Page 95 of Evermore (The Never Sky #3)

Thorne

I was 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.

“Yes. As does she.” But why did they care?

Why was that the important thing? Unless they knew.

Unless they saw and schemed to set this up.

I knew they hadn’t. The Fates don’t care for the whims or desires of gods and mortals.

They are neutral. They care only for what is.

What has been. What will be. Still, something in that tone rattled me.

“The Mad Queen,” they said in unison, their forms rippling with what might have been excitement. “More interesting than the boy king, though both were necessary steps.”

Something cold settled in my gut. There was a game being played here, a longer, deeper scheme than I had anticipated.

“I didn’t come to discuss your interest in Paesha,” I said, forcing myself back to the point. “I came because she suffers. The voices in her mind grow stronger each day, driving her toward madness and destruction. You could help her. You could change her fate with a single adjustment.”

“And what would you give for this adjustment?” they finally asked, the question laced with cruel anticipation.

“Whatever it costs,” I said without hesitation.

They laughed, the sound like a thousand small bells, each slightly out of tune. “You would give up your Ever? So easily?”

“Not easily,” I growled, fighting to keep my temper in check. “Never easily. But I would make the sacrifice if it meant her freedom from this torment.”

Death shifted beside me, growing impatient with the Fates’ games. I felt his power stir.

“And if we refuse?” they asked, their attention now fixed on Death.

“Then I will tear this realm apart,” I promised, my voice dropping to a whisper that still somehow filled the void. “I will end every thread you’ve ever woven. I will unravel the tapestry of fate until nothing remains but chaos.”

“Bold threats from a god whose power wanes,” one said dismissively.

Death stepped forward, his presence suddenly filling the void with terrible weight. “His is not the only power you need to fear, and I can assure you, mine does not wane. Death is the only guarantee in life. In existence. Let me show you.”

He opened his palm, and a small orb of darkness formed above it, dense and absolute, a fraction of death magic, brought into this realm where it should never exist. The Fates hissed, drawing back from the abomination.

“You would not dare. Death has no place among the unborn possibilities, the futures yet to be woven.”

He looked dramatically over his shoulder, around me, gaze shifting this way and that.

“And yet, here I stand, in a place you claim I shouldn’t be.

I wonder what would happen if this touched your precious loom?

” The orb floated slightly higher. “Would the threads burn? Would the futures they represent cease to exist? Or perhaps something worse?”

“This is madness,” they protested, but there was fear beneath their outrage.

“No,” I said coldly. “Madness is what you’ve condemned Paesha to suffer. This? This is merely the consequence of your refusal to help. You fucked around and now you’re finding out what the cost of that was.”

I moved to stand beside Death, letting my own power flare brighter, golden threads of creation interwoven with his absolute darkness. Together, we formed a threat the Fates could not ignore.

“We could destroy everything you’ve built,” I continued, “or you could grant us one simple request. Help her. End the voices. Free her mind from this torment. A small price to pay for the continued existence of your realm, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Fates conferred among themselves, their forms merging and separating in a dance of indecision. “The madness serves a purpose,” they said. “It drives her toward the fulfillment of her true destiny.”

“Which is what, exactly?” I demanded.

“To break the balance, as was foretold.”

Anger surged through me, hot and fierce. “That prophecy was your doing, wasn’t it? You gave Ezra that vision at the beginning and he fucking ran with it.”

Their silence was confirmation enough.

But that couldn’t have been it. This had to go back further. Back to the beginning. Back to when… they set up Minerva. The pieces clicked into place with terrible clarity. The imbalance of power wasn’t an accident. It was their design all along.

The Fates shifted uneasily. I could see them now, ancient and terrible, threads of fate wound through their flesh like living chains. Faces that had once been beautiful were now twisted by centuries of spite and the burden of their existence.

“We merely observe the patterns,” one insisted, far too late.

I stared at them, understanding dawning with sickening certainty. “We need to leave,” I said without warning. “Right now.”

Death’s shoulders stiffened. “But?—”

“Trust me on this,” I said, backing away.

Death hesitated, his power still swirling dangerously around his fingertips. The orb of darkness pulsed above his palm, hungry for contact with the loom. I gripped his arm, my fingers digging in with urgency.

