Page 42 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

Chaos erupts all around me. The guards that were stoic a second ago cry out and insult the brother still bleeding slowly on the marble tiles. I turn to Turan, about to beg her to heal him, when Nathan’s voice covers all others.

“If you haven’t talked to or heard from the Fates in more than twenty years, why were you trying to kill Liv?”

I gasp. I had somehow forgotten about their pledge to end my life. About the attacks that chipped away at my sanity. I can feel stares like stings on my skin.

“She’s an anomaly.”

“So you’ve said,” hisses Turan. “Elaborate.”

Turning to her, Fenrick does as he’s told without waiting for an incentive this time. “Thetlum told us.”

“What. Did. He. Say.” Nathan doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t move. But the undercurrent of violence behind each word is clear and overwhelming.

Fenrick wavers slightly on his knees, his face paler and paler as time stretches on.

“He… he said her name.” He jerks his chin to me, a gesture a lot wobblier than he meant it to be, I’m sure.

“He said her name, repeated it like a mantra, really. Almost delirious. He said, ‘She’s out there. Out. Should not be. Taken out. Find her. Abomination.’ That’s what he repeated for days on end. ”

My blood runs cold. It’s a funny expression. One I’ve never truly understood. But I swear ice is spreading through my veins. Clutching my heart like a vice.

“And what about this Great Betrayer?” asks Thalnus.

“That’s the only other thing he managed to tell us before silence claimed him for good.

” He wheezes out a few breaths. “He said that the one who detained him and took his sister was the same one who had attacked the Order. He said, ‘The root of the Origins’ problem is deep in their midst.’ You are not to be trusted, as we don’t know who among you is responsible for this mess. ”

“That’s preposterous!” exclaims Turan. But I can’t help noticing that Nathan isn’t saying anything. Both Atys and Thalnus are also quiet, their jaws tight. When the woman at my side turns to them, shock spreads on her lovely features. “Surely you don’t believe him.”

“Of course not, they attacked us,” answers Thalnus, his voice echoing around the room in a way that feels all too calculated. He’s lying. I’m sure of it. But why? Do they know they have a traitor among them? Could he be that traitor?

Turan seems reassured, but Fenrick shakes his head. “We were looking for the missing sibling.” His voice goes so low I’m sure only the closest of us catch his next words. “We tried to help, and you decimated us for it.”

I look at Nathan only to find his eyes already on me. His face is unreadable.

“We have to take him to Celestina. She’ll be able to get more out of him,” says Turan, looking at Atys, who still holds a bleeding blade. There are secrets and doubts in his eyes. Ones I can’t begin to decipher, especially in my current state.

Nothing hurts exactly, but at the same time, everything does.

It’s probably more a statement of my mental health than anything else when I know that Turan healed me.

I want to get out, find a bedroom to scream out my fears and frustration in, but something tugs at me.

A warning bell in the back of my mind that I do not understand.

“What about his sister?” My question cuts through the arguments ringing around me about what to believe and do about the prisoner.

When Fenrick looks up, it’s obvious he’s struggling to focus on me.

There’s a knot in my stomach. I should be fighting to get him healed, but here I am pushing him further.

I feel an anger that seems bigger than me, and I know I hate him for what he and his Order have put me through, but that isn’t it. Or not entirely.

“We looked. To no avail,” he answers in a broken whisper.

“Where is Thetlum now?” An electric shock sparks in my heart as I voice the question.

It’s so strong that I take a step back and clutch at my chest, certain my heart is about to give out.

Why does no one feel it? This echo in my head.

The warning bell getting louder. They’re still arguing about whether or not to go to Celestina, all except Nathan, who’s still looking at me, eyes beaming with concern.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the question that sent my head and heart spinning.

When I look at Fenrick again, he’s shaking his head too, refusing to answer.

I see Nathan’s shadow approach and wrap its hand around Fenrick’s throat.

“You can—” he rasps, trying to speak around the tight hold.

“You can do what you want with me, I will not give him up. We cannot trust any of you.” His eyes bulge, the lack of oxygen getting to him.

I take quick steps forward to stop this despite a wicked satisfaction curling in the darkest corners of my soul but am too late.

