivered. Although I knew Kaden and Sorsha had to remain outside to unlock the tree, I couldn’t help the anxious feeling fluttering in my gut.
Clutching the bag with the Death Bringer’s hands, I descended the earthen stairwell. My lungs filled with the scent of earth and rot, and the air seemed to grow colder with every step I took.
Finally, we emerged into the familiar chamber lit by glowing torches. The tapestry of Fate was even more stunning than I remembered. Hundreds of millions of glistening threads were woven together to create a design that no mortal could have dreamt up.
The Three sat hunched in their ivory robes, silver-white hair cascading to the ground. Clotho was busy spinning as always. A single gossamer thread of starlight glinted as she worked, weaving the very fabric of existence into pale, shimmering matter.
The squeak of the treadle filled the chamber and raised the hairs along my arms. Morta sat still and lifeless in a chair formed by tree roots — a stark contrast to her busy sister.
“She has returned,” came a girlish whisper. “The huntress who seeks to end the Dark One.”
My gaze flicked to a shadowy figure half-concealed in the folds of the tapestry.
It was Diem, the Weaver, who arranged the threads of fate into the breathtaking design.
Morta stirred in her seat, that eerie silver gaze roving over me with a predatory alertness.
“We have come to return your hands,” I told her, though I kept my eyes on Diem. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to meet the Death Bringer’s gaze. It felt too much like an invitation.
The incessant rhythm of the treadle faltered, and I sensed Clotho watching me.
Reaching into my crude canvas bag, I carefully extracted the hands and knelt before the Death Bringer. I swallowed, my own hands shaking as I placed them at her feet.
“And you have brought the Morkahlf,” Diem intoned, a petulant edge to her voice.
I winced. I’d forgotten that Adriel hadn’t exactly made the best impression the last time we were here.
“He is the only one who can restore your sister’s hands,” I explained, nodding at the jar of clay clutched in Adriel’s grip.
Diem peeked around the glowing tapestry, her eyes gleaming with interest. “The Morkahlf commands the earth,” she hissed. “He has been granted Gninou’s sacred blessing to restore that which has been taken.”
I lifted my eyebrows. I wasn’t sure we’d gotten the silver god’s blessing, but perhaps Kaden’s and my . . . activities at his dedicated tree had garnered us some favor.
Feeling Morta’s eyes on me, I started to unroll the scrap of linen I’d used to wrap her severed hands. Slowly, I exposed the pale, shriveled fingers, the shining gold rings, and wrists that ended in gory stumps.
I heard a sharp intake of breath and chanced a glance up at Morta. The Death Bringer was staring down at her own hands, silver tears welling in her eyes.
Something twisted in my chest, and then I felt a tingle of magic.
The hands rose from the ground on a cloud of golden light, and the Death Bringer held out her arms. The sleeves of her robes fell back to reveal her residual limbs, and I watched in stunned amazement as she levitated the hands into place.
“You can restore them?” The Death Bringer asked, fixing her silvery gaze on Adriel. Her voice was like a sack full of bones rattling together, as if she hadn’t spoken in years.
Adriel cleared his throat and gave a jerky half-nod. Stepping toward her, he dropped to one knee and set the clay vessel on the ground.
It was a strangely heart-wrenching sight — the fearsome royal guard kneeling at the Death Bringer’s feet. I watched as he scooped out a handful of clay, which filled the chamber with its sharp, mineral scent.
Brilliant swirls of gold and green mixed together as he brought the clay to the place where Morta’s wrist and forearm joined. As it touched her, the clay glowed with the same otherworldly light, which poured out from between Adriel’s cupped fingers and burned the backs of my eyes.
A strange, ancient magic hummed around us as he worked the clay around her wrist, and I wasn’t certain if it was the magic of the Three or something unique to Adriel.
It didn’t feel like the power he’d used when he’d dragged me through the earth.
That had been violent, destructive magic, whereas this felt like the song of creation itself.
When he was finished, I stared in astonishment. Morta’s hands still shone with that strange golden light, though it had faded to a dull glow. She wiggled her fingers and drew in a gasp, astounded at the sight of her hands moving as though they’d never been gone.
“Thank you, Child of the Clay. And thank you, Daughter of Two Realms.”
I squirmed under her gaze, uncomfortable having her gratitude directed at me. Even though I’d entered a deadly nest of vampires and nearly been drained alive in my attempt to recover the hands, it was Adriel who’d managed to reattach them.
