Page 40 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)
“Please!” begs the man, his shattered knees bleeding slowly on the shiny marble tiles in the large reception room. It looks more like a ballroom than anything, and I gaped when Thalnus, who appeared on the beach minutes after the fight ended, Faded us all here.
His Fading felt different than Nathan’s.
Nathan’s was like a breath against my neck, a caress in the dark.
A taunting promise. Thalnus’ felt like this island does.
Wild, fresh, ancient. Like the cool splash of water upon a weary face.
A splash of water I now long for against the unending horrors of the night.
I can hear the revelry still going strong outside the shielded windows.
Shielded by shadows and mist, a strange mix of Nathan’s and Thalnus’ powers.
Turan had run inside the room, looking torn between scolding Nathan and Atys—who had found the time to drape a Hawaiian sarong around his hips—and thrown her arms around me.
To my surprise, her desire to hug me and check that I was all right won.
I stayed stiff-backed and wide-eyed while her arms wrapped around me, careful not to unravel the flag I still wear like a wrap-around dress.
She then poked at me, checking every wince before a gentle light engulfed her soft hands as she healed me.
The shredded skin at my shoulder slowly, painfully, mended itself under her light, and I understood why she was there that first time I woke up at Nathan’s.
Maybe I’m over everything in my life because, despite clenching my teeth against the very real agony of flesh knitting itself back together, I only blinked at this revelation.
At the blood staining my now raw-pink skin.
Nathan has only looked at me once since we were brought here, to check I was healed properly. He nodded once at Turan—who quickly explained that she’d been patrolling the area and hadn’t felt the brotherhood arrive—before turning back to the prisoner.
A chill runs down my spine as I force myself to observe the scene in front of me. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but it’s getting harder to stand straight, even with Turan’s arm wrapped around me.
“Let’s go,” she pleads again as more of my weight settles against her.
I shake my head, just like I have every time she’s asked me to find a room and rest.
I don’t know why I’m staying, to be honest. I’m sure I’ll have nightmares about the whole thing, but I refuse to be left out.
I’ve been thrown into this world, so I’ll stand tall and swallow back the bile threatening to spew out of my tight lips every time flesh tears.
Every time another crack echoes in the large room.
I want to close my eyes but can’t , and when Nathan’s shadow tightens its hold against the man’s arm, tightens so much that another crack, another cry, echoes around me, a moan finally spills out of my lips.
Nathan turns sharply to me, anger and shock swirling in his eyes. Like he’s finally realising I’m still here as Thalnus and his own shadow tear into the man to get information. “Get her out!” he growls at Turan while still looking at me.
At my side, Turan pulls on my hand again, but I resist. I know she could knock me out or carry me out on her shoulder like a potato sack if she wanted to, but from the pained look on her face, I know she won’t force me out.
She’s only pleading with me to follow. I shake my head again and look at Nathan, whose face shatters before he turns back to the business at hand.
“She’s an abomination,” seethes Brother Fenrick.
His name is one of the few things they’ve managed to get out of him.
It only took one broken finger for that piece of information—a black finger, I noticed, recalling Nathan’s explanation of that distinct, still weird as fuck trait.
The rest hasn’t come so cheap. No, knowing that the brotherhood’s sole purpose is to protect the Fates and the Order cost two broken ribs.
And for the low, low price of a shattered kneecap, the man explained exactly how dead I should be.
But that’s it. That’s everything Thalnus and Nathan have managed to learn in the hours we’ve been standing here.
The brother looks at me, his breath rasping as he shakes his head.
“You’re defending your doom,” Nathan snarls, earning a pitying glance from the bleeding man, who seethes, “ You should know better.” The tension in the room skyrockets as rage ebbs from Nathan.
Surely, if Death decided to save me all those years ago, it was for a reason.
Surely Death can’t be in the wrong here.
Right? We believed that if the Order wanted me dead, then I would be, but in the face of this man’s certainty, my hope wavers.
