“Nothing?” she asked with a dare in her voice as she raised a dubious eyebrow.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “Whatever the cost, I want to take him down.”
The Weaver snorted and gave me a slow once over. “You all say that but then balk and beat your chests when the time comes to pay.”
I braced for what I had known might be the dealbreaker. What did you offer a goddess in exchange for her assistance? From our humble beginnings, I had created a decent life for myself as a blood mage and necromancer. But one such as the Weaver would have no use for coins.
“I can see that,” I said carefully. “So what would be your price to aid me in this endeavor?”
“Nothing,” she deadpanned.
I recoiled. “WHAT?!”
A mysterious smile stretched her lips while her golden gaze took on a calculating edge. “You heard me correctly. The price for my assistance is nothing. I will grant it for free.”
I frowned and narrowed my eyes at her. “Nothing is ever free, especially not when dealing with the arcane and the dark arts.”
Her smile broadened, and a glimmer of approval sparked in her eyes.
“You are correct, young Kali. Butmyprice is nothing. Where I’m concerned, your success will be reward enough for me.”
“So thereisa price?” I insisted, annoyed by her mind games.
“Of course, silly girl. There always is. But it is not oneIrequest,” she repeated in a noncommittal fashion.
This time, I loudly huffed with aggravation that she forced me to reword the question yet again in a way she would not be able to dance around the answer. Despite my annoyance, I was beginning to suspect it was deliberate on her part. When dealing with the occult, one had to be incredibly careful aboutnot allowing loopholes. Was this her way of evaluating my ability to be thorough or how easily I could be played?
“So what is the price specifically?” I asked.
“Your soul,” she said matter-of-factly.
I jumped to my feet, shock, anger, and disbelief soaring through me at such an outrageous demand.
“Sit down, you fool,” the Weaver said with a bored expression.
“You can’t—”
“Sit. Down,” she repeated in a harsh tone, interrupting me.
The icy look in her eyes sent a chill down my spine. I swallowed hard and complied.
“Cornelius is protected,” she continued in a conversational tone as if nothing had happened. “He’s essentially immortal thanks to a Reaper.”
“Nine hells,” I whispered, horrified. “Why would they protect him?”
“I assure you that it is not willingly,” Cliona said, her voice hardening again as did her gaze, but this time not aimed at me. “Pharos is his prisoner. Cornelius ensnared him and took him within himself so that he could benefit from all his powers. So long as he continues to hold the Reaper, you will be unable to defeat or kill him. Therefore, you must separate them.”
I shifted uneasily in my seat, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of the task before me. I had hoped for a spell, curse, or poison that would have taken care of him. But that would have been too easy. No wonder he remained unscathed over the decades despite the countless enemies who wanted nothing more than to end him.
“How could I accomplish that?” I asked in a subdued voice. “How do I separate them?”
“You must free Pharos. But you can only achieve that if he collaborates with you,” she cautioned.
“How in the world am I supposed to accomplish that? If he’s hosted within Cornelius, I’ll never be able to speak with him,” I said, my voice clearly expressing how ludicrous this sounded.
Cliona stared at me, unfazed. “You must summon him, like one would a demon or a spirit. You will have a narrow window to speak with him and convince him of your worth and dedication to this cause.”
I licked my lips nervously and slowly nodded while digesting her words. “Okay, I can do that. But how do I summon him?”