51. Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Forty-Nine
Iwoke caged in warmth—a chest beneath my cheek, steady breath brushing my hair. For a heartbeat, I thought I still lay in my gods arms.
But when I blinked, it was only my chamber. Stone walls, morning light. My leathers back on. And yet, his scent clung to my skin, pine and smoke. His arms had misted me back the instant I stirred. Now they were gone.
I bolted upright, heart stuttering. Mairenn and Branwyn perched across the room, wide-eyed. Matching smirks glowing in the rays of Cindraloch's sun through the paneled window.
“Well,” Branwyn drawled, hair gleaming wicked in the light. “Our Seer returns. Tell me, where exactly did the Forest God spirit you off to last night?”
Mairenn laughed, folding her arms. “Oh, don’t look so contrite, Aurenya. You’re burning redder than Goibniu’s forge. Gods, you make this too easy.”
Heat climbed my throat. I clenched the sheets, as if that would smother the memory of his mouth, his hands, his voice saying words I’d never thought I’d hear. And the ache still lingering in my throat where he’d buried himself—
“I—” My voice cracked, useless.
Their laughter only rang louder. I buried my face in my palms, cursing the gods, the bond, and the way Tairngire always left me undone.
Branwyn leaned in, eyes full of mischief. “Oh, don’t keep us waiting, darling.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “He shattered the rulebook. I’ll put it that way.”
For a beat, silence. Then both of them howled. Mairenn laughed so hard the walls shook.
“Of course, he did,” she gasped. “I knew it. The firstborn of the forest, breaker of chains, circled you like a wolf for weeks. And you thought rules would stop him?”
Branwyn’s cackle was ruthless. “We told you, Aurenya. He was never one for laws or leashes. Rules are for everyone else.” She waved her hand. “We were only waiting for the dam to break, and by the look on your face right now, it did.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re both so annoying.”
Branwyn leaned close, eyes glittering. “Listen to yourself and that rasp behind your tone. You sound less like the temple’s Seer and more like a girl who’s finally tasted what she was forbidden, as you should.”
Mairenn’s smirk cut in. “And if he’s the one showing you rules don’t matter, then shit, you’ve barely seen the beginning.”
I’d had enough of their teasing, but before I could snap back, Branwyn’s hand caught mine. The world tilted, white fire searing the edges of my vision. I slammed the door shut on it before it could take me—buried it.
Branwyn’s eyes narrowed. “Your eyes…”
Mairenn’s laughter died. Silence snapped taut.
Before I could answer, shadows spilled across the chamber. Scarlet, gold, and ghost-white threads twined into shape. Three familiar figures stood where nothing had been, their voices layering like one.
“The Seer who denies her gift…”
“The Crone who plays at patience…”
“The Daughter of War, too young yet to see the blade at her back.”
Branwyn sighed, rolling her eyes like one who’d seen it all before. “There it is. The drama.”
But Mairenn had gone pale as bone. She dropped into a bow without thinking.
My chest hammered.
If the Fates were here, nothing good lay ahead, I knew that from experience.
Their gaze turned on me.
“You bury our gift.”
“You chain what is not yours.”
“The visions are the Weave’s, Seer. And the Weave always claims its due.”
Their voices curled around me like noose and flame. I lifted my hands. “Take me, then. My innocence is gone. I’ve touched divines. I’ve spilled mortal blood on sacred soil. Take me to judgment.”
Laughter cracked like lightning across the chamber, three voices weaving together, merciless.
“Silly girl.”
“You think we didn’t smell the blood on you?”
“You think we didn’t foresee this bond?”
The sound echoed, dizzying. My chest heaved as their shapes rippled like smoke and thread.
“The bond is ours.”
“It was always permitted.”
“Lies keep you chained.”
Heat clawed through me—fury twisted with confusion. My nails bit crescent moons into my palms.
“You suppress the Sight out of fear,” one hissed, eyes burning like coals.
