Chapter Thirty-Three #3
Seren shakes the memories from her eyes. Salty rivers stream down her cheeks, and she wipes them away with the back of her hand, not realizing the past had dug its claws into her once again.
Lara’s words echo in her skull. Does your past own you?
Seren’s eyes drift to the darker thread, mysterious, unwritten, unknown. So full of potential. Full of risk. Full of destruction. Of choice.
Elyssara’s cry through the amulet tumbles back through her mind.
I need you.
Life stared at her—a juxtaposition of opposing forces.
Answer the call of the future or answer the questions of the past?
Seren’s fingers squeeze around the hilt of her blade, and she raises it, eyes narrowing in determination.
“I am not owned by anyone,” she grits out between bared teeth.
Her eyes snap up, shifting to Lara. “I decided recently that I belong to myself.”
And she cuts the thread to the past, losing lineage, memory, and answers. She will never know. Some questions die unanswered.
Pain tears through her anyway—some wounds do not stop hurting simply because you choose to stop carrying them.
The thread drifts back to The Widow’s Waters, floating on the surface. It stays there for one heartbeat, two. And dissolves in the Waters like it never was.
The dark thread illuminates, burning bright, like fate igniting in real time.
“I deserve a future for myself,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. The words feel selfish. She thinks that might be the point.
Lara’s mouth lifts into a wicked smile. She nods once, hands still clasped behind her back. “Good choice, little witch.”
Seren nods tightly in return, pretending pride and grief aren’t at war in her chest.
“I’ll be going then. Tomorrow?” she asks, already striding toward the mouth.
The coven relaxes at the conclusion of the Harrow, but Lara raises a hand in silence. They straighten, postures going rigid under her instruction.
“Not quite,” Lara croons, voice lilting after Seren.
Seren stops dead, head whipping back around. “I can stay?”
Lara’s face does not falter, does not soften. “No.”
She strides forward, stepping in line with Seren and gesturing for her to continue walking.
“We have an assignment,” she states, voice almost bored.
An assignment?
“What does that have to do with… me?” Seren asks, heartbeat hammering in her chest.
Lara walks steady, eyes trained forward.
“You’re coming with us.”
Seren sucks in a sharp breath.
“I can’t,” she says, the words rushing out of her before she has a chance to think.
Lara doesn’t react.
“You can.”
Seren pulls up below the Silent Choir, their bones rattling in the sea breeze like some sort of omen.
“I need to go to Azhareth. My friend needs me.” The words stumble out, more desperate than she intends. “Loyalty, remember?” she adds, forcing more strength into her words.
Lara huffs a laugh at that, and it seems genuine.
“You have one hour,” Lara allows. “Coin is not made by failing assignments.”
One hour. One fucking hour.
“It’s not enough—”
She cuts herself off.
The bones rattle again—a warning.
Seren’s eyes blow wide in recognition.
Not a warning—a sign.
She reaches up, bones of feet dangling just above her head.
She reaches up, and pulls. Hard. And disconnects the bone of a big toe.
“Another way to beat the crossing—skip it entirely,” she muses, eyebrows raising at Lara.
For the first time since she met Lara, the woman offers a smile that reveals her teeth. Not a beaming smile—a wicked one. Feral. The look of a woman delighted by cunning. And approval from Lara feels dangerous enough to become addictive.
“Lesson one, Seren Calvatere,” Lara says, voice commanding. “Arcanists lack the raw talent to open Gateways at will—they must imbue their Gateways with the essence of the destination. But you? You are full-blooded. Do not lower yourself to the magic of half-bloods. Command your Gateway by will.”
Rage flares hot and sharp in Seren’s chest.
She bares her teeth. “You mean I’ve been doing this fucking crossing when I could’ve just opened a Gateway to the mouth?” she hisses the words.
Lara does not flinch, does not even react to the outburst. “Yes. None of this is necessary, Seren. It is ritual.”
Lara turns away, retreating into the shadow of the cave. “One hour,” she reminds, striding back toward the coven.
Seren shoves down her rage. “I haven’t asked you my question.”
Lara half-turns. “Well?”
Seren steps toward Lara, closing the gap between them. “If you are governed by coin and coven, whose coin are you currently taking?”
This. This is what she needs. Who are they employed by?
Lara’s mouth twists into a devilish smirk. “Everyone’s, little witch.”
She turns fully, staring at Seren with the kind of gravity that precedes something realm-shifting.
Seren swallows thickly under Lara’s gaze, feeling suddenly transparent.
“We do assignments for every kingdom. But you want to know who fills our coffers and puts food in our bellies, don’t you, little witch?”
The cave suddenly becomes smaller.
Seren nods slowly, knowing that whatever comes out of Lara’s mouth next changes everything.
Lara smiles wickedly.
“Nymeris.”
And Seren’s blood turns to ice.