Grim cupped the soul reverently in his hands. Gently he lowered the shining ball, holding it near the bone strung along a cord on his neck until it vanished. He stood, bent his knees, and jumped into the air. Two strong pumps of his wings and he was soaring.
Touching down beside her, Grim chuckled at her obvious delight. “You’re so easy to please. You’re like a little kid with this stuff.”
She held out her arms in faux offense. “Are you kidding me? That was asoul. You just sucked a soul into a bone shard and flew up here onwings. You know I never saw any magic until recently. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t cool when it is.”
Still smiling, he held the bone shard away from his chest. “Bones and souls. The best and the worst magic come from these.”
Elysia opened her mouth to ask a question when three people appeared on the roof, startling and surrounding her. A hand gripped each of her arms, the third person clamping down on her shoulders, and then they were gone. The last thing she saw was the burning rage and fear in Grim’s eyes.
In a blink, she was sitting at a long rectangular table with a lone lightbulb hanging overhead. Dim orange light sheared out in a conical shape over the whole table, the illumination barely enough to make out the faces of the people who had stolen her. Darkness blanketed them outside of the dim light, leaving Elysia digging her feet down to reassure herself there was, indeed, floor beneath her. Discomfort roiled in her gut. Wherever they were, she didn’t like it.
Across from her at the table were the three people who hadforcibly removed her from the roof. Front and center sat a person in flowing linens with waist-length white-blonde hair and bone-structure so sharp their bones seemed to protrude, pushing against their fair skin. Large and feminine, the person to the right was decked out in lush turquoise velvet and silks that shone against their brown skin. Around their neck were piles of jewels, and every finger boasted a precious metal. To the left sat a person who reminded Elysia of a painting she had seen of the people who lived in Arctan, a never-ending tundra. Straight black hair hung in a no-nonsense collar-length cut, and an overly starched black suit formed rigidly to their body. While the people in front of her presented as feminine, there was a distinct otherness that left Elysia positive they were beyond such a distinction.
Elysia folded her hands. “The fates, I presume.”
The person in velvet patted the locs they’d twisted into a high bun. “You remember us, how sweet. I’m Monica, that’s Skiel, and Adla.”
Liquid black-brown eyes slid over from the left side of the table. “Monica.”
Skiel, the blonde, exhaled as if this interaction played out ten times a day. “We wanted to speak with you.”
Elysia’s magic coiled tightly inside her, wary of even brushing against them. While the gods walked with power, they had once been mortal. She didn’t think the fates had ever been mortal. Silent anxiety overtook her, her posture growing more rigid the longer she sat in the dark nowhere with them, but much like she had endless times with her father, she appeared poised and ready.
“I gathered that.”
Skiel smiled, but their ice-blue eyes held zero warmth. “You’ve done well on your voyage.”
The suit, Adla, looked Elysia over carefully. “I had my doubts, but getting to the Deathlands was quite the feat. We underestimated the power of the original fate we had woven and how its remnants lingered in you. We learned much from your lesson, andwe thank you for this. Now tell us, how do you feel about the king of the dead?”
She refrained from shifting in her seat. No matter how it was phrased, it wasn’t a compliment. They hadn’t planned for her to make it to the Deathlands. She had somehow bypassed Aidan’s punishment, and now they were adjusting accordingly.
Elysia’s grip on her magic was strangling, but she was at a loss. She wasn’t foolish enough to attempt to read the fates. Gods only knew what would happen if she did, which left her in the terrible position of having to resort to honesty. She measured her words. “Aidan’s choices are why I lived every day in fear of execution. He’s why the mortal world is now in fear of losing its magic and livelihood.”
“But what do you think ofhim?” Adla pushed.
Elysia met her gaze. “He's a good ruler now that he’s accepted it.”
All three of them smiled now, and Elysia tensed.
Monica rested her soft fingers on Elysia’s comfortingly. “But you can’t imagine forever with a man like him. A man who brought about the decay ravaging your world.”
Adla tilted her head, gaze focused and unblinking on Elysia’s reaction.
Elysia hardened herself against the sinking in her stomach. “It’s been a point of contention for me,” she admitted, tone flawlessly even and cool.
Tossing their hands into the air, Skiel brought endless shimmering strings into existence over the table. They motioned again, and the strings rushed together into a massive tapestry. “We’d like to offer you a proposition. It was always fated for you to take the throne.”
“But you shouldn’t have to rule beside a man of such little ethics,” Adla chimed in seamlessly.
“You shouldn’t have to loathe yourself for what would inevitably happen,” Monica added with a knowing, lascivious raise of their brow.
Skiel swept their hands back down, and the tapestry disappeared. “Time changes all things. Aidan has provided an opportunity for us to release old customs and begin again. We are threading you in as the sole goddess of the dead.”
Face neutral, Elysia leaned back in her chair. Beneath her skin, her heart thundered. “What’s the catch?”
All three fates dropped their smiles, but it was Monica who spoke. “Eliminate him. We’ll give you what you need.”
Time froze, yet seconds passed. Clearing her throat, Elysia asked quietly. “What about Kava? Garrison?”
