Page 81 of In Death's Hands
The disgust on her face turns her lovely features into something hateful and ugly. “And what, pray tell, matters more?”
Shock sparks through my veins. “You can’t be serious,” I say, ignoring the people hissing around us at my lack of respect. “You need to help that Fate! You need to find the other two and whoever is responsible for what happened to all of you.”
“Why does it matter to you that we figure out who cursed us?”
My eyes betray me and turn to Nathan before I force them back on the fearsome Origin in front of me. “The Novensiles still think I should be killed. If—whenwe find the Fates, they’ll be able to correct whatever mistake there’s been. Maybe even weave new threads for me.” My voice lowers slightly as I say, “Maybe then I won’t have the entire universe conspiring to kill me.” It kills me to allow her to see my fears and hopes so clearly, but I need to convince her that I’m not a liability she needs to eliminate, that maybe I can still help them.
“Liv could be an asset in finding the missing Fates,” adds Atys, and I want to hug him for his support.
Nathan drives the point home. “Without threads, she’s exactly the anomaly you said she was. A free element that can move through the Order unnoticed and possibly find the ones who were meant to weave them.”
My breathing is ragged; I feel just like I do after a fight for my own life. And maybe that’s exactly what this was. But despite the fear still coursing through me, pride also sparks brightly underneath. It feels good to be able to speak for myself and confront the problem head on when all I’ve ever done is wait for the next terrible shoe to drop. It feels even better to do so with friends at my side. Not behind me, nor in front, but right beside me.
My heart is a mess over the touches Nathan and I shared and how close we’ve grown in so little time, but right now it feels weightless. I am not alone.
I’ve always felt alone. Despite Joana and Isaiah, despite the other foster kids I grew up with. It’s been me and my secret for as long as I can remember. Even the people who adopted me faded with time. I had waited so long for someone to notice me, to want me. When they did, I didn’t believe my luck. And I was right not to. I was so excited to discover my new home that I kept on talking to them on that car ride, and they kept turning to look at me with interest and surprise on their lovely faces. Faces I can barely remember now. They were distracted because of me. And because they chose me, they died that night.
The following evening, I was back in the same bedroom I shared with two other girls, knowing that I should mourn them and yet not knowing enough about them to do so. I mourned the life I could have had. I mourned my only chance at having a family. Because I was not foolish enough to believe I would be chosen a second time. To have been once had been a miracle, and I clearly did not deserve another one.
That’s why I refuse to go back to their house and see the pictures of their life that I so thoroughly destroyed. When I went there for the first mandated visits before the adoption, I looked at those pictures with wonder, trying to imagine what it would be like to see myself in them. And now the only place I appear with them is on the piece of paper they signed to welcome me into their family. A piece of paper that apparently entitles me to everything they left behind, no matter how unworthy I am of it. All I feel is guilt for not remembering them outside that dreadful moment. For being angry at them for so many years for leaving me behind.
A hand on my back has me crashing back into reality.
“You will stay here as my guests while I question your prisoner. I will then find a way to free us from this curse once and for all.”
“Thank you, Supreme,” says Nathan with a slight bow of his head.
I don’t hide my surprise quickly enough, apparently, because Celestina chuckles humourlessly. “Don’t bother, evensheknows you don’t mean it.”
“I merely wanted to show my appreciation.”
“Don’t. After all, you’re only trying to help us.” The whole room nods in clear appreciation, but I can’t help but feel a threat in her words. “Go.” She dismisses us with a wave of her hand, and Atys and Nathan are quick to guide me out of the infernal room.
I let out a heavy sigh, shoulders dropping and legs slightly shaking as the adrenaline rushes out of my body.
“Not here,” says Nathan tightly as he drags us to a corridor hidden away behind the impressive staircase. The walls are mostly bare stone, with no decoration visible anywhere. Some scarce torches light up the path, so few and far between that I struggle to see in front of me. I also have this new fear of a flame licking a stray hair and me running around with my head on fire. I gulp and grab hold of my hair with the one hand not currently crushed half to death by Death’s own assistant.
I hear steps behind me and know Atys and the others are following closely.
“Slow down,” I tell Nathan when I stumble and only his tight hold prevents me from eating dirt. Because there is dirt on the uneven stone pavement. The contrast between the majestic entrance hall and throne room and this dusty, dark path is striking. I’m so sure Nathan’s dragging me down to some sort of hidden underground dungeon that when he finally opens a door and we don’t find the cell currently holding Fenrick, I stare in shock.
We’re not in a cell but a luxurious room with entire walls made of glass overlooking a rainforest.
“Uhm. What?” I squeak.
A low chuckle drags my dumbstruck stare to a corner of the room where Atys is already lowering himself onto a decadent settee. Thalnus and Turan are quick to follow and settle on the mountain of colourful pillows scattered on the floor.
As much as their bodies look relaxed, their faces are tight with anxiety. Even Atys’ mocking wink at my shock doesn’t erase the visible strain on his lovely features. It reassures me somehow, to know I’m not the only one stressed out of my mind.
“Where are we?” I ask as I turn to take in the rest of the room. Or rather, rooms. Plural. This is bigger than myapartment. And I know that’s not saying much since the typical London flat isn’t much bigger than a shoebox. But this place ishuge. 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 Nathanandme. 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?
