Page 25 of The Unweaver (Unwoven Fates #1)

A fter tossing and turning for hours, Cora abandoned the possibility of sleep. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was wired from the secrets revealed and those still hidden. Her thoughts ran in a tight circle. Marcel Durbec. Specter’s Scourge. Spirit vessel.

While London celebrated the new year, Teddy’s body was back on ice at the Emerald Club. Waiting. Soon . She had a name. A path forward. Soon.

Master Lyter had entertained her questions with flagging enthusiasm as she followed him upstairs. Reuniting the pieces of Teddy’s spirit would be easier on another auspicious date, he told her. The Wolf Moon, the first full moon of the new year.

After several minutes of badgering, Lazlo had gently shut the bedroom door in her face to sleep.

The house was quiet as Cora padded downstairs, spurred on by thoughts of a warm cup of tea. She was almost to the kitchen when the sound of hushed voices stopped her short.

Beyond a cracked open door, she could just make out two silhouettes. She pressed herself against the wall and inched closer to overhear their muffled conversation.

“...especially careful,” Bane said. “The war’s only begun, and I’ve already lost two men.”

“I was sorry to hear of Moriarty’s death,” Lazlo rasped. “I know what a friend he’d been to you.”

“Aye.” Bane’s voice was heavy with sadness. “He grew up in County Cork, a village away from mine. It’s like my own brother has died, and with him, the last thread connecting me to my humanity.”

“Maybe not the last one. The girl—”

“What about her?”

“You are playing a dangerous game, Mal. That girl will be your undoing. You remember well Master Ghose’s prophecy. Twin mages born of death shall bring your death to life. ”

The words immobilized Cora. They could fling open the door right now and catch her eavesdropping and she’d be too stunned to move.

Incredulous, her mind reeled in stops and starts. Her nameless mother had died giving birth to the only twin mages she’d ever heard of. But what did it mean to bring Bane’s death to life?

Twin mages , he’d toasted when she first stormed into his office. To fate .

The Realmwalker had seen her coming.

Something inside of Cora shattered. Had the words of a Master she’d never met woven the invisible threads of fate between them? Had her entire life been an illusion of free will while she was pulled by threads unseen on a collision course with Malachy Bane?

“I am well aware of Ghose’s prophecy, Lazlo. The only kind of prophecy is the self-fulfilling kind.”

“It would appear you are self-fulfilling it, old friend.”

Bane made an exasperated sound. “Time is subjective. The future changes. As the Master Chronomancer, Ghose understood the limitations of his own prophecies. Even before he became that… Coal-Eye creature, after Ikelas lured him into the Profane Arts she’d already succumbed to. Don’t bother denying it, Laz. I know the Tribunal won’t admit that the former Master Oneiromancer was corrupted by the very dark magic they forbid, but you were in Russia. You saw what Ikelas shouldn’t have been capable of. And besides, half of Ghose’s fuckin’ prophecy is still trapped in a spirit vessel.”

“And when he gets out of the vessel?” Master Lyter did not sound convinced.

“If he gets out, there’s only one place he can go.”

“I know that. When are you going to tell her that?”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Lazlo cleared his throat. “Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, hm?”

“Something like that.”

Bane was keeping his enemies close, all right. Literally in his own home. But… why? A vain hope that familiarity wouldn’t breed contempt or predestined murder?

Her mind raced. This Chronomancer prophecy cast everything in a sinister light. She would need to sift through her every interaction with Bane with the fine-toothed comb of this new perspective. The perilousness of her predicament, Cora was only beginning to understand.

You are the most important woman in my life , he’d told her. But not why. Was she the most important woman in his life because she was prophesied to end it?

Sure, Bane hadn’t been outright lying when he’d said that. He’d merely omitted certain critically important details. It hadn’t been a statement of his affection but a prophecy of his death at her hands. A strategic half-truth spoken with careful candidness.

Her thoughts swam with questions. What did the prophecy mean? What wasn’t he telling her about Teddy? What other secrets was he keeping from her?

One thing was clear: Malachy Bane had played her like a damn instrument.

“Have you heard from Master Ghose since—”

“Ghose hasn’t been in this Realm for decades.” In Bane’s stilted tone was a vein of dread. “He hasn’t come back to collect.”

“Yet,” Lazlo said. “I sense the portents of the Profane like a dark cloud over London. Could it be Ghose?”

“No. The veil is still intact between our Realms.”

“What about Ikelas?”

“She can’t escape through the veil either. But if Durbec and his co-conspirators are doing what I fear they’re doing… it would take a demon.”

Demon . The word lingered in the uneasy hush that fell.

“You can’t tell the other Masters about this, Laz. Not until I learn where that Sephrinium bullet came from.”

“Surely you don’t think the Tribunal is behind this?”

Cora shifted, and the floorboards creaked like a thunderclap in the quiet. Her pulse skipped into a thumping pace. Bane’s gaze scorched her through the door.

“Curiosity killed the Necromancer,” he snapped.

Drawing in a sharp breath, she hastened away. To the library. The Realmwalker was keeping secrets from her, and she’d be damned if she let him.