Chapter 43
Chapter forty-three
ILIANA
Iliana stood close to the cave’s mouth, staring into the open maw. She attempted to stop her hands from shaking. When Anubis placed a hand firmly on her shoulder, she startled. She tried to laugh, but only a croak left her.
“Are you sure this is the right place, Hermes?” she asked. “I mean, I have a hard time believing that these powerful goddesses would live in a cave.”
Hypnos swore under his breath and glared at her. “I live in a cave. What does that have to do with power levels?”
She rolled her eyes. “But you’re grumpier than a bear. It feels appropriate.”
Before Hypnos could snap back, or worse, threaten to put her to sleep again, Hermes cleared his throat. “You don’t have time. If you wait, they’ll come for you.”
Hermes reached out, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. She tried to resist, shifting her weight slightly away, but ended up leaning into his touch anyway.
“I’d prefer to keep you around a little longer, so don’t push your luck,” Hermes said.
His ominous words made her shiver, and the backs of the other gods straightened.
Thanatos attempted to intercede on her behalf one final time. “Are you certain she cannot have one of us with her? She’s new to this world.”
Hermes cut in impatiently. “No more debating. This is your only chance.”
Iliana let out a breath. “It’s fine. I need answers about the curse or whoever targeted me. This is the only way.” She looked at each of them. “I’ll be back soon. Hopefully with more than riddles and a headache.”
Anubis offered an encouraging smile. The twins, however, shared a concerned glance.
Iliana squared her shoulders and entered the cave.
A chill crawled up her back as dampness met her, so dense it made breathing difficult.
Shadows contorted and slid over the slick stones.
From deep within the cavern, faint drips echoed, heightening her nervousness.
It seemed as if the cave itself breathed, the hollow plunk, plunk sounding like a slow, menacing heartbeat.
It’s just a cave, Iliana.
A sudden skittering noise behind her made her spin around. The entrance was now blocked by solid stone, shutting out all light and throwing her into absolute darkness. She opened her eyes wider, straining to see any sign of the exit.
“Oh, fuck me sideways.”
She forced the panic down. Fear wouldn’t help. The gods were just outside and would come get her if she didn’t return.
Probably. Unless going into the cave made her cease to exist.
“This is why you don’t leave your support gods behind, Iliana.” She imagined the four gods wearing reflective vests: ‘Do Not Pet, I’m Working’ stitched across the back. She let out a weak laugh.
Iliana extended her arms, feeling her way forward as her feet carefully tested the uneven floor with every step.
Pebbles scattered as she kicked them. Her heart thundered when faint, ominous laughter resounded to her from deeper in the cave.
The creepy sound made her shudder. She jerked her head to look, seeing nothing, but feeling everything.
The feeling of something or someone watching her intensified.
Iliana took another step, but her foot met empty air.
Her stomach jerked as she dropped, limbs flailing in panic.
She came down hard on her knees, palms slapping against the stone to keep from faceplanting.
The surface under her hands felt wrong. Instead of rough, wet stone, it was smooth and cool as polished marble.
Warmth rolled over her, driving out the cave’s chill.
She lifted her head, looking up at the sudden, piercing light. She stared.
Gold shimmered on the floor and walls, delicate inlaid patterns that looked similar to threads. She’d somehow fallen or been transported into a vast, impossible room. At the center, three women sat, each watching her as if she were a fascinating insect under glass.
The Fates.
She scrambled up and brushed herself off. “Hi. You, uh, sent for me?”
“Come here, girl.” The youngest-looking one waved her hand—impatient, dismissive.
Iliana approached, her hands opening and closing at her sides, wishing she had her dagger. But she was unarmed. Letting out a slow breath, she stopped a few steps from the sisters, resisting the urge to curtsy like an idiot.
The three sisters studied her as if she were their next tasty morsel, and only Thanatos’ lessons kept her from assuming they’d eat her.
“We will not eat you, child.”
Iliana flinched. “I—sorry, what?” She knew her face was very expressive, but she didn’t think she had a ‘please don’t eat me’ look.
The young woman with tawny-brown locks that fell to the floor grunted. “Yes, we can read your thoughts. And you do have that look. Harden yourself. There is much worse out there than the three of us.”
Iliana gaped.
A sigh came from the one in the middle, a goddess who appeared elderly, with gray hair and a silver cane. “You have broken her, Clotho. Let’s get on with it. If we toy with her for too long, she will not hear our message.”
