Page 48 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

Going down the stairs is a challenge. In part because the dress is very long and my bare feet keep stepping on it, making me clutch the handrail for dear life. But mostly because each step downwards is a step closer to him , and as childish as it makes me sound, I don’t want to.

I don’t want to see him, be near him or talk to him.

I don’t want to be reminded of what his soft lips taste like or what being held by his strong hands made me feel.

He’s so good at vanishing, I can only hope he’s pulled another disappearing act by the time I finally make it down these bloody stairs.

I huff and puff, all too aware of the racket I make in the echoey stairway. The walls are too bright and the marble floor waiting for my fall down below too shiny. I scowl at everything my eyes land on.

I need coffee. In an IV. And about two dozen ibuprofen pills.

“Hello, sunshine!” Atys’ too-happy voice makes my scowl deepen, which in turn makes him giggle like a schoolgirl.

He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, one arm outstretched, and I want to swat at him for the grin sketched on his too-perfect, too-healthy face.

I pause my infernal descent for a moment while I take him in.

It’s the second time I’ve seen him in full attire.

He’s wearing a dark green three-piece suit that fits him like a glove and makes his eyes pop.

In so little time, I’ve got used to his crazy or downright non-existent clothing.

But waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs stands an elegant, confident man. An incredibly striking one.

When I meet his eyes, they glow with a devious spark that tells me he knows exactly where my mind went.

I roll my eyes and resume my way down the steps.

It’s nice to see him so alive after the horrors of last night.

His face hadn’t been as open then, as relaxed.

It’s a nice change for sure, but also one that makes me spiteful.

“Why the hell aren’t you hung-over? You drank twice as much as I did.”

“Ah. You can thank the Origins’ special metabolism for that.” He has the nerve to wink at me. Wink. I want to hurt him with the force of a thousand suns. Or with the force of a hundred hung-over, coffee-deprived people. Should be about the same.

When I finally step onto the floor, I exhale a relieved sigh, which only makes him laugh harder.

I’m about to make good on my unvoiced threat when a coffee cup appears in his hand.

My hand halts in the air, changing course in an instant and grabbing that cup like it’s the last good thing in the world.

Putting both hands on the warm porcelain, I inhale the liquid and groan.

“Cappuccino. A good one at that!” When I’m halfway through, I pull my head up to find a bewildered expression on his face.

“What? We don’t all have the goody magic metabolism. ”

“Oh, honey.” His eyes roam all over my body. “You do have the goody metabolism. Trust me.”

I laugh despite myself, my mouth curling slightly. “How did you make it appear, anyway?”

He waves a hand in the air as he says, “Magic.”

“Of course,” I mutter. “Must be nice.”

“Sometimes,” he answers more seriously. “Not always.” I’m too lost in the last dregs of my coffee to press him on what he means.

When I see that the cup is empty, I frown at it.

I haven’t really had time to consider their powers and whether I am jealous of them.

But him making coffee appear like that suddenly makes my throat tighten with envy.

Too fast for my brain to catch up, I’m clutching at the air, my heart racing and expecting shattered bits of porcelain to fall at my feet and break my skin.

But nothing of the sort happens, as he’s the one who made the cup disappear.

“Damn you,” I hiss at his barely restrained laugh.

“Hush, or I won’t get you another one.”

Sullenly, I stay quiet. If there’s one way to control my mouth, he’s sure as hell found it.

Atys grabs my hand and wraps it around his arm before walking me through the hallway leading out to the garden. Next to him, I realise how our outfits match, and if Nathan’s shadow hadn’t brought the dress to me, I would have suspected Atys planned it that way.

I squint at the bright sun greeting us as we step outside. “Have you seen Turan?”

“She’s out there, playing politics.” He waves at the garden slowly coming into focus through the too-bright light.

The scene is similar, yet not, to last night.

There are people milling around in various stages of undress.

Some already seem to be drinking and feeling their way through one another.

But in the centre, where Atys is leading me, is a group of well-dressed, solemn-looking people.

Origins. All of them. I can feel it in the way my breath quickens.

In how my skin tightens suddenly. I feel many eyes on me, but only two of them pull my focus.

I follow the tingles on my face to the edge of this strange gathering.

