Page 2 of Divine Fate (Cursed Legacies #4)

1

MAVEN

My chest burns until the familiar ambience of stale death wakes me.

I bolt upright, more disoriented than I've ever been as I blink at the cathedral-like temple surrounding me. I’m sitting haphazardly on top of a cold, ornate onyx altar that's cracked as if an impact struck it. In front of me are several rows of pews filled with withered, dismembered skeletal husks.

High above, a partially shattered stained glass dome lets in the cold light of a heavily clouded midday. Thick ice has encrusted much of this massive room, but I can still make out a mural of the reaper goddess on one wall, her face obscured by a hood. Graphic images of violent deaths, terrified mortals, and peaceful graveyards are painted around her.

This is one of Syntyche’s temples.

Or, it was . Something cataclysmic must have happened because it’s an abandoned tomb now.

I stare at the frosted mural for a moment, a strange feeling tickling the back of my brain.

Then I notice the skeletons of two purple-dressed priests on the floor near the altar. They lie entangled, looking as if they died strangling each other. Other dismembered, shriveled corpses pepper the room, dressed in black since they came to worship Syntyche by mourning the dead. They look partially preserved, as if this bone-deep cold has been around long enough to prevent them from decomposing properly.

What a disturbing scene to wake up to.

I wish I could appreciate it better, but I feel so fucking odd . My torso continues to burn as the rest of me feels weaker. When I press a hand over the scar on my chest, I'm still missing a heartbeat…and my quintet emblems. Not to mention, I’m dressed only in a ripped, sleeveless black slip, and?—

Is that stained glass embedded in my arm?

I pick a few pieces out, grimacing at the throbbing in my head. How did I get here? Memories of my not-life are a swirling cesspit of confusing information, but it all comes to a screeching halt around the moment I cursed the gods while dying in Everett's arms.

Oh, fuck. My revenant purpose was fulfilled.

Which means that I died , died.

But this isn't the Beyond. If it were, Sachar would be standing over me, judging the ragged remains of my soul and sentencing me to an afterlife of eternal misery for all the shit I did to survive in the Nether.

So what the hell is going on?

And more importantly, where are my guys?

Gods, this temple is freezing . Whenever the whistling wind outside slows, snow dusts down from the shattered ceiling, making me shiver. I slide off the altar, avoiding shattered glass all over the icy stone ground, but I pause when I notice a gleaming scythe on the ground nearby.

The rest of this eerie space is coated in layers of dust, frost, spiderwebs, and that faint, enthralling feeling I've always sensed around death, fresh or old. But this scythe is dust-free, so it was placed here recently. And the blade?—

It’s etherium.

I know because I’m drawn to the wickedly sharp, glass-like curve the same way I was drawn to Amadeus's crown years ago.

Hissing at the overwhelming soreness throughout my weakened body, I lean to scoop up the scythe. But my fingers pause when I sense a ripple of magic emanating from the weapon. Deep green runes slowly appear running down the snath, glowing faintly. Just being this close to the weapon is hair-raising, as if I'm about to touch a live wire.

So, of course, I absolutely must touch it.

The moment my fingers wrap around the weapon, breathtaking power sears through my veins. A woman's voice echoes in my head.

“When you learned that memories take years longer than souls to transcend certain planes of existence, you requested that I place your memories of Paradise within this weapon to be returned to you more quickly. Consider this a favor. May fate bless your scheming, or else may your second death be equally honorable.”

I recognize this solemn voice: Syntyche, the goddess of this temple.

My mother.

That abrupt recollection is jarring, but as I consider it, pieces of my past that I never lingered on start to make sense. Being so drawn to darkness and sensing death. Seeing ghosts as a kid. The fact that I could make a blood oath without a priest or priestess’s holy magic sealing it, despite Felix insisting it would be impossible…

I must have tapped into my dormant nature without knowing.

I should have known you would take after her.

That’s what Pia said to me after First Placement—only now, I vaguely remember that the so-called “prophetess” was in Paradise when I woke up there.

She wasn’t a mortal prophetess, but Galene the Knowing in disguise.

No wonder that bitch left so many annoyingly cryptic little remarks.

I startle when a strange current runs into my hand from the scythe just before a burst of images and words sweeps through me. Dancing constellations, liquid gold dripping from my fingertips, glossy black feathers and beady eyes, an endless sea of clouds—and then another woman’s powerful, angry voice.

“There is no use crying over spilled ambrosia. You are a goddess now, Maven. You belong in Paradise—you earned your place here. Your future is final, so stop fighting it and learn to be happy. You will thank me in a few millennia when you’ve forgotten your mortal life and everyone you knew therein.”

