Page 52 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

“Where are we?” I ask as I turn to take in the rest of the room.

Or rather, rooms. Plural. This is bigger than my apartment.

And I know that’s not saying much since the typical London flat isn’t much bigger than a shoebox.

But this place is huge . I turn around, taking in the faded purple walls with thick tapestries displaying strange designs and scenes I don’t understand.

There is a massive wooden table at the centre with half a dozen matching chairs.

On top is a crystal vase filled with exotic-looking flowers I’ve never seen in my life.

I count four doors, one slightly ajar, revealing a luxurious bathroom with a tub that could probably fit both Nathan and me.

Heat rushes to my cheeks at the thought, and I quickly bury it under a mountain of others, all more important than Nathan’s hands on me.

When I finish my turn, eyes landing back on that massive wall of windows and the breathtaking view it offers, I hear my name.

“Mm-hmm?”

Nathan’s hand, which had let me go the moment we entered, reaches out before thinking better of it and settling back inside his pocket.

I swallow hard. He is so strange. Sometimes I swear I can read his mind plainly on his face.

Like his delight when he tried a mocha for the first time, or the raw desire when we kissed.

And yet other times he’s as expressionless as a corpse.

It’s frustrating and messes with my head.

Which version of him is the real one? The one that wants me or the one that tore my heart to shreds when he said it was a mistake?

“Honey, are you okay?”

I turn to Atys, nodding once. “Where are we?” I ask again, earning myself concerned stares from all three of them. I guess someone already answered me then, but I was too taken by this place to really listen.

“The Valdivian rainforests,” answers Turan.

“In Chile?” I ask, my voice straining with shock.

Surprise sparks on Nathan’s face and I try not to be offended.

“What? I like geography.” I shrug. I always have.

It became a game of sorts when I was bored at the group home.

I sat in a corner with the old globe and spun it around and around and let my finger land on a random place.

I would then learn everything I could about that place.

I would research the climate, the people, what they liked to eat and wear, their traditions.

Mostly, I would look at the pictures online and imagine myself travelling there someday.

By the time I turned eighteen and aged out of care, I’d dreamed myself on thousands of coasts and mountains, inside a hundred different libraries and exploring as many cities with their varying smells and colours.

For a lonely girl without much hope for her future, dreaming up all those travels became a coping mechanism.

And now here I am, in Chile. A country that provided so much dreaming material between its tamales and pies, its street art, gorgeous vistas and Easter Island, where I could plan a hundred different itineraries for the perfect holiday.

But I never truly thought I’d set foot here, and now that I have, it’s hard to breathe past the longing in my chest. I know I have my survival to focus on, but all I want is to be set loose in that forest.

Okay, maybe not the forest since I’m not sure what types of animals can be found there—that’s research I never actually did—but I’d love to explore the cities and finally try that Easter Island banana bread.

My stomach growls at the thought, and Nathan clears his throat.

When I look at him, a small smile is playing on his lips, and I have to turn away quickly.

As if by magic, someone knocks on the door, and a short thin man steps inside without waiting, pushing an antique cart full of food in front of him.

He’s wearing grey cotton trousers and a similar long-sleeved shirt.

A world away from the fancy dresses and suits I saw in the round throne room.

I gape at him, wondering if my hunger was felt through the walls.

Because, yes, that is banana bread I spy near a plate full of empanadas and another of what looks like scrambled eggs with diced tomatoes and onions on toast.

My belly growls loudly again, spurring a truly lovely laugh from Nathan’s parted lips. My cheeks heat when he glances my way, and his eyebrows shoot up when he catches me staring.

The man who brought the food is gone as quickly as he appeared, never saying a word or acknowledging any of us despite the thank-you that leaves my lips when I free myself of Nathan’s piercing dark eyes and remember my manners.

I don’t wait for anyone to throw myself on the food.

I take an empty plate and gather a ridiculous amount of everything that looks good—which is everything—and take the whole square-shaped platter displaying the banana bread with my free hand before dropping it all in front of me as I sit on a chair with a heavy sigh.

My body hasn’t forgotten how hung-over I actually am, and I find myself pushing everything Celestina said out of my head as I take my first ever bite of an empanada.

I moan loudly, not even embarrassed as I focus on the stars dancing behind my eyelids.

When I come to, I open my eyes to find four shocked faces.

Nathan’s appears a little red, but that could be a trick of the light.

And if it’s not, it doesn’t really matter if he doesn’t do anything about it, does it?

I’d rather focus on the food, so that’s what I do.

Two full plates and half the banana bread later, I finally sit back, hands on my rounded belly, with a happy sigh.

Atys and Turan are nibbling at the food, seeming bored with it all as they talk about who they saw in the throne room.