Nathan is as far away from the group as he can be while still being a part of it.

His shoulders are tight and tension courses through his hands, which keep opening and closing at his sides.

His jaw tightens when he zeroes in on my hand on Atys’ arm, and his frown deepens as his eyes bounce between Atys’ suit and my dress.

I rip my gaze from him—totally ignoring the way his black suit hugs every best part of him—and step closer to Atys, my shoulder brushing his.

His snort makes me turn to him, and the smirk I find on his face makes me scowl.

I mutter something about stupid Origin men under my breath, but judging by his deep laugh, he catches every word.

“What has he done to earn such a sour face?”

I skewer him with my eyes. “None of your business,” I snap, generating another bout of chuckles, but it’s the gasps I hear around us that grab my attention.

Most of the gathering is dispersed into smaller groups, each Origin lost in conversations that do not reach me. However, the ones closer to us are gaping at me, some even talking to each other behind their hands while their eyes devour every inch of me.

My spine straightens under the weight of their stares.

My own eyes refuse to lower, but I’m at a loss for how to respond.

I know they are infinitely more powerful than I could ever be, but I will not let them gossip about me without saying something.

I’m pondering how wise it would be to hiss at them when a voice I know too well drawls behind me, “Don’t worry, I never use his title either. If you start now it’ll go to his head.”

I close my eyes for a second before turning to Nathan, who, thankfully, is too focused on glaring at the people at my back to notice the shiver that ran down my spine the moment I felt him close.

“Excuse you!” exclaims Atys as my eyes collide with Nathan’s. “You may not use yours, but mine rolls off the tongue quite nicely.”

The surprise is enough to free me from the dark pool of Nathan’s gaze. “Title?” I ask, looking back and forth between them.

“Yes, dearest,” says Atys. “We all fall into specific categories under our Crowns. The highest tiers come with fancy titles.”

“That serve no one and nothing, except to fluff up their egos further,” grumbles Nathan at my side.

A funny look crosses Atys’ face at Nathan’s comment, but it’s gone too fast for me to decipher it. Nathan turns to me. “Please. Stay here today.”

“I already said no.”

“It’ll be safer,” he pleads. “We can take Fenrick to Cel and explain everything. Then I’ll come get you and take you back home.” He moves to grab my arm, but I shake off his hold right away.

“Don’t. I have no home.”

He masks the pain in his eyes quickly, but I still catch it. “Liv.”

“No.”

Atys seems smug and throws a knowing smile at Nathan, who only sighs and shakes his head.

“So, what are your titles?” The change of subject is not subtle, but I am truly curious.

Looking at Atys, I realise that his having a title means he’s part of a high tier in the Blue Depths Crown.

Though I shouldn’t be surprised, as he was at Thalnus’ side when we met.

But it’s hard to reconcile the irreverent male with one of significant duties and power.

“Well, I am the Rainbow Lord,” Atys tells me with a wink.

Certain he’s making a joke, I burst out laughing.

It feels good, like I’m lighter for a few moments.

But the laughter comes to a crashing halt when more gasps and offended whispers travel through the crowd.

I look around quickly before focusing back on Atys with a contrite look.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem offended. With a big smile, he says, “You may laugh, but wouldn’t you agree it’s the perfect title for me? ”

Scared of making another faux pas, I count to ten before answering. “Uhm, sure. So, what, you… you make rainbows appear?” Thinking about last night, I quickly add, “Or are you some sort of LGBTQ+ protector?”

Both Nathan and Atys laugh brightly, and I get stuck on Nathan’s face for too long. I so rarely see any warmth in it that when I do, the world seems to pause to admire him alongside me.

“I command rainwater,” Atys answers softly.

My heart rate accelerates. I keep forgetting exactly who and what these people around me are. I breathe in once, twice, and open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes. He commands rainwater.

“But the fact that the queer community uses a rainbow isn’t lost on him, don’t worry.

The first time he saw it, rainbows started popping up everywhere, even without a single drop of rain,” Nathan adds, bumping his shoulder against mine.

When I look up at him, his face is open, and I can see he’s trying hard to make me feel more at ease with everything, but I frown when his words from last night come back too vividly.

“True.” Atys chuckles. “What can I say, I support my own.”