15. Flossing Threads
Flossing Threads
S iva finished with the last braid on the side of my head and declared me fit to be seen. Her kind blue eyes, surrounded by clusters of wrinkles, appeared watery in the reflection of the mirror. “You look so much like your mother,” she mused, patting me lightly on the shoulder.
I offered her a smile, holding back the need to tell her I looked like every woman in my family.
Siva had been my mother’s lady’s maid for as long as I could remember.
Perhaps it made her feel better to say so, or maybe she thought it would comfort me in some small measure.
Either way, her kindness warmed my heart.
“Thank you, Siva. You may retire for the evening.”
I stood from the vanity stool and smoothed down the folds of my charcoal skirt. My bodice was dark blue and had long sleeves with black embroidery at the cuffs and the lower hem.
The leather belt slung across my hips had been a gift from Lenn on my seventeenth birthday, though I’d removed the dragonbone knife and sheath that accompanied it for this evening. It was a fine weapon from the days of the Drakon War. Lenn told me his ancestor had made it as a trophy.
“You won’t need my assistance preparing for bed, Your Majesty?” the old woman asked. She swept at my shoulders, looking me over once more.
“No, I’ll be fine,” I assured her, taking one last glance in the mirror.
It was still a shock to see myself this way. I’d lived twenty-three years with mouse-brown hair and eyes the color of tea that’d been steeped too long. A stranger stared at me now, her ice-chip gaze sending a shiver up my neck.
The stark white of my hair washed out my pale complexion, giving me an almost translucent cast. Eyebrows that had been dark brown were now barely visible, having turned the same shade as my hair. Though some might describe me as beautiful, I thought I looked more frightening than anything else.
A ruthless wolf—deadly danger that lurked in the dark, preparing for a hunt.
I tore my gaze away from the mirror, drawing in a deep breath. There was a hunt I needed to prepare for, and the means of my preparation awaited me in the receiving room.
Siva slipped from the bedchamber as I moved to the door on the far right wall. I opened it, suppressing the memory of the last time I’d stepped through this door. There were no dragons waiting in the room beyond, only a woman I’d known all my life.
Freya Anja greeted me with a warm smile, turning at my arrival. “Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head. Her dark braids, streaked with silver, were pulled back into a knot, and the fire in the hearth gave her russet brown skin a golden glow.
I took her hands up in mine, squeezing lightly. “Thank you for meeting with me, Anja. I’m sorry I had to postpone yesterday.”
“Think nothing of it.” Her green eyes sparkled with an otherworldly light.
We made our way to the table—the same one we’d all gathered around with the dragons only yesterday morning—and took up our seats.
I settled in at the head of the table, and she slid gracefully into the chair on my left.
A trencher sat between us bearing a steaming loaf of bread.
Its smell relaxed me a little, though these days the knot in my gut never truly went away.
I fixed my gaze on her, anticipation rising like the tide.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, Freya Anja,” I began, “but I’m sure you know why I wanted to speak to you.
There are many things happening right now that require my attention, and I…
I don’t know where to begin. I would be grateful for any guidance you can give me. ”
Honesty was the only way to move forward. I knew Anja would not think less of me for asking her to help, but I couldn’t be as sure about any of the other Jarlum.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she said, a small smile gracing her wide lips.
She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and settling her shoulders.
Her left hand rested on the table, twitching slightly.
The pillar candles of the centerpiece cast long shadows over us, making her fingers appear unnaturally long.
I waited with bated breath, unable to look away.
Suddenly, her eyes flew open, and a rush of air escaped her mouth. Anja remained still as she looked at me with a glassy stare. Tendrils of silver and gold rippled in her irises, swirling within a gray cloud.
“Much has changed since only yesterday,” she said distantly, her gaze traveling up and over my face. “You’ll have to fill me in on some of the details, Your Majesty, so I can make sense of it.”
“Tell me what you see,” I said, keeping my voice low, “and I will infer as best I can.”
She tilted her head, narrowing her hazy eyes.