More flickers of vague memories, and then Pia—no, Galene’s gentle voice.

“If you had matured into your true nature, instead of being corrupted into a revenant, your inherited abilities would have manifested as you neared adulthood. However, if you pursue this path–”

“You see the future. Tell me what will happen,” my own voice echoes.

“I cannot, for the future is ever-changing until it comes to pass. If you are determined to attempt reversing apotheosis, I see many possibilities…but the foremost possibility is your final demise. Is not Paradise better than facing the Beyond, my fearless one?”

She sounds sad, almost pleading, but my voice remains firm.

“For shits and giggles, let’s say I do survive. Will I still be a revenant?”

“No. That dark magic corrupting you would never withstand Paradise, so it must be gone. If you survive this brutal pursuit, you will return as a half mortal, as you were born to be. The blood of a goddess will run through you, and with it, your true abilities and holy magic. But without a heart, you cannot end the suffering of…”

Her voice fades before I suddenly remember free-falling—plummeting from the heavens, careening out of control as agony pumped through my veins just before I blacked out.

I jolt back to myself, bracing against the broken altar as I try to catch my breath, my pulse pounding in my veins. No matter how hard I struggle to remember more, I can’t. It’s infuriating to have this glaring gap in my brain. I obviously fell from the heavens to crash here, but I don't even know where here is.

I do know where I’m going, though. I need to find my guys. It won’t be easy, with our bonds broken?—

Oh, fuck.

Fuck.

Our bonds broke. That means their curses would have returned worse than before.

Damn it, how long was I gone?

Straightening, I take in the temple once again, finally registering the freakish cold and the dismembered husks of worshippers who seem to have turned on each other. Reaching up, I feel the left side of my neck. Even though my emblems are gone with the bond, I can still feel the slight divots of the mating mark Baelfire left on me.

It’s comforting, but it only reinforces my need to track down my quintet as soon as possible.

First things first, though. I need to find some actual fucking clothes before my fingers and toes snap off. Trying to ignore the pervasive chill and the agonizing soreness in my limbs, I again grip the scythe—which promptly morphs into a dagger.

It's almost a twin to Pierce, but the blade is etherium instead of adamantine.

I grin, tilting my new toy from side to side to admire it better. “Not bad, Mother.”

At least in this size, it will be easier to stash, sort of like Crypt’s enchanted lighter sword. The thought of my incubus makes my smile disappear before I turn to stalk between the pews, stepping over frozen husks. I pause as I’m stepping over someone who died wrapped in a thick, fluffy black shawl.

I mean…it’s not like they’re using it.

Or their shoes, which seem almost my size.

A few minutes later, dressed slightly warmer, I manage to break through the ice and force open one of the tall double doors of Syntyche’s abandoned temple to slip outside. It’s difficult to make out the landscape through all this hazy snow and the wind biting through this shawl, but a low, throaty squawk pulls my attention.

A raven is perched on a broken statue of Syntyche nearby, and it's not alone. Other large black ravens have gathered outside the temple despite the freezing temperature, and they're all staring right at me.

Yet somehow, it doesn't feel malicious.

Instead, it's the best kind of unsettling. It almost feels like these glossy-feathered, beady-eyed creatures are…waiting.

On me.

Gods, I hope I'm not about to feel stupid for trying this. I wrap the shawl tighter around myself and clear my throat.

“Know if there are any living people nearby?”

All of the ravens flutter in a swarm before flocking closer to me. In synchrony, the feathers on their heads and necks fluff out before one of them squawks at me, tipping its head.

I stare at it before trying again. “Take me to the nearest warm place.”

Several crows take flight, winging their way to settle on telephone lines in the distance that I had missed before. They’re in disrepair, but they’ll lead me to something sooner or later.

Moving hurts , my chest keeps burning, and I feel weak as fuck as I trudge through the thigh-deep snow to follow the lines, ignoring the birds that flutter along nearby. After only a few minutes, the cold makes my hands and feet so cold they burn, so I pause to try casting a basic fire spell. I’m shit at fire spells, but at this point, I’ll take anything.

Yet the incantation I recite does nothing. I don’t even feel the strained fizzle of magic I used to get when I had nothing to fuel my death magic.

I try again in fae. Still nothing.

Maybe I need to kill something. Pausing, I study the ravens that are still fixated on me. As if they pick up on what I’m thinking, they all croak and shriek, flying away quickly.

Whatever. I can find something to kill after I track down warmth and a map. I’m shaking too damn much to try wielding my knife, anyway.

I glance up at the sky. “How about some divine providence before I freeze my ass off?”

No response.

Nice to know that divine nepotism isn’t on the table.