The royal guard gave a gruff nod and stood, turning toward the stairwell. “I’ll wait for you at the top, shall I?”
I gaped at him. This was it — the reason we’d risked everything to find the hands. The moment we asked the Death Bringer to cut the ties of the souls bound to Semphrys. And he wanted to leave because he felt uncomfortable?
Then I remembered how he’d angered the Three on our last visit and decided it might be better if I did this on my own.
“You’re most welcome,” I said to Morta, trying to decide how to phrase my request.
“Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten,” she continued. “My sisters and I owe you a debt. I believe you already know how you would like it to be repaid.”
Slowly, I approached the glittering tapestry, my gaze gliding straight to the tangled mess of threads near the bottom. One was thicker than all the rest, leaching an unsettling darkness as it twisted and pulled on the strands around it.
Semphrys’s thread.
My chest thrummed with anticipation as I opened my mouth to ask her to cut the threads of all the souls entangled with his. But before I could, I became aware of another golden strand — one that warmed my insides and made me think of burning cedar in a hearth on a cold mountain night.
Kaden’s thread hung from Semphrys’s, woven from the very same glittering fiber. It was unsettling to see the physical manifestation of their sire bond. The king’s sinister essence seemed to flow down into Kaden, poisoning his very soul.
My heart squeezed.
My mate was one of so many who were bound to Semphrys against their will. It seemed impossible to cut them all out without creating a massive ripple effect.
But perhaps there was a simpler answer.
“Can you cut the demon king’s thread?” I asked, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it before. It would certainly be easier than storming the Dark Palace and plunging my witchwood blade through his heart.
“No,” said Morta with an air of finality. “The Kingdom of Dorthus is a place of rest for all souls who have departed the mortal realm. It must have a king.”
Rage and grief bubbled up inside me at the injustice of it all.
Dorthus wasn’t a place of rest. It was a festering pit of darkness that had been so corrupted by Semphrys’s greed that souls could no longer reach the Valley of Light.
If the king wasn’t stopped, there would be no magic to replenish the land, and life in the Otherworld would cease to exist.
Tears blurred my vision as I stared down at Kaden’s thread, and the realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
The Dark King’s thread was part of Kaden.
What had Kaden said about the sire bond? That it could not be severed completely? If I killed Semphrys, did that mean Kaden would die too?
A cold chill swept over me as I recalled what he’d said as we’d made love in the forest.
I can’t help but think I might yet meet my demise at the end of your blade.
Then my mind shot back to the night before he’d been imprisoned, when he’d returned my dagger.
Only you can end him . . . and me, if necessary.
He’d been strangely solemn that night, and he’d forced me to make a promise — a fae bargain sealed with magic.
Swear to me that you will find a way to end him, no matter what the cost.
My stomach bottomed out. He’d known all along that the cost would be him.
And I’d foolishly agreed, not knowing what the bargain meant.
At the time, I couldn’t fathom a world where I stopped trying to kill the demon king. My blood sang for his demise. My very bones thrummed with the need to plunge my witchwood blade through his heart. And yet . . .
Bile rose in my throat as panic and fury swirled in my gut.
Kaden had coaxed me into making that bargain without telling me the full truth. He’d made me agree to kill his father knowing it would end his life too.
I wanted to scream and cry and pound my fists against his chest. How could he ask that of me, after everything we’d been through? After he’d wormed his way into my heart and made me love him against all odds.
Kaden had tricked me.
He must have known I’d realize when I saw the threads of fate. That was why he’d made me promise. So I couldn’t change my mind.
Well, fuck him.
“Have you a request for me?” Morta asked, fixing me with a look so astute that I began to wonder if she knew exactly what I was thinking.
I turned back to the tapestry, my throat suddenly dry. My heart was beating so hard I was sure the Three could hear it.
I couldn’t vanquish the Dark King without severing his ties to all those souls, and I couldn’t kill Semphrys without severing Kaden’s thread and ending his immortal existence.
My gaze drifted over the mangled section of the tapestry — all those poor mortal souls whose threads had been twisted and stretched. Souls who would never find peace because of the demon king’s greed.
They were keeping him alive, through no fault of their own. And if I didn’t find a way to end him, he would just keep taking more. Year by year, the realm would grow more depleted until there was no longer enough magic to sustain life.
There was only one thing to do.
One choice to make.
I only hoped it didn’t damn us all.