Page 45 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

Aurelia

I cough, waving aside the motes of dust floating in front of my face as my goblin friend croaks, “The rites are a series of prayers all brides and grooms are expected to observe separately before a wedding.”

I stare down at him, my emotions flickering between dismay and disbelief. “… Did you truly bring me to pray, Rowan?” I look beyond the open doors to the room beyond, hoping there might be a secret ally waiting for me inside.

But it lies empty, clearly not having been disturbed in ages.

Funnily enough, it resembles a human church.

An aisle cuts through the pews, leading toward a dais at the front of the room that holds the altar.

Save for in Briarhold where a depiction of the Three-Faced God would rest behind the altar, here there seems to be a pool.

Behind that, a stained glass window mirrors the design on the doors, bathing the water beneath in prismatic hues.

Rowan grunts and stands aside, averting his gaze. “I told you I could take you to someone who could help.”

Disbelief finally wins out over dismay. “So you brought me to the Great Weaver?”

“I brought you to observe the rites,” he reminds me, shooing me inside while glancing up and down the hall. “Don’t take too long.”

As if in a daze, I slowly wander into the abandoned chapel, my chains rasping behind me. The moment I am inside, Rowan swings the doors shut again. The sound echoes hollowly in this vast space.

“Don’t worry,” the goblin mumbles through the door. “You won’t be disturbed. No one ever comes here anymore.”

Well, that certainly explains the dust.

I sigh, shuffling down the aisle. I suppose I might as well inspect the pool while I am here. Not that I needed to be brought to a chapel to pray. One can pray anywhere, can they not?

… And yet I cannot remember the last time I did pray.

I suppose it’s just odd to pray to the Great Weaver sometimes. He is Bene’s god, after all, not mine.

? Why not? ?

It has been so long since the Aether last spoke to me that I flinch when it speaks now.

Frowning, I chew on the inside of my cheek while mounting the small flight of stairs leading up to the dais. Each step is now a trial. My chains weigh heavy. But still I climb, driven onward by some strange need to look into the pool.

I don’t know , I answer truthfully.

I truly don’t.

Of course, I was raised in the church of the Three-Faced God. Despite Bene’s best efforts to convert me when we were children, I continued to pray to the god of my adopted parents until the year I turned eighteen.

Once I saw the magic as Bene could, it was difficult to deny the existence of the Great Weaver any longer. After that, I stopped praying to the Three-Faced God altogether. I had to keep attending church, of course, to keep the peace with Mama, but…

“I don’t know,” I utter aloud, finally reaching the edge of the pool.

The light-wreathed woman who gazes back smiles at me, though my mouth doesn’t move at all.

I flinch back, swallowing my scream of surprise.

? Come. ?

Cautiously, I creep forward again and peek over the edge of the stones circling the pool. Again, the woman within smiles at me. I fight hard not to shy away this time.

What I originally mistook as my reflection, I now realize isn’t me at all. The differences are subtle—her hair is longer, the shape of her mouth is slightly different.

My heart skips a beat as she twirls in the purple gown I wore to dinner with Malice and spins straight into the arms of the tall, brown-skinned, green-eyed elf waiting for her.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

My parents. I’m looking at my parents.

Mesmerized, I settle myself at the pool’s edge and watch as Liora, Queen of the Fae, and whoever my father was cavort together.

? I am the God of your mother and father. ?

My nameless father wields a thread of Earth to weave into existence a lily that he tucks behind my mother’s ear. She smiles at him, happiness shining in her blue eyes.

The vision fades.

“No, please,” I beg, leaning closer to the still waters, desperate to see more. “Might I see them again?”

Instead, He shows me others. An endless line of people—Jewels, elves, dragons—all stretching back to the very beginning of time. I know without being told that I am looking at my own bloodline.

I marvel at the fact that I have dragons for ancestors despite the animosity between our peoples. For a moment, I wonder what Bene might think of that before I remind myself that I am refusing to think about Bene until I figure out how I feel about him and all of… this .

Both this business with my gift and the realization that none of it was ever truly a dream. Bene did hold me in his lap. He did kiss away my tears.

? I am the God of their mothers and fathers, ? the Aether whispers, bringing me back to the moment.

The vision within the pool shifts again. Now I see a babe swaddled in blankets being carried through the night by a sling of Air, escorted by a trio of pixies. I recognize the pixies at once.

Brisa, Glorana, and Velda.

I know again without having to be told that the babe is me.

I swallow hard as my entire life flickers before my eyes in rapid succession. Every triumph. Every failure. Mama. Papa. My first meeting with Bene. Every letter. Every stolen moment. Finishing school. Selina Danbury. My failed engagement. The ball. Friedemar.

My breath quickens as I relive it all over again. Blinking rapidly, I fight against my welling tears. I understand what the Great Weaver is trying to show me.

All the little moments in my life where He had a hand. He was with me from the very beginning, even when I was a mere baby. Even when I was delivered to the doorstep of Mira and Giles Weaver. My meeting Bene. My being discovered by Friedemar at the ball. And all the moments in between.

None of them were coincidence.

All of it was according to His plan.

? I am Your God. ?

A sob catches in my throat. Bowing my head, I scrub my hands against my eyes, trying not to cry, to not shatter into a million pieces now when I most need to be strong.

The Aether wraps around me—a warm presence once more. A quiet friend. Always there. Just as He always has been.

Even when I thought I was most alone.

? Do you believe in me? ?

That question reverberates through my soul, searching for the truth. But He already knows it. He already sees my heart. I nod all the same as my tears fall free. I can no longer stop them; they roll down my cheeks in cleansing rivulets.

? Do you trust in me? ?

I nod again, choking out a soft, “I do.” The sight of the pool completely blurs before me, but I no longer need to see its surface to understand completely what the Great Weaver wishes to show me next:

The way forward.

I see the path so clearly now. It blazes in my mind like a north star, guiding me onward.

And with it comes a golden warmth that sweeps through me, burning away every doubtful shadow from my heart, my mind, my soul. Filling me with joy.

A rapturous joy beyond any I have ever known.

? Then I will be your strength. ?

The chains binding my ankles fall away in the next moment as threads of Spirit and Earth spring to my fingertips. He shows me the weave to set me free.

And beyond that, He gifts me one final truth.

A truth that leaves me breathless and rocks me to my very core.

The name of my father, the man the world has forgotten—

Rowan.

Rowan val’Anasi, King of the Fae.