The Fate on the left scoffed. “Attie, you don’t want the twins to hunt her down and then endure their ill humor.” She was beautiful, with dark, shoulder-length hair sprinkled with gray throughout.
“We cannot have the twins barging in either,” the young goddess said.
The first one to speak was Clotho, the Spinner. Then, Atropos, the Inflexible. That left Lachesis. It made Iliana feel a little better knowing they weren’t tricking her with their appearance.
Thanatos’ lessons surfaced. Show respect, but don’t grovel. Don’t lie—they’ll know. Don’t make demands. His teachings felt theoretical as she faced three goddesses who could end her life with a thought.
Was direct eye contact respectful—or a challenge?
Atropos vanished and reappeared behind her, placing a frail-looking hand on Iliana’s shoulder.
“We know the questions rattling in that pretty little head,” Atropos spoke. “We will give you the answers you seek about the darkness coming, but you will not like them.” The youthful giggle that left the elderly Atropos sent chills running up Iliana’s spine.
Iliana shoved aside her feelings, needing to know more, but the young goddess grabbed her attention.
“She does not need to like them,” Clotho chirped. “It is up to her to heed our warnings and make the right decisions.”
Iliana made herself ask, “Can you tell me how to break the curse? Or who cast it?”
Atropos’ hand squeezed hard enough to leave marks. Iliana bit her tongue to keep from crying out. “Patience, child,” the crone said.
“Attie, let’s just get this over with. Thanatos is already annoying me with requests for updates,” Lachesis groused.
“Fine.”
Before Iliana could ask another question, her world skipped, as if reality had hiccupped.
The golden room wavered, reformed, then expanded impossibly.
When she could see clearly again, she was somewhere completely different, in an enormous room so vast she couldn’t see the ceiling or the far walls. And the walls she could see…
She moved closer and gasped. They were moving—glowing.
The walls were made of threads, billions of them, radiating with light and woven impossibly. Some flickered dimly while others snapped without warning. Threads lengthened and branched, joining others in intricate patterns.
Curiosity overwhelmed caution, and she reached toward one of the glowing strands—white, humming with light.
A hand grasped her wrist.
“Unless you want Martha from London to drop dead, I would suggest you keep your hands to yourself,” Atropos said firmly.
Iliana stared at the goddess. “I’m sorry—Martha?”
The goddess gave her a dry look. “Each strand is a life. Touch it, and you alter their fate. Or end it.”
Acid churned in Iliana’s stomach at what she’d almost done, and she quickly stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Right. No touching the pretty lights. Got it.”
“Come,” Atropos commanded.
They followed Clotho and Lachesis as they moved through the twisting path of lifelines. Iliana was careful to stay well away from the pulsing strands that lined the walls, although the variety of colors and number of threads interwoven into them held her transfixed.
A nearby strand snapped, its light dying out before the thread dissolved. The air wavered where it had been, and a cold breeze rushed past, moving Iliana’s hair.
“It was their time,” Atropos said.
Iliana’s voice broke. “You felt that?”
The crone turned to her, smiling. “Oh, child. So did you.”
Death. That was death. A person had just died.
Iliana shivered. The callousness with which the goddess said those words sent horror skating through her. She could understand hardening yourself to something you dealt with day in and day out. Thanatos and Anubis dealt with death, too, but this seemed different. Colder.
The Fates didn’t carry death. They arranged it.
Iliana wasn’t sure if she was just another name on a string or the thread about to get snipped.
The sisters stopped before a cluster of strings, not woven into a wall but floating above the ground at the end of one hall, with a marble wall as its backdrop. Five blindingly white strands were wrapped around a single, duller one.
This was hers; her lifeline. Her hands jerked in her pockets. One wrong move and everything could fall apart.
“Breathe, child,” Clotho said. “This is you. And those,” she plucked two of the radiant lines where they rested against hers, “are the gods who have crossed your path.”
Iliana flinched, expecting the fragile strands to snap, but they held. “Okay, so, if these are their lifelines, where are yours?”
Lachesis hummed. “‘Crossed your path’ is too light a phrase. They will mean more to you and you to them if you let them.”
“Mean more? I’m human. They’re gods. How can our lives possibly intertwine like that?” She motioned to the strands.
“They haven’t,” Lachesis said.