Jade
I knew this moment was coming. I just didn’t know it would feel like being flayed alive.
Now the words are right here, crowding my throat, fighting to get out.
Thad attacked us on the Crown. He killed Oliver. Logan and I tried to save him, but there was nothing we could do.
But what would any of that change?
“I’m sorry.” The words scrape out of my throat, pathetic and worthless. “Evie, I’m so sorry.”
She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even look at me. She just stands at the far end of the boat with her arms wrapped around herself, heat shimmering off her skin in waves.
I open my mouth to try to explain, but the Seer of Origins speaks first.
“The storm touched.”
I want to reach for Logan’s hand and feel his fingers close around mine before these ancient beings crack me open and spill my secrets across the deck.
I want his thumb tracing circles on my knuckle.
I want the jolt of electricity that jumps between our skin, and the steadiness he always gives me right before the world falls apart.
But Evie’s watching from across the boat, the air around her rippling with heat, and the hatred in her eyes keeps my arms locked at my sides.
The Seer of Origins fixes those ember-gold eyes on me, the weight of centuries behind them.
“Step forward.”
My legs don’t want to move, but I force them to anyway, leaving the comfort of Logan’s presence to stand before the three giants.
“The Harrington bloodline.” The Seer’s massive head tilts, studying me. “Magic dead for generations. A family that forgot what they once were. Merchants and socialites, trading power for prestige until nothing remained but a name and empty veins.”
I almost roll my eyes. Because great. Even ancient god-beings think my family is a disappointment. Join the club.
His ember eyes flare brighter. “The storm goddess looked upon the mortal realm and claimed you as her weapon against the rising darkness.”
Weapon.
As always, the word sits wrong in my chest.
The Seer of Essence glides forward before I can spiral further. His burning red eyes lock onto me, and then he’s pushing into my awareness like hot fingers sifting through my skull.
It’s like being turned inside out while everyone watches.
“Celestial magic fused with mortal flame burns inside you,” he says. “Powers wrapped around each other like mating serpents.”
That’s... a really weird image. Thanks for that.
“The storm-serpent is coiled within you, waiting to strike. You have learned to cage it inside a sphere of will and desperation, but containment is not control.”
I sort of see his point. Because the glass sphere works, mostly. Except for when it doesn’t.
“This power was never meant to be contained,” the Seer continues. “It was meant to be unleashed. And one day, the serpent will uncoil, whether you are ready or not.”
Thunder rolls overhead, and the Seer of Consequence drifts forward.
When he’s standing in front of me, his ethereal form goes still, those swirling silver eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Then, he begins to pace, and his expression shifts into frustration. Actual frustration, visible on features that should be beyond mortal emotions.
Finally, he stops directly in front of me. His eyes bore into mine, a weight pressing against my consciousness, and it’s not painful like the Seer of Essence. It’s more like he’s searching, trying to find a truth that keeps slipping through his fingers.
“Impossible.” The word echoes across the water like a curse.
The other two Geryons exchange surprised looks.
“Your fate-thread defies me.” The Seer falters, then centers himself again. “I have read the threads of countless mortals across countless centuries. Warriors and scholars. Kings and beggars. Heroes and monsters. Each one was clear and measurable, leading to an ending I could see.”
His silver eyes swirl faster.
“This thread is the first anomaly I have encountered in fifteen hundred years.”
My blood runs cold.
Anomaly.
That’s not a word anyone wants applied to them by a fate-reading god.
“Your destiny cannot be measured, predicted, or categorized,” he says, his voice rising with each phrase. “The thread exists, but it refuses to show me where it leads.”
I think about Circe running her fingers over my threads and frowning, saying it tangled with others in ways she’d never seen. At the time, I thought she was just being cryptic. A mysterious sorceress doing mysterious sorceress things.
But this is different.
“You might save everything,” the Seer of Consequence continues. “Or you might destroy everything. The thread refuses to show me which. Instead, it branches indefinitely in every direction, as if your choices create new possibilities faster than fate can account for them.”
The Seer of Origins takes a small step forward. “This has not occurred before?”
“Not in fifteen hundred years.” The Seer of Consequence sounds almost offended. “When Gwendolyn began her search to resurrect her lost love.”
I glance at Logan, desperate for an indication of what this means, of what I should do, of how I’m supposed to react to being told I’m a fate-defying anomaly who might destroy the world.
He’s not looking at me. Instead, his eyes are fixed on a point in the middle distance.
The air around him has gone cold, a pocket of chill that doesn’t match the heavy heat pressing down on the rest of us.
It’s like he’s retreated so far behind his walls that there’s nothing left on the surface at all.
“Logan?” I ask, small and uncertain.
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even blink. It’s like he isn’t here at all.
Dread pools low in my stomach. Because I’ve seen Logan controlled before. I’ve seen him distant and guarded. But I’ve never seen him like this.
“The storm touched’s judgment is complete,” the Seer of Consequence says, sharper now. “Her fate remains unknowable. Her destiny, unmeasurable. She is a variable that cannot be calculated.”
He pulls back, rejoining his brothers, but his silver eyes stay fixed on me.
That’s when it hits me: being unreadable might be more dangerous than having a dark fate. Dark fates can be fought. But a fate that can’t be read? That could go in any direction?
It makes me the kind of wild card that powerful beings eliminate before they become a problem.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the heavy air, my gaze naturally going to Logan again. Every line of his body is rigid with tension, but his face remains completely, terrifyingly blank.
Before I can ask him what’s wrong, the Seer of Origins speaks, his ancient voice echoing across the water.
“Three have been judged,” he says. “Now, only two remain.”