Page 149 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
‘The witch obliged.’ The fate nodded. ‘Only, the witch had been wronged by the Greymark house, so she planted her revenge right in your grandmother’s womb.’
Where witches meddle, only anarchy follows.That story hissed through my mind, spiking my dread. I found my hands curving around Emrys’s forearm, feeling his muscles tense beneath my touch. I needed something to tether me. To make this madness real.
The fate bared its large yellow teeth. ‘A weaver was born. To unpick the threads of that house. A daughter destined for a king. To birth chaos entire.’
A weaver.
A weaver was an ancient witch, one beyond simple fey. One that could command their own fate. A deadly gift. Why none survived beyond stories. A myth better forgotten. A living curse.
The fate was taking about my mother.
‘She wasn’t a weaver.’ I shook my head. She would have told me that. I would have known. She was mortal, the most magic she possessed being to create enchanted bags or small summonings.
I had a dream.
I hope you see it.
I hope it’s real.
Only for the memory of those words to echo back to me.
Live, Tauria.That command lingering even now. Had she seen this?
‘Did she not weave her own destiny?’ the fate continued, ruthlessly. ‘Your mother chose her king, she chose her chaos and she chose her death.’
My head stuttered in my chest. A cold dread seeping into my veins. The fate leant forwards to collect their bones and examine each one as if they were priceless gems. ‘Only, weaving destiny bears a heavy price. One I fear you can’t afford to pay, Tauria.’
‘I’m not a weaver.’ The words scratched my throat on the way out. I didn’t possess that magic. Couldn’t. Yet it sounded like a lie as the words sat in the dead air between us.
‘Are you not?’ The fate smiled, showing all their teeth. They held up their hand, curling three of their six fingers against their palm. ‘By my count you’ve weavedthricein surviving your flame.’
My heart pounded, unsure if the ground had truly shifted beneath my feet as everything snapped into a painful reality.
Kysillians burn.I’d spoken that truth. Knowing that was my death and yet I’d survived it. All the things that were never meant to be. I’d called chaos three times. When my mother died. When I’d killed Daunton. And beneath Fairfax in that pit when I’d sealed the dark with nothing but a mere command. I’d refused to die. Refused to allow my magic to die. I’d found my way here, right where my mother wished me to be.
Live. That word mocked me once more. A command I could never ignore, not if my mother had woven it into my destiny. She’d made certain it was her final word. To protect me from the chaos inside of me. A command that my father’s magic would never disobey.
‘What a deadly creature your parents made. The fire that eats the world with no consequences to her fury,’ the fate added. Kysillian fire was given limits for a reason. For all the danger it could cause.
I should have died yet here I was. I’d orchestrated every step of my own destiny, just as my mother had done hers. I realised Thean had been right all along. I didn’t know myself at all.
‘That’s enough,’ Emrys commanded and the creature slunk back, head bowed recognising a threat greater than itself.Before it laughed dryly. ‘How well you guard those of your heart, Serus. Just like your mother.’
He froze. So still I wasn’t certain he was breathing. ‘Keep your cursed words behind your teeth.’
Shadows leaked from the corners of the room. How those dark runes seeped across the side of his neck and jaw. His face nothing but a mask of hardened rage.
Only his anger didn’t stop the fate. Not as they pointed a gnarled finger right at his heart, where his mark rested.
‘How easily you erase her, little prince. Just as Blackthorn intended. For imagine what you’d become with the truth?’
Emrys’s body tensed, his eyes pitch-black in an instant. ‘For how powerful would you become, if you knew how tightly she wove herself around your life threads. Streams of moonlight through the darkness within.’
‘I’m certain she wished for none of it.’ Emrys’s response was near guttural, such raw pain pressed between the words at the horror of how he’d been created.
‘You think the mighty mad king simply took her?’ the fate laughed darkly. ‘She? A creature able to make bargains with the darkness beneath? A sorceress divine? A consort of the Old Gods?’
The fate shook their head, limp strands of hair clinging to their wrinkled forehead as the motion released another plume of dust.