I tried following their discussion between mouthfuls, but it drowned me in names I didn’t recognise or care about, so I quickly lost interest. What did manage to pull my focus, however, was Nathan.

After his initial shock at my enthusiastic eating, he kept looking at my plate while filling his own to match.

He then proceeded to elegantly cut an empanada with a fork and knife, prompting a snort from me that had him tightening his lips as his cheeks reddened.

Without a word, I proceeded to devour another two of the delicious meat-filled pastries, pointedly looking at him as I used my hands.

I ignored the tightening in my gut when his eyes darkened as he observed me licking my lips to catch a runaway drop of the sauce.

After that, I focused solely on my plate, until Atys’ hand came into view when he stole a slice of the mouth-watering banana bread.

I scowled at him but felt guilty about it as he roared in laughter and mumbled about scary, hungry women.

The table is now quiet, the distraction of the food gone, leaving us painfully aware of the mess we’re in.

“So. Who’s starting?” drawls Atys, licking his fingers to catch the last breadcrumbs while throwing me a teasing look.

Turan rolls her eyes at him. “No need to be so dramatic.”

“No?” I frown. “I think that’s pretty warranted, given that everyone in your world seems to want me dead.” I see Nathan’s hand tighten on his glass of water, but surprisingly he keeps quiet.

“ We don’t want you dead, puddin’.”

Ignoring Atys, I continue, “Not only are the rest of the Novensiles still after me, probably more so since they’ll have realised more of their members didn’t come back, but your Supreme seemed like she was one breath away from fixing the Order herself.

” My voice rises as fear kicks my heart into overdrive.

“And there might even be a third party out for my throat, since Fenrick claims they only started hunting me a few months back, and it apparently can’t be the Order as it can’t fucking see me.

I’d say that’s enough to be dramatic,” I throw at Turan, who has the decency to wince.

“Sorry, Liv, I didn’t mean it that way. No matter what you think, Celestina would never harm you.”

I scoff. We’ll have to agree to disagree, I guess.

“She wouldn’t!” Turan insists. “She has been our saving grace, truly. She has to be tough; you don’t know what it was like for us. Please, believe me when I say she only has our best interests at heart.”

“What happens when she realises that your best interests lie in my death?”

Atys shakes his head. “That’s not true, sugar. With you at our sides, we actually have a chance to figure out what happened to us.”

“That’s what you told her,” I tell Nathan, “but I don’t understand how to do that.

” I wrap my shaky hands around my glass.

I’m so tired. Physically. Mentally. I can’t remember a time when things were just…

easy. Forget fighting for my life or trying to come to terms with a whole new world and the existence of myth-like beings.

Even before all that, I was never not on ; I always had to watch all angles for the next thing that might take me out.

Nathan swallows, and I make a point to keep my eyes on him and not on his moving, slender throat. I also block the memory of how that throat felt against my lips. So not helpful right now.

“I told Cel the truth. I may not like her methods, but you have nothing to fear from her.”

The panic-fuelled moment of being frozen in front of her comes to mind, but I doubt they’d believe me even if I told them. Their leader seems beyond reproach. And, fine, even I can understand why she’d be so protective of her own people. Doesn’t mean I fear her any less, despite their reassurances.

“ How do I help?” I ask point-blank.

His eyes narrow. “You don’t.”

“What?” I straighten, my shock echoed by the others around the table.

“You don’t help. I don’t want you in harm’s way.”

“You’re joking.”

He looks affronted. As if making a joke is beneath him. “I assure you, I am not.”

“Then you’re out of your mind if you think I’m gonna stay here and wait for a bunch of strangers to act for me.”

Clenching his jaw, he takes a long breath in. “Your life has been risked enough as it is.”

“And just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean it’s gonna stop unless we get to the bottom of this!”

“You—”

“No! You don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot do.

That’s not how this works. You can run to your boss about it if you’re unhappy—we both know that meeting is a long time coming anyway—but even he won’t change my mind.

You told Celestina I was a loophole, that I’d be able to move through the Order.

Use me as such. Tell. Me. How. To. Help. ”

He stays pointedly silent.

I’m about to throw my damn glass at his head when Thalnus says, “You have to commune with the Order.”

Turan gasps.

“She will do no such thing,” barks Nathan.

“Oh, get your head out of your ass, man,” groans Atys. “She’s not a fragile little girl. She’s in this as deep as we all are, deeper even, and it’s time you stop coddling her and use her to get us all out the other side.”

I swear I hear Nathan’s teeth grind, and I don’t even dare to breathe as I see the war raging in his eyes. It takes a minute that feels like forever, but his shoulders drop as he says, “We’ll need a lot of salt.”