“We tire of your denial,” the second cut in, red eye searing.
“But we understand,” the third murmured, softer, mournful. “Your fate is already cruel.”
They turned on one another, words slicing the air.
“She should be punished…”
“No. She must be forced…”
“She deserves balance. Another gift.”
Discord knotted, then stilled. Three sets of eyes burned into me. Threads hummed so loud I swore they lived in my ribs.
“It is decided.”
“She will carry another gift.”
“The spark of the half-born. The divine fire.”
Branwyn’s smile faltered, awe sharpening her delicate features. Mairenn—unflappable Mairenn—stared as if the floor had split open.
“You…” Her voice cracked. “You can bestow that? On one not born to it?”
The Fates only smiled, lips curved like hooks.
“The blood is the vessel.”
“The Weave is the word.”
“And you will not like the price.”
My throat closed. “What price? I never asked for this!”
Their eyes blazed, molten gold spun to needles.
“You will stop suppressing the Sight,” the first said.
“No more stifling. No more hiding,” the second snapped.
“You will open to every vision. Whether it sears you raw or leaves you gasping for air,” the third finished.
My stomach dropped. “No, you don’t understand. I’ve lived with this curse since I was a child. Seeing the destruction your threads create…It rips through me like lightning. It—”
“Enough.” Their voices cracked in perfect unison. “It is no curse. We do not see where threads end. The destruction is only the result of choice.”
My chest ached under the weight of their words. They were right. They didn’t see their ends. Because I did for them.
“Why call this a gift?” I spat, knees trembling even as anger flared. “Why lace me with another chain and call it mercy when the one I carry already bleeds me dry?”
They cackled—jagged, cruel, lilting.
“Because this gift will sharpen your Sight.”
“It will make divine visions clearer.”
“And when battle comes—and it will come, sooner than you think—you will need every thread, every scream, every glimpse of the Weave to survive.”
Their words knocked the air from my lungs, a stark reminder of the Obsidian Heart pulsing nearby, the Weave shattering, and Neit and his allies preparing for war.
Still, I bared my teeth. “And if I refuse?”
Their laughter rolled low, thunder before a storm.
“There is no refusing, Seer.”
“The threads have already chosen.”
“You were born for fire—and fire cannot choose not to burn.”
The pain hit like an inferno in my veins. The kind that devoured, searing from the marrow out. My scream tore the air apart as white swallowed my vision, the sound of a thousand threads knotting, snaping, tightening into me at once.
Branwyn and Mairenn caught me as my knees buckled. Their voices were faint against the roar in my skull. The Fates’ cruel laughter twined the air.
“Our gift burns.”
“Because all gifts must carve before they bloom.”
“Now you carry the spark. Half-born with the Weave itself, and yet more.”
Their forms blurred to mist, vanishing with the last word.
And then I felt it through the bond. A surge of power not my own, a growl vibrating my bones.
Mist filled the chamber.
Tairngire emerged, his godhood blazing raw and uncontrolled. Runes burned down his chest under his armor. His eyes glowed like molten green flame.
He looked at me once, sweat-soaked and trembling, Branwyn still gripping my arm.
The growl in his throat deepened. “What the fuck just happened? I was unable to take form here when I felt your distress.”
The bond snapped tight, his fury pouring through me until my teeth rattled.
Mairenn staggered back. Branwyn lifted her chin, but even she wavered under his gaze.
“They were here,” I rasped. “The Fates.”
His head whipped to me, that glow dimming to a deadly light. “What?”
“They gave me something. The divine spark. Said I’d need it. For what’s coming.”
He stepped forward, power rolling like a storm. His hand caught my jaw, forcing my gaze up as he cursed. “So,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “They’ve remade you.”
I flinched. “I didn’t ask for it.”