His eyes roll back before closing and my breath whooshes out of me.

“He’s not dead,” says Nathan quietly, directly against my ear.

“You’d better hope not,” Thalnus cuts in, his voice stopping any shiver that may have started from Nathan’s proximity. “Because we’re taking him to Celestina in the morning.”

Nathan doesn’t seem pleased, but nods once.

I feel heavy. My thoughts are a muddied mess making each step up the big staircase a mountain to climb. Nathan’s gentle hand on my lower back is the only thing keeping me moving.

After Thalnus made his announcement about Celestina, he made Fenrick vanish and the guards took it as their cue to slowly disperse in small groups.

They obviously had a lot of opinions to share with one another, and too many seemed to want to get to me.

Nathan and his shadow flanked my sides, and that was enough to send everyone scurrying.

Turan and Atys were in a heated argument of their own when Nathan put his hand on me, making me jump slightly. He looked at me deeply before nodding towards the main door leading to the entrance hall, and I followed.

When we finally reach the last freaking step, he leads me down a hallway and opens the door to the same bedroom I was in before. As he quietly closes the door behind us, the one inside me opens with a bang.

Breathe in. Breathe out , I tell myself over and over.

It doesn’t work. Soon tears are falling down my cheeks.

I try to stay still. To let the salty proof of my breaking soul run down my skin and fall out of the world.

But my body doesn’t stop there. No. Apparently the big breakdown Nathan’s been waiting for has decided to happen now.

I wish I’d had a calendar invite for it; I could have locked myself in the bathroom, figured out a way out of this mess entirely.

But here I am. Rooted to this damn spot in the middle of the fucking room, my shoulders shaking as a sob forces its way past my lips.

Once the sound is out, more follow. Harder, louder.

I am nothing against the tide of despair that breaks. Me. Down.

I close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions.

Maybe in this dark, I won’t see Nathan’s all-too-knowing eyes.

The look that says, “I told you so.” I’m too weak to keep taking punches without breaking down.

You never know how you’ll react when the worst happens.

Everyone likes to think they’d be strong and survive whatever comes their way.

Truth is, many of us would freeze. Many of us would break.

And this is me breaking. And I don’t want anyone to have a front-row seat to my failure.

Gentle hands gather me against a warm body, and I close my eyes harder.

He wraps his arms behind my back and my knees, and I’m weightless in seconds.

Tears are still streaming down my face. My breathing is now ragged as pathetic whimpers escape me.

He deposits me on something soft, the bed, and warm hands brush the heavy drops from my cheeks.

But other hands are at work on my body. I tense for a second while my brain wraps itself around that knowledge.

Cool hands take hold of my own and, ever so softly, nudge my fists open to massage my aching palms with a care that only makes me cry harder.

“Liv,” he says, and I want to get ahold of myself and open my eyes and talk and be fine again, but my body is shaking and I can’t breathe .

I hear a sigh, and then the bed is dipping.

His warmth settles on my side right before I feel his skin against mine.

I can sense his uncertainty in the way his hands hover over me, as if unsure of where to land.

He settles the first one on my upper arm, and without any conscious decision on my part, my body turns to him and my face falls to his chest. That first hand moves to the back of my head as the other finally settles too when he wraps his arm around me.

And there I stay. A sobbing mess held by Death’s assistant. I would laugh if such a thing wasn’t foreign to me right now.

I don’t know how much time passes with me letting all the past hurts and fears leak out of my eyes and him holding me, murmuring soothing nothings that don’t fully reach my ears.

He’s the rock in the middle of my storm, the shore that holds strong despite the relentless waves crashing against it over and over. He’s my lifeline.

After a while, my breathing quiets. My head hurts and my eyes are so puffy that even if I were brave enough to open them, it would be impossible.

I move my head and feel the wet patch of his shirt beneath my cheek.

I start to peel away, more embarrassed than I’ve ever felt before, but his arms keep me in their hold.

“Stay,” he says, and I can’t find it in me to break away.

So I stay. I stay even as I feel my consciousness floating away and reality taking a step back.

I stay when the dark beneath my eyes changes to something softer.