Page 188 of Evermore

For one perfect moment, there was only me and the blessed, overwhelming silence.

Then, warmth. A gentle presence wrapped around me like an embrace. Levanya, saying goodbye. I felt her press something into my consciousness, not words, but understanding. A second of time. A gift credited to Archer before she faded away with the others.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

I turned back to the Fates, still sprawled on the ground, their forms diminished, weakened. My power surged again, fueled now by clarity rather than chaos.

“You will never again manipulate mortal lives. You will never again pit god against god for your amusement. You will never again sacrifice innocents for your schemes.”

With each declaration, I bound them tighter to their loom, weaving constraints from their own threads, turning their power back on itself until they were truly prisoners of their own making.

“This is your punishment,” I continued, watching as the bindings settled into place. “To remain here, to continue your work, but never again with the freedom to twist fate to your will.”

They hissed and struggled against their new bonds, but it was useless. I had become the master of my own fate, and indoing so, had mastered theirs as well. I’d conquered the monster within me by becoming it.

I felt Quill step beside me, her small hand finding mine once more. The Treeis bond hummed between us, stronger now without the interference of the voices. Another thing the Fates had never seen coming was that the bond would protect her from the punishment I’d delivered, It would shield her from their sight even now. She was free too. To become whatever she wanted. In whatever capacity.

I looked back at Thorne, standing exactly where he had been, his hands relaxed at his sides. He hadn’t interfered, hadn’t tried to take control or guide my actions. He had simply watched, ready to help if needed, but trusting me to lead. His eyes met mine, filled with love and pride and a fierce joy. He’d let me lead.

When I turned back to the Fates, my voice was calm but carried the weight of absolute certainty. “We’re leaving now. And I’m taking something with me.” I reached into the loom, my fingers finding a specific thread. The key to the Noctus Gate.

The Fates wailed as I pulled it free, but could do nothing to stop me. With the key cradled carefully in my palm, I stepped back.

“Consider this payment for Archer’s life,” I said. “A small installment on a debt you will never fully repay.”

I turned away from them, toward my family. Thorne, Quill, Tuck, Minerva, and the others who had stood with us. The gods who had chosen rightly, who had sided with love over power, with justice over convenience and fear.

“Let’s go home,” I said softly.

As we approached the tear, a chill ran down my spine. Victory burned sweet in my veins, but underneath lurked the truth. One enemy remained. Perhaps the most dangerous of all. The one that roamed free and had promised his own vengeance.

Ezra.

Taking my life would be his ultimate revenge against his brother, the final move in their ancient game. He could no longer kill me. The Fates couldn’t be manipulated to do it either, so in that I was safe. But there were other ways to ruin my entire world.

Perhaps that was why I held the key to the Noctus Gate so tightly in my palm. Not just as payment for Archer’s life, but as a weapon for the war still to come.

59

Paesha

Istood on the balcony of the royal chambers, watching stars emerge. The kingdom spread below me. Stirling, a constellation of flickering lights, streets I’d once walked as a stranger now mine to protect. Mine to rule. The weight of that responsibility pressed down on my shoulders, a crown heavier than the one I wore for formal occasions. It was fine and I could handle this, but gods I wish it came without the threat of a god looming over us.

“You’re thinking too loudly again,” Thorne said, his voice a warm rumble as he appeared behind me.

I didn’t turn, but I felt him, the heat of his body as he stepped closer, the brush of his breath against my hair. “Someone has to do the thinking around here.”

His laugh was soft, barely more than an exhale. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because from where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

“Of course not.” His hands found my waist, gentle but insistent as he turned me to face him. “That’s my specialty.”

I allowed myself the luxury of looking at him, really looking, at the sharp planes of his face, the slight stubble darkening hisjaw, the curve of his mouth that always seemed on the verge of a smile when he looked at me. Immortal, yet somehow so beautifully, perfectly human in moments like these.

“I have a reputation to maintain, you know? I can’t have people saying the Queen of Stirling is stealing the Lord of the Salt’s signature move.”

He captured my hand, bringing it to his lips. “I would gladly cede brooding rights to you, if it meant you’d share this burden. Talk to me. Or I’ll get the Quoralis out and you can write it down.”