“Now,” I hissed, my voice barely audible.

Something in my tone must have convinced him because his darkness receded, the orb dissolving into wisps that faded against the void. He followed my lead, stepping backward even as confusion darkened his features.

The Fates’ laughter followed us, three-toned and mocking, as we retreated.

“Running away, Keeper? How unlike you. We expected more persistence.”

“Consider this a lesson learned,” I growled back.

They became less substantial as we moved away, melting back into the void until only their voices remained, echoing around us like poisoned honey. “Remember, Keeper, some fates cannot be changed. Some threads cannot be snipped. The Huntress will fulfill her destiny, whether you wish it or not.”

I didn’t respond, focusing instead on finding the tear we’d come through, dragging Death alongside me with determined strides. The moment we crossed back into Etherium, I sealed the tear behind us with a violent slash of power, severing our connection to the Fates’ realm with finality.

Death wrenched his arm from my grip, his eyes flashing with frustration. “What the hell was that? We had them cornered. They were afraid. We could have forced their hand!”

I shook my head, already striding through the golden streets of Etherium, my mind racing. “No, we couldn’t have. Not like that.”

“Explain,” he demanded, keeping pace beside me. “You dragged me into this, threatened them with my power, and then ran at the first sign they might be yielding? I thought we were there to help Paesha.”

“We were. We are. But I just realized we’re playing a much more dangerous game than I thought.”

Death’s brow furrowed, patience wearing thin. “That tells me nothing. If you want my help?—”

“They wanted us there,” I cut him off, my voice harsh with the revelation.

“The Fates. They orchestrated the entire exchange, probably expected it from the moment I stormed out last time. Think about it. They could have refused us outright, banished us the moment we arrived. Instead, they let us make our threats, let us think we were gaining ground.”

Understanding began to dawn in Death’s dark eyes. “A trap?”

“Or a distraction,” I said, leading him through the twisted architecture of Etherium toward a destination I hadn’t planned to reveal. “Either way, we weren’t going to win that confrontation. Not today.”

We passed crumbling structures, buildings that defied logic with their impossible angles and spiraling forms that folded in upon themselves. Another crystal anchor shattered somewhere in the distance, the sound reverberating through the dying realm.

“Where are we going?” Death asked, his gaze taking in the decay of Etherium with wild fascination.

I didn’t answer immediately, focused on our path through the fading twilight. Finally, we arrived at a massive archway of black and gold, intricate runes carved into its surface. The runes barely glowed now, where once they had blazed with raw energy.

“The Noctus Gate,” I said, gesturing to the towering structure.

He stared up at it, understanding the significance without explanation. “The source of your power.”

“The source of all power,” I corrected, reaching out to touch the cold surface of the gate. “The flow of raw energy that powers the gods—fuels creation and destruction alike.”

Death moved closer, studying the elaborate lock mechanism at the center of the gate. “And the key?”

“Taken by the Fates. Lifetimes ago, there was an incident that bound them to their loom. It was meant to control them, to keep them from abusing their position.” I swallowed, the lie feeling like ash on my tongue. “But we were wrong to do that. We should have shown more respect.”

Death’s eyes narrowed. “It created the imbalance of power?”

“No. I did that. By chasing my Ever through lifetimes.” Another lie.

“Now there’s no way to right it,” Death finished. “That’s why you’re backing down. Why you’ll respect their decision.”

I met his gaze steadily, hoping my eyes didn’t betray the truth beneath the fabrication. “For now.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, I could see it in the slight tension of his shoulders, but he nodded slowly. “And Paesha? What of her suffering?”

“I’ll find another way,” I said, my voice hardening with resolve. “The Fates aren’t the only power in the realms.”

“And if there is no other way?”

I turned away from the gate, jaw clenched against the rage and desperation threatening to overwhelm me. “There’s always another way. Always.”

Death studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “What now, then?”

I looked back at the gate one last time, my decision crystallizing with terrible clarity.

I would not be able to do this alone. I needed a team who understood the Fates as well as I did, beings who’d spent centuries playing these damn games.

“Now,” I said, voice hardening, “I need to have a conversation with my fucking brother.”