12. The Bride’s Choice #2
They were simple creatures, my snakes. Yet most times, they favored healing over harm, as I did. The violence Skaros had inflicted upon Ianthe was forcing us to reconsider.
Worse still, Ianthe insisted the choice was hers, that Skaros had never hurt her. She claimed I was disrespecting her choices by keeping her here. But how could I do otherwise, when letting her go meant abandoning her to the maw of the beast?
As much as she hated it, I had to keep her here. And I had to use the time to find a solution to her plight. The missing piece of the puzzle was right in front of me. I just knew it. Why couldn’t I figure it out?
Death-touched brides were supposed to thrive in Asphodelia. Like the Woven, they didn’t need to eat. If they were ill, the death-energy was meant to heal their injuries.
This had happened time and time again. But it was different for Ianthe.
I took a deep breath and thought about the thorns underneath Ianthe’s skin. The parasite that was like a piece of her own homeland. It should have died when Iaso first treated it. But it had not. My draught froze it, but that wouldn’t work forever.
Unfortunately, Ianthe was right when she said the draught froze her, too.
As the thought echoed through my mind, a sudden realization hit me. I couldn’t believe I’d missed it. It was so simple that I should have noticed it from the very beginning. But I’d looked at Ianthe’s affliction with the eyes of an Asphodelian healer, and that had cost me.
“It seems you finally understand, Eryx. You grasp the extent of the problem.”
The voice struck my mind first, as loud and clear as Thanatos’s song on Shift Day. Then came the presence. It was fierce and overwhelming, but so very familiar.
My snakes hissed, then went quiet. Like me, they knew the power that had just joined us.
I abandoned my work and turned toward the three figures that had manifested behind me. “Revered Moirae. I can’t find a cure because there is none. The death energy that keeps Ianthe alive also keeps the Thorn-Sickness alive.”
To my serpentine senses, the three Moirae were hard to perceive. They were not Woven creatures, so they were an absence of death energy. That made it difficult for my snakes to actually distinguish them.
Even so, it was in my blood, in my very Weave to acknowledge them. I knelt and waited for them to answer.
“It’s a never-ending vicious cycle of feeding,” Atropos finally said. “And unfortunately, not one we can cure through our regular means.”
Countless questions were on my lips. They must have known this from the beginning. Why then had they allowed Iaso and me to even try? Why expose Ianthe to the rabid shade Skaros had become? Why not put a stop to it sooner?
“It is cruel to keep her in Asphodelia,” Clotho continued. “We cannot torture a death-touched bride. It is against our ways. We must allow Ianthe’s destiny to follow its natural course.”
After all the promises I’d made Ianthe, admitting my own failure was crushing. Death was an honor only the most favored received. But Ianthe was a bride of Asphodelia, and she hadn’t reached the end of her path.
I couldn’t turn her away. I couldn’t just abandon her. “Surely, there must be some other way,” I insisted.
Lachesis offered a brief smile. “Don’t worry about that, Eryx. Even if you didn’t find an answer and we do not possess one, there is someone else who does.”
Through my snakes’ eyes, I stared at the Moirae in horror. They didn’t intend to free her from Asphodelia at all. They meant to give her to the shade.
“It has been three days since you severed Skaros’s connection to her mind,” Lachesis said, answering my unspoken thought.
“You have purged her blood with your potions. The intoxicating influence of the feral energy has faded from her system. Tell us, healer. Does the bride still call for the unwoven manticore?”
The memory of Ianthe standing in the misty garden surfaced. She had refused my comfort. She had refused my comfort, holding the scroll like a shield to defend the creature who had invaded her bed. She had chosen Skaros over my sanctuary.
“She does,” I conceded. “She believes it is her mate.”
“Then she has made her choice,” Atropos declared.
The sound of metal shears sliding against one another echoed sharply in the room.
“The foundation of the Agora of Echoes relies upon a single, unbreakable law. The bidders may offer their crystals, and the monsters may posture for dominance. The final choice belongs to the bride. That right is hers alone.”
“But—”
“The decree is made.” Lachesis cut me off.
“The bride’s connection to this sanctuary must be severed.
You will escort her out of the Temple. You will lead her to the Stygian Docks, where Charon’s barge waits.
If the manticore is truly her groom, let him prove it.
Let him come for her in the open streets and pay the toll.
If he fails, she will be placed on the barge and returned to the mortal realm.
She will pass peacefully in the Wilds, free from the preservation of our city. ”
With those final words, the Moirae disappeared. They had spoken. Their judgment aligned perfectly with the agonizing truth I had already discovered.
I could not save Ianthe. I could only stand aside and let the forces of fate run their course.
For Ianthe, it would be Skaros—or death.