Page 171 of Evermore

Tuck clapped his hands together. “Right. Enough standing around feeling sorry for ourselves. The best thing we can do is keep going.”

He picked up another axe and held it out to Archer. “Your form still needs work, Your Majesty. And you—” he turned to me, his expression softening only slightly, “—you need a distraction. Fancy learning to throw?”

“Oh, I think I could manage better than our king here,” I said, accepting the challenge.

“Bold words,” Archer retorted. “It’s harder than it looks.”

The weight of the axe felt good in my hand, solid and real in a way the voices weren’t. I stepped up to the mark, my fingers finding their grip as Tuck had instructed Archer earlier.

“Loose in the fingers,” I mumbled. “Tight in the palm.”

I took a breath, drew back my arm, and threw. The axe spun through the air and embedded itself in the outer ring of the target with a satisfying thunk.

Archer’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding me.”

I turned to him with a triumphant smile. “Natural talent.”

“Or beginner’s luck,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat in it.

“Only one way to find out,” Tuck said, handing me another axe.

I took it, focusing on the weight, the balance, the simple physics of the throw. The voices still whispered, but for now, they were background noise, drowned out by the laughter of my family and the solid reality of the axe in my hand.

It wouldn’t last. I knew that. But for this moment, surrounded by people who refused to let me fall, I could breathe. I could fight. I could hope that somewhere, Thorne was finding the answer I so desperately needed.

53

Thorne

Iwas going to burn this whole fucking place to the ground. The silent void mocked me with every step. My rage burned golden beneath my skin, power thrumming. Death’s presence was the only tether keeping me from erupting into pure anger. His previous casual demeanor was replaced by something more ancient, more befitting his true nature. He was not the musical, dark-haired man who ruled his court with quiet ease; here, in this place between places, he was Death incarnate.

“They’re watching,” he murmured, his voice carrying strangely in the emptiness. “I can feel it.”

I nodded, allowing my power to flare around me. A challenge. A threat. “Good.”

We moved deeper into the void, each step carrying us across something that wasn’t quite floor, wasn’t quite air. Occasionally, a thread of fate drifted past, glowing with potential futures. I resisted the urge to snatch them, to tear them apart as I had before. That outburst had gained me nothing but their contempt, and I needed more this time. So much more.

“The loom should be just ahead,” I said, listening for the familiar, maddening creak of ancient wood.

As we ventured deeper, the subtle sounds of the loom grew, the scrape of thread against thread, the rhythmic working that bound all destinies. But still, the Fates remained hidden, refusing to materialize.

“Enough games! Show yourselves!”

Nothing. Not even the satisfaction of an echo.

Death’s expression darkened, his power manifesting as a chill that frosted the air. “Perhaps they need more motivation.” He reached out, his hand passing through one of the hovering threads.

The effect was instantaneous. A shudder ran through the space, and suddenly, the air rippled like disturbed water. Three figures shimmered into existence, their forms indistinct and fluid, as if they couldn’t quite decide what shape to take.

“You bring Death to our realm?” The voice that spoke belonged to all three and none of them, a discordant chord that vibrated my bones.

I stepped forward, putting myself between them and Death. “I tried to come alone but you weren’t willing to play. Funny how fear changes people’s minds.”

“You have no right,” another hissed, the sound like silk tearing. “This is a violation of?—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your rights or your rules. We had a bargain. Archer Bramwell sits upon the throne of Stirling. His blood mingles with the ancient power of that seat.”

“As does the Huntress,” the third voice added, an undercurrent of something like satisfaction in the tone.