“There are many threads, as you know,” she began, “and a good portion of them are dim. You have made decisions that move you away from these futures, though the possibility is still there. Several are bright, but the one that is brightest connects to your throat. It indicates a journey, one that will end in vengeance. There’s something there. A… bird?”
“That’s probably the huathe ,” I said.
The film over her eyes thinned, revealing more of the moss-green irises as she looked at my face, rather than above my head. “A huathe ? From the legends?”
“The very same. Lady Estrid found another feather like the one left behind by the assassin,” I explained. “She is certain it was a huathe that killed my mother, and I believe her.”
Freya Anja eyed me cautiously, but when the glittering fog thickened over gaze, she nodded. “Yes, I See now,” she muttered. “A shrouded man with golden wings. It is imperative you find him. I can sense his malice, Your Majesty. Anger… and fear. The thread connecting him to your throat is strong.”
“What is the significance of the throat?” Though I knew the threads of life connected to different spiritual centers within the body, I wasn’t entirely sure why the huathe would be attached to the Core of Divine Will.
“It is indicative of the journey, I believe,” she answered, narrowing her gaze at my neck. “You will need to uphold your faith in the gods to dispose of him. Your Core of Divine Will is bright.”
“Do I need to go north?” I asked, leaning into the table. “Is he the one causing the increase in myrkva attacks?”
She shook her head, delicate brows drawing close together.
“I do not know. There’s a thread drawing you to the north, and although it is thick, it is very dim.
Whether it will grow brighter over time, I cannot say.
But for now… Forgive my candor, Your Majesty, but I believe you should stay in Kjarra and employ someone other than yourself to hunt down this huathe. The danger to your life is too great.”
Lukas’s words echoed in my mind, and a pit opened in my stomach. The thought of sitting idly by while someone else searched for my mother’s killer had me tasting bile. “Is there no other way?” I asked, fighting past the clench of my jaw.
She blinked a few times, clearing her eyes. “Of course, you can pursue the dim thread. But I cannot, in good conscience, advise you to do so. There is another bright thread, tied to the Core of Divine Love, that keeps you in Kjarra.”
“My heart?” Every inch of me had gone numb. The Shadow bristled slightly. “What do you mean?”
Anja twisted her mouth in consternation, casting a look toward the fire, her high cheekbones sending severe shadows down her face.
“Flossing threads is a delicate art, Your Majesty,” she began tentatively.
“I can see the connections between you and those that play an important role in your life.
Different people are connected to different Cores, depending on the nature of your relationship.
And the strength of that relationship determines the number of possible futures.
“Your Thane, for example, is connected to the Core of Divine Unity, in the palm. You feel safe with him, and his word carries a heavy weight in your decisions. His thread is strong, but flexible—he will support you in whatever you decide.”
That certainly sounded like Lenn.
She drew in a deep breath and continued, “Myself and the other Jarlum are connected to the Core of Divine Truth—the Mind. We work together to protect this country, and trust that each person has the other’s best interest at heart.”
My head ached at the thought of seeing so much and trying to decipher it. “But what does the thread tied to my heart mean ?” It had to belong to Lukas. And Anja was now telling me that following this thread would keep me here.
She looked down at the table, where her fingers still twitched.
“It is the thread tied to Lord Aberg,” she said, admitting what I already knew.
“Believe me when I say, I do not wish to pry into your relationship with him, Your Majesty. As I said, the thread is thick, indicating your… closeness. The thicker the main thread, the fewer possibilities there are.”
A memory of Lukas’s twisted face from my nightmare flashed through my mind, how he’d laughed as we all burned.
“Do you—?” I choked on a well of emotion. “Do you sense anything from him?”
I hated to even ask. As she said, she didn’t want to pry into our relationship, and I detested putting her in the position to do so. But the doubts were too consuming.
She lifted her striking gaze to look me in the eye, unable to hide the pity there.
“A wealth of fear,” she said. “The thread is hazy, indicating emotional turmoil. But its brightness is waning, Your Majesty. It is strained—at risk of breaking. I’m afraid the only way to keep it from snapping completely is if you stay here.
” She was choosing her words carefully, I could tell.
But her meaning couldn’t have been clearer.
Lukas didn’t want me to go.