2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Saorla was waiting at the hut when I arrived, leaning against the doorframe ready to torment me.
Because why would Fate give me any sort of reprieve tonight?
“Another grand tragedy tied in silk,” she said, eyes flicking to the damp hem of my robe. “Was it tearful? Dramatic? Did one of them swoon?”
I snorted as I stepped past her. “There was no swooning. You know I’m not there for the show.”
“That’s the problem with you, girl,” she called after me. “You never enjoy the free entertainment. All those souls lining up to damn themselves and you can’t even crack a smile.”
I turned just enough to catch her grin. “Well, it's easy to laugh when you’re not the one bound for doom.”
“Bound for doom?” She barked a laugh, tossing her silver braid over her shoulder. “I was bound once, remember? To a demigod who could split mountains with his bare hands and he still fell in the Thread Wars. You think you’ve cornered the market on sacrifice, Aurenya?”
Her eyes softened for a brief moment, then hardened again. Saorla never lingered on thoughts of her dead betrothed.
After his death she’d been given a choice no mortal kind should: fade or serve. She chose the Seventh Realm, Anamcroí, under the blessing of Aíne, Moon Goddess and Keeper of Tides. Now she aged slowly, never leaving. Her days were spent guiding souls as an acolyte to the Crone.
Or as she liked to put it: watching the gods’ little plays from the best seat in the house.
“You could at least admit the speeches are impressive,” she went on. “Brannach really has a way of making suffering sound poetic.”
“I was too busy doing my duty to notice,” I said on a huff, though my lips betrayed me with the barest curve downward.
The old bird caught it instantly. “Ah, I take it tonight’s fated bond was not a kind one.”
I grunted in response. Because no, it wasn’t.
Lately, the visions were getting increasingly awful.
In fact I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a bond turn out with a positive outcome.
Saorla knew better than to goad me about it, though.
It wasn’t as if I could tell her any of the dirty details anyway.
I brushed past her toward my chamber to change, wringing the last chill from my braid.
Her dark eyes followed me like a cat watching a mouse it had no intention of sparing.
I closed the door just enough to keep her from noticing the blood stains on my smock.
Gods above and below, the copper stink was still clinging to my skin.
Yuck.
I shook my head and tugged hunter-green robes over my head. If I were walking into my execution, I would do it with clean hands and blood underneath all the holiness just to spite the Old Gods. I didn't care how gruesome it was. In the end, nothing mattered anyway.
When I stepped back into the hall, Saorla still hadn’t moved. Her arms were crossed, her relentless gaze pinning me. “And where are you off to after the robe swap?” she asked, voice light but her intent honed.
“Nowhere you need to worry about,” I snapped too quickly.
“Oh?” She leaned against the wall, chin tipped, the same way she always did when she already knew the answer. “Because that cute little scowl you’re wearing tells me you figure the High Priestess is about to drop a mess into your lap.”
I paused.
She took it as an invitation, and her grin widened. “Maybe she’s decided to petition the gods to bind you. Imagine them finally sending you down to the mortal realm for trial. Wouldn’t that be a tale?”
The words twisted in my chest. Saorla had no idea.
No idea this might be the last time she’d see me walk out her door.
No idea that the bonds had gotten darker day by day.
She was tough, sharp-edged, never soft, and I’d learned to be the same.
My life had never been mine to mourn. I’d been taught not to dwell on loss, not to cling, not to feel.
And most nights, I was really good at it.
But tonight I'd broken the rules. Tonight, I'd taken a life, and the Elders could already be waiting with my sentence.
I would accept it, of course. Because there were fates worse than mine, tonight's bond had proven as much.
But something still cracked inside me. Quiet and undeniable.
Before I could think better of it, I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms around the woman who raised me when she didn't have to.
Fast, hard, and desperate. It was a single moment, her solid warmth against mine, but it was everything to me.
It was the kind of contact I scarcely allowed myself, and Saorla deserved much more than me.
What she deserved was the chance to have a child of her own, but Fate came along to take that opportunity from her along with the one person she loved more than anyone.
The Oracle had been right. Fate could be cruel, and my duty was only to watch it, never to determine it.
