Page 80 of Evermore

I might’ve been standing with my eyes closed in the middle of the Never Sky for all I could see, but in small traces, from the span of one blink to the next, flashes of what happened around us came into view. And though I could not see the Sisters of Fate, couldn’t even feel their presence, I caught a glimpse of hands working eternal threads, fingers bleeding where the sharpest strands cut deep.

“Or both,” said the third.

I gritted my teeth against their mockery, squaring my shoulders. “I seek an audience.”

“Of course you do. Why else would you dare enter? We deny your request. Return to the makings of your choices.” The words struck like a physical blow, sending me stumbling backward, the taste of copper flooding my mouth. Golden threads of my power snapped and withered. “We do not treat with gods who would bind us.”

“That was Ezra’s doing, not mine.”

“Yet you stood aside.” Their voices twisted together, sharp as knives. The air grew heavy with the stench of rotting futures, discarded timelines decaying in the void. “You watched as he stripped away our freedom. As we were bound to this loom, our fingers forever bleeding, our eyes forever seeing what must be and cannot be, never to walk among the moments we weave. Never to taste the futures we spin.”

“And now you come crawling back,” another sneered. I thought I saw her, ancient and terrible, threads of fate wound through her flesh like living chains. “Begging for help with your precious Huntress.”

My hands clenched into fists, power crackling between my fingers. “I don’t beg.”

More laughter, cruel and cold, echoed from everywhere and nowhere. “No? Then what do you call it?”

“A warning,” I growled, and my voice carried the weight of centuries. “Her power grows unstable. If Alastor breaks her, if the madness claims her, there will be nothing left to salvage. If she cannot be saved, neither will the balance of power. There will never be forgiveness for my brother and nothing you weave will matter because I will burn it all. I will seek the end you fear. And don’t think for a second I can’t. I was fucking created to do so.” My power throbbed, absolutely pounding beneath my skin like a weapon waiting for release.

Silence stretched between us. What I could only assume was the loom creaked, threads snapping. The whisper of lives being woven and cut swirled around us. Finally, after what felt like eons, a small, slithering voice said, “We will consider granting you an audience… on one condition.”

I lifted my chin. “Name it.”

“When Archer Bramwell sits upon the throne of Stirling, when his blood mingles with the ancient power of that seat, then, and only then, will we hear your questions. Not your plea, Keeper. We make no promises of aid. But we will listen, and perhaps we will answer.”

“He won’t?—”

“You will see this fate come to pass or we will not hear you. There is no argument unless you wish us to rescind. You must not speak of this to him. The mortal prince must believe it is his choice alone that puts him on the throne.” The voices began to fade, and with them went the scent of blood and promises, the weight of futures pressing down. “The price is set, Keeper. The task named. Choose wisely. Time grows short, and madness waits for no god’s convenience.”

The void swallowed their final words, leaving Minerva and I alone with the endless nothingness. My power flickered weakly, spent from reaching into this place where most gods feared to tread.

“Well,” Minerva said dryly beside me, though I heard the tremor she tried to hide, “that went about as well as expected. Though I must admit, their Wrath feels stronger here. Perhaps that’s why they’re so eager to see the mortal prince take his throne. The thread of his destiny… it burns.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because there’s a piece of me living in this void now.”

26

Paesha

The Remnants were no longer my enemy. They were an extension of me, a living, breathing part of my consciousness that I could command with a mere thought. I lay on the bed, watching them ripple across my skin like dark water, rising and falling in perfect, controlled waves. Each undulation was a declaration: I was not broken. I was becoming something else entirely.

As I lay there, lost in the dance of shadows on my skin, a sudden pang of longing pierced through the dark haze of my thoughts. Quill. My sweet, innocent Quill, with her infectious laughter and boundless curiosity. What would she think if she could see me now, willingly embracing the darkness I’d fought so hard to protect her from?

With a trembling hand, I reached into the folds of my dress, my fingers searching until they brushed against a soft, familiar texture. I pulled out a ribbon, faded and frayed from countless adventures, a tangible reminder of the love that anchored me to my humanity. It was one of Quill’s, a simple strip of fabric she’d used to tie back her unruly curls, but to me, it was a lifeline, a connection to the person I’d been before the gods had shattered my world.

I brought the ribbon to my lips, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and sunshine that clung to its fibers. Memories flooded my mind, moments of joy and laughter, of whispered secrets and shared dreams.

Suspended between past and present, love and vengeance, a glimmer of light caught my eye. Thorne’s golden book appeared at the foot of my bed. I stared at it, my heart clenching with a mixture of hatred and longing. Not for him, but for the life I had before him. With a shaking hand, I reached for it, my fingers hovering above its shimmering surface. Alastor’s daughter Sylvie’s voice curled through my mind like tendrils of mist. “Open it,” she whispered, her words a siren’s call. “Play the game. Take control. You know what he needs to do. Make him do it.”

I felt the smile tug on my lips long before the pencil touched the paper, though I knew if I were too obvious, he’d become suspicious.

Reverius Hawthorne Noctus,

I saw your face in the grain of wood on my prison floor today. Alastor says it’s just a bedroom, but he fidgets with his clothes too much to be taken seriously. Have you learned a new spying hobby? The voices think you have. Do you know the voices?

Paesha Marian Vox (pretending Noctus)