Only the Weaver herself could shift the threads of life itself like that.
“You always were far too quick to make your decisions, cousin,” a low, melodic voice said—a voice that sounded like every age layered on top of the other, child and elder and everything in between, ever-moving, like the unknown itself.
I forced myself to lift my head. Forced my senses to reach out for her—my goddess, my Weaver, Acaeja.
The entire world bent to her. No, flowed through her—like every sense and element and tiny speck of time was held in the palm of her hand. While Nyaxia emanated breathtaking, dangerous beauty, Acaeja’s was constant, stable, like the powerful grace of the horizon where the stone met the sea. She had rich, deep skin, her features strong as stone, her large eyes pure white and clouded with mist that shifted and changed with every passing second. She had six wings, three on each side, each one offering a glimpse into another cryptic version of the future or past or present—snowy skies or churning seas or flames of a fallen kingdom. She wore a long, simple white gown that trailed over her feet, fluttering in the breeze. Her hands, which had ten fingers each, were fanned out in front of her. Each finger was tattooed with symbols that indicated a different fate—and from those fingers spilled threads of light. Threads of fate itself, surrounding her like the moon circling the earth.
A slow smile spread over Nyaxia’s face—a wicked smile. “Acaeja. It’s been so long.”
“A shame for us to meet with my acolyte’s head in your hands.”
Nyaxia’s smile withered. “I seem to recall once we met with my husband’s head in yours.”
The air grew suddenly cold, the stars shifting to storm clouds overhead.
Acaeja’s presence soured. The fates in her wings darkened, all cold nights and smoldering ashes.
“We have discussed this many times, cousin,” she said.
“And perhaps now you’ll tell me that we’ll discuss it many more,” Nyaxia snapped, lip curling.
Acaeja didn’t answer. But a small, knowing smile curled her lips.
“Yes,” she said. “I expect we will.”
“Maybe it isn’t so bad for you to know what it feels like to mourn something,” Nyaxia spat, sneering down at the Sightmother’s head. “What do you feel for this witch, anyway? You have thousands more. I had only Alarus. Only him.”
Her voice cracked over those final two words, and it struck me just how childish she sounded—how lost.
I had been so ashamed of my inability to shed my grief from fifteen years ago. And yet here was a goddess, one of the most powerful beings ever to exist, and her grief was still just as raw, two-thousand years later.
The pain in the air hardened, sharpening to anger. Nyaxia’s flawless face twisted into a hateful sneer. “And all of you have exiled my people. You’ve hunted them. You kill them. I have defended Obitraes through force alone.”
Acaeja regarded her steadily. “I loved Alarus as a brother,” she said. “I have never had any quarrel with your people. And I have defended you, Nyaxia, from others who judge you in ways you do not deserve. I will not excuse the actions of the White Pantheon. But this—”
Nyaxia cut in, snidely, “This is what I have earned—”
“This, Nyaxia, is a new sin.” Acaeja’s voice did not raise. She didn’t need it to. The power in it alone cut through all other sounds. “Your follower has murdered one of my most devoted acolytes. You intend to take a kingdom from the grasp of the White Pantheon. You have been wronged, cousin, I will give you that. But someone must pay for the blood that’s been spilled here.”
Her gaze fell to Atrius—Atrius, who was still drenched in the Sightmother’s blood.
The terror that spiked through me at that, just her attention going to him, paralyzed me.
And before I could stop myself, I leapt to my feet.
“I am responsible.”
The words flew from my lips before I gave myself time to reconsider them.
A bolt of raw fear speared Atrius’s presence—even though he hadn’t so much as flinched when it was himself under Acaeja’s scrutiny.
I couldn’t let myself pay attention to that, though, as both goddesses’ eyes turned to me. The force of their attention alone nearly made my knees buckle, like my body could not withstand the power of their gazes.
“I’m responsible,” I said again. “And it would be an honor to sacrifice my life to you, my goddess, in payment.”
I couldn’t acknowledge Atrius. I would break if I did. I had the attention of two goddesses on me—two of the most powerful beings to ever exist across time itself—and yet I felt his stare just as strongly as theirs.
Nyaxia laughed. “See, Acaeja? If you want to take a life in exchange for a life, here’s a pretty, young one ripe for your plucking. But you will not touch my acolyte.”
Nyaxia, it seemed, was suddenly very protective when it came to her rival gods. Perhaps more about competition than it was about benevolence, but I was grateful for it on Atrius’s behalf either way.
I told myself that I had never been afraid of death. And yet, I couldn’t stop the shaking when Acaeja turned to me, her ice-white eyes staring through me. She approached, feet gliding without movement over the tile floor.
She leaned down before me, our faces level. All the threads, every one of them, bent toward her, as if begging to return to their natural origin. Each layer of my soul peeled back for her, leaving me terrifyingly exposed, like at any moment she could reach into my ribcage and pluck my bleeding heart.
The past, the present, the future blended. I felt uprooted in time, a million versions of myself over a million moments now standing in this spot, on trial under her judgment.
“Tell me, child,” she said, “why would you offer yourself up to me so willingly?”
One of her many fingers, this one marked with a thorned circle—the symbol of the heart—reached out and trailed down my cheek.
“Because I did betray my Sightmother.” Despite my best efforts, my voice wavered. “And because I have offered you my entire life, and it would be a greater honor than I deserve to offer you my death, too.”
She regarded me, face stone, the light of her eyes peering through even my most deeply hidden threads.
“It is useless to offer me false truths, Vivi,” she said.
My heart leapt to my throat. “I swear it, my goddess, I—”
“Just as it is useless to offer them to yourself.” That single finger slid down, over the angle of my chin, lifting it. “So very terrified of that beating thing within your chest. That is the wrong enemy, child.”
My mouth closed. Acaeja straightened, drawing herself up to her full height. The light of her eyes flared, and the threads at her fingers shivered and rearranged, as if mapping the path to a new web.
“Your offering is very noble,” she said, “But I do not want it. Your death is of no value to me. But your life... I see that something of great usefulness may come of that.”