Saorla froze before barking out a laugh. I almost pulled back then, but her hand came up to press against my back. Just once, but it was all I needed.
She pulled away with a confused look on her face, luckily before the moment lingered long enough to ruin me. I shook it off and the mask snapped back into place, all bite, all defiance once more.
Like the hug never happened.
I turned away quickly, so she couldn't catch the wetness forming on my cheeks. “Don’t dream too much, old woman. The gods would sooner tear down the World Tree than bind me anywhere but here.”
Her laughter followed me as I walked away, echoing in the dark. “We’ll see, girl. We’ll see.”
The path wound deeper into Caer Anam, and I found the village alive with revelry.
Alehouses spilled laughter and music into the streets, the beat of drums weaving with fiddles and the slap of mugs on wood.
The scent of roasted meat clung to the air, made fouler with mead.
Soul-bonding nights always ended this way—in wild celebration.
For the bonded, it was a farewell. For the rest, it was an excuse to drink until their legs forgot the way home.
Acolytes in pale robes twirled barefoot through the crowd, their braids unraveling as they danced.
Someone sang off-key. A woman’s laughter cut bright through the noise.
Taverns and markets crowded the river’s bend, a sprawl of timber-framed buildings that pressed against the forest’s edge.
If the Seventh Realm had a capital, Caer Anam was it.
Every tavern blazed with its own music, its own chaos.
It was the largest village in Anamcroí, a melting pot for every living thing. Mortals who were granted interim bonds could glimpse the truth of the World Tree, reveling here a while before taking their descent into Morhaven where all would be forgotten.
Those who mastered every mortal trial became ascended souls, sometimes beginning the trials for godhood, or joining the Everwoven, whispering guidance through the Tree itself.
Some chose instead to walk Anamcroí as mortals still, seeking a blessing from a divine of their choosing before they were reborn into their higher self, a babe once more.
To be raised by the temple into a life of service to the Old Gods.
The sounds of the village pressed warm and chaotic against me, but beneath it all, the hum of the Weave still pulsed strangely, the wrongness of it crawling under my skin.
My steps carried me past the lantern glow, but my mind had already shifted elsewhere—to my Fate that lingered closer with every breath.
I would be cast into Karthmor, where it would be up to the Everwoven to decide whether my soul was kept or scattered into the Weave. A true death. No rebirth, no return.
I wasn’t afraid, though. I’d been taught not to be.
I could hear the Oracle's steady voice ringing in my head. What fear is there in being replaced, child?
If I faltered, another mortal would be chosen as the Seer as easily as one candle is lit from the stub of another.
My life had never belonged to me, it had always been duty’s.
But, there was a crack that ran through me all the same.
A hollow ache that I kept pressed down where no one could see.
I longed—gods, how I longed—for something more than watching and waiting, than carrying the weight of visions I could never control or change.
Tonight, when my hand had closed around a blade and struck, I'd tasted it.
For one breath, I had ached instead of witnessed.
Protected the realm from a monster, and now I might die for it.
How fucking fitting.
The thought may have filled me with regret if I’d been a docile little lamb the temple had broken in. But I would never be that, so instead it left me raw. Torn between shame for never being good enough and a certain hunger for the freedom I’d stolen in that instant.
I tightened my grip on my robes.
I was now standing in front of the Elder’s hut. If this was the night the Old Gods or my wardens ended me, then so be it. My duty would not falter, and another would stand in my place.
But the longing, real and forbidden, still burned nonetheless.
I exhaled deeply and pushed the door open. Cedar smoke filled my lungs, landing in my chest like I'd just swallowed knives. It was Brannach’s favorite incense so it was really no surprise that it gave me hives.
Then I made the mistake of looking up, because the phantom I’d seen in the shadows earlier was standing at the back of the room. And he wasn’t just a tall, shadowed figure—he was a very large and imposing man.
No. Not just a man, something…more.
He carried a presence that made the largest hut in the whole of Caer Anam feel crowded, the ceiling too low. Broad shoulders brushed against carved beams, his long legs braced like roots in stone. He wore no hood now, and I couldn’t help but wish that he had.
Because there was nothing more dangerous than a beautiful man.