If the brothers truly protect this Order, they would know, and if they deem me a threat…
Who is right here? Dead or alive, which is my destiny?
“ How does she threaten the Order?” Thalnus asks, wholly ignoring Nathan’s glare.
When his shadow doesn’t move to provide Fenrick an incentive to talk, Atys takes a step forward, tightening his grip around a sleek blade I haven’t noticed before.
But Fenrick is apparently tired of paying with blood, because he says, panting, “A mortal with no threads is an insult to the Fates. She shouldn’t be . ”
“Is that why you’ve been trying to kill me for so long?” Everyone turns my way, but my eyes are solely focused on the brother claiming my death is needed to protect the world. A man who now looks at me, confused.
“We only learned of your location recently.”
“How recently?” barks Nathan.
Slowly, the man turns to my friend. “Around the same time you found her again.”
Shock is like an icy hand at my throat. Found me again ?
What does he mean? But something else nudges at my thoughts, interrupting all others.
“You mean you’ve only been after me for the last six months?
” That’s when I first saw Nathan at The Muddied Waters.
That’s when my stupid crush formed on this handsome customer who was so different from all the others. So captivating.
“Yes.” Fenrick nods as he observes me, then Nathan. But then his eyes widen. “You mean you’ve been pushed to death before?”
“Don’t—” starts Nathan, but I’m already nodding.
Brother Fenrick’s shoulders shake as a wild laugh bellows around me, echoing deep inside me and ravaging everything it slithers against. He’s cut off by a shadow fist that connects angrily with his jaw.
He coughs up blood, lowering his sweaty brow to the tiles, but his mirth is undeniable as he pins me with his stare.
“We should have known,” he whispers. “We should have known the Order would work to fix itself.” He shakes, fighting another cough.
“It wasn’t us, girl. The world has been trying to get rid of you all on its own. ”
I fall. On my knees. In despair. In a swirling pit of unending horror.
“Liv!” I hear distantly. But it’s his laugh that rings in my head.
The relief I see on the face of a man who is bleeding and broken on the floor is my undoing.
I am a lost cause. I thought finding this man would give me answers as to why I’ve been skirting death my whole life.
And I found answers, they just aren’t the ones I was hoping for.
I should be dead. This is the answer. These men have only learned about me recently; all the accidents before them were simply fate trying to correct itself.
They were not the villains of the story, they were the knights in shining armour hunting the monster.
Hunting me. Brother Fenrick is but a martyr whose glory will be sung.
His story revered and praised as one who gave his life to kill the abomination.
A sob escapes my lips. The dam finally breaking.
I hear Nathan’s bellow of rage, but the crack in my heart is louder. I’m not sure what happens next. I almost wish I’d faint again. I’m good at it, after all, and the oblivion it offers would be a sweet relief. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t come. I don’t deserve it.
My shoulders shake and a drop falls and splashes on a marble tile.
In it I catch a glimpse of light quickly covered by darkness.
A shadow hand appears before my eyes, outreached.
Waiting patiently for me to look up. When I do, I meet pits of swirling black.
I wonder if it sees. If it feels. It seems distinct from Nathan as the flesh-and-blood version of him still stands in front of our prisoner, his back to me.
I put my trembling hand in its shadow one, the warmth surprising.
There’s a gentle tug, encouraging me to get back on my feet.
And the slight pressure on my hand has me swallowing back my tears.
It is comfort and strength wrapped in shadowy fingers.
A reminder that I’m not alone, and I can face this.
I will face this. I give it a small smile, all I can manage right now, and swear its eyes brighten for a heartbeat.
I expect it to go back to its gruesome duties, but it moves to stand by my side.
Turan grabs one hand, and it holds the other.
Two unlikely friends in the chaos that has become my life.
I find myself so grateful for them that my knees threaten to buckle once more.
But with their hold on me, I find my strength again.