“No,” his reply came fast, teeth flashing. “But you had to take it. And now…” His thumb brushed my cheek—rare tenderness, still a predator coiled beneath. “You’re no fragile mortal bound in chains anymore. You’re weapon and vision both. A gift the Fates carved for themselves.”
I had no words. Nothing. Maybe I wasn’t bound in the same chains, but a different burden had been placed on my back.
“Do you understand what this means, Aurenya?” His expression pained, “If Neit, the King of Ash, or anyone else gets your hands on you—you’re not just the Seer anymore. You’re an even more unfathomable weapon. An entire force that should not exist.”
My heart pounded, sick with the weight of it. “Fantastic. Another condemnation.”
His eyes softened a fraction. “No. You’ve been blessed. But the line between the two is thinner than you think. And in the wrong hands…” His mouth twisted, grim. “You could tear the realms apart.”
His thumb brushed my pulse, a note of sadness in his eyes, then gone just as fast. The bond was throbbing between us, a new intensity to it that scared me just as much as it lit my core on fire. Raw, insatiable need pooled in my stomach with every brush of his touch.
Branwyn gave a low whistle. “Goddess, if he glowers any harder, he’ll burn holes through the wall.”
Mairenn laughed, braid slipping over her shoulder. “Truly, it’s torture, sharing a space with you two. The tension’s suffocating.”
Tairngire tilted his head. His smirk curled slow and merciless, still not taking his gaze from mine.
“Suffocating?” he drawled. “Try standing in my place, Daughter of War. You think you feel tension?” His eyes flashed, feral.
“I carry the weight of it every godsdamned breath. And you, Aurenya…” His gaze was sharp and hungry, like he knew where my mind had just gone. “Keep feeding it.”
Then he whispered, low enough for my ears only, “Now just where has that beautiful mind gone?”
I shoved his chest and stomped away from him. “This is just fucking great,” I snapped. “If everyone could stop tormenting me for five bloody minutes…”
But the words faltered on my tongue. Because I felt it.
A golden thread wove through my veins, alive, pulsing like white-hot metal under my skin.
I gasped, clutching my arms as my vision sharpened, every detail of the chamber cut like glass.
Shadows breathed, and my heart thundered with something more than mortal blood.
The divine spark. It spiraled inside me, wrapping through every corner of my being. Fury, shame, desire were amplified, nearly impossible to cage.
Tairngire stepped closer, runes blazing, jaw set like he’d been waiting for this storm. “Little Seer…” His voice was reverent but held an edge. “You feel it, don’t you? Raw, untapped power flowing through your veins?”
The bond between us was brighter than it ever had been. I could see it pulsing, quick and angry, now tangled with the golden current coursing through me. His grin turned feral. “Your anger. Your fire.” He exhaled slow, as if control cost him. “Now we’ll both feel it, every last drop.”
The current surged under my skin, alive in a way that made me want to claw it out—or revel in it. My body hadn’t decided.
Branwyn leaned her back, laughing easy, eyes glinting like a blade. ‘Well,” she drawled, “look who just became the most dangerous piece on the board. A mortal no longer. Tell me, sister, does it sting, or does it sing?”
Mairenn shook her head, awed. “Goddess save us. The Fates really put the spark in her veins.” Her wide eyes flicked between me and Tairngire.
My gaze cut to him.
He was watching me with that dangerous gleam in his eyes, more than a little possessive. “If she wasn’t the most valuable soul in this room before, she damn well is now.”
I glared, ready to retort. That was the last thing I wanted to be.
Because it meant that I was a burden to everyone in this fortress.
And Tairngire? Looked like he would kill anyone who got too close.
A possessive god was a dangerous one, but I would have been lying if I didn’t admit that somewhere deep, deep down—my heart stuttered a bit.
Before I could open my mouth, Tairngire tossed a bundle of leather armor into my arms. “Get dressed. Eat. Then we search for the Vein below.” His command was rough and absolute.
I whipped around and stormed into the bathing chambers cursing under my breath.
What. A. Nightmare.