“Thirty-five. And I will know the name of the next to speak.”
I didn’t shout. I let the promise of violence drop into the air, a current of pure, possessive fury that no one could have missed. And it worked beautifully. Even with Daphne’s allure dancing in front of their eyes, the monsters of Asphodelia still hesitated to challenge my weave-line.
My threat created a vacuum where the frenzied bidding had been. I held the entire Agora captive in the palm of my hand. The moment was mine.
Then, a presence uncoiled from the main entrance tunnel, and the atmosphere in the chamber grew heavy, thick, and cold.
“You already know my name, Keres.”
Charon. Impossibly, he’d come to the Bride Market himself. He never had in the past, as if deeming this part of the process beneath him. Yet tonight, he’d changed his mind.
An invisible force slammed me back into my seat. Crushing pressure locked my limbs to the stone, squeezing the air from my lungs. My muscles screamed in silent protest, every instinct roaring at me to fight, to fly, to act. But I was a prisoner in my own body, a statue of impotent fury. I tried to shout her name, a denial, a challenge, but the magic had constricted my throat.
The crowd seemed to shrink away as the Ferryman glided toward the stage. His every movement radiated an authority that made a mockery of my own. He did not look at me. He did not look at the cowering creatures in the tiers. His ancient focus was fixed only on Daphne.
He spoke softly, yet his words filled the Agora with an impossible echo of ages. “I offer a memory of the Old World.”
The Old World. The ancient land the Moirae and Charon alone remembered, where they’d lived before they’d been dragged here by the Shift. It was a piece of history, a fragment of Charon’s own past. It was a price I could never hope to match.
I could only watch, trapped and raging on the inside as Daphne slipped further and further away from my grasp. I could do nothing as Phix bowed her head in complete and utter submission. “There can be no counter. The bid is absolute. The auction is—“
The torches in the Agora faltered. The death energy in the air screamed in recognition. On the high dais, the darkness writhed and coalesced with purpose. Finally, it wove itself into a wizened, ethereal form.
Atropos.
The moment she fully manifested, the power that held me captive vanished. I let out a relieved, desperate gasp. I’d never thought I’d appreciate a visit from the Severer as much as I did now, but the Moirae lived to surprise.
“It’s unlike you to make rash decisions, Auctioneer,” Atropos said, each syllable of her admonition a final, unarguable decree. “You and the Ferryman both forget the first rule of all bride markets, the one upon which all others are built.”
Her ancient gaze traveled over the Agora, until at last, it settled on the stage. On Daphne. “A soul is not a treasure to be won. It is a will to be answered. The final choice belongs to the bride.”
The judgment scraped through the chamber, a rasping friction that felt like dust and bone against my skin. But it was also everything I’d been hoping for.
“Daphne of Dodona,” Atropos continued. “Speak your truth.”
Daphne stood tall on the obsidian stage, a lone figure of impossible grace in the face of it all. She didn’t look at Atropos. Instead, she glanced at Charon, who waited with the patience of the Acheron itself. She gave a deep nod of her head, a gesture of respectful acknowledgment for the weight of his bid.
Then, she turned away from him, her eyes unerringly finding me in the crowd. When she spoke, her certainty easily cut through the ancient power in the chamber. “I am honored by the Ferryman’s offer. But a memory is the past. What I desire is the future.”
In that instant, the rest of the world and every creature in it dissolved into nothing. There was only her. “My choice is Phonos of House Keres.”
The words didn’t surprise me. They only confirmed what I’d already known, what Daphne herself had already made clear in the Spire. And yet, a wave of pure, triumphant relief erupted through me. It was just as exhilarating as the time I’d first gone flying, or the first breath I’d taken as a newly woven.
She’d chosen me. She’d spoken the words, out loud, in front of one of the Moirae, no less. It was almost more than I could bear.
Before the first murmur could ripple through the stunned Agora, Atropos’s dry pronouncement resonated from the dais. “The will has been answered. The thread is bound.”
“The Bride Market is concluded!” Phix finished from her rostrum, raising her paws in triumph. “The prize is claimed!”
Charon bowed his head in acceptance and turned without another word. He glided back into the entrance tunnel and was gone.
The moment the auction was officially over, the restraint inside me shattered. I didn’t wait for the crowd to disperse. I didn’t wait for Phix to dismiss them. I launched myself from the upper tiers, a silent predator finally unleashed.
My entire world had narrowed to the sight of her standing alone on that obsidian stage. I wouldn’t have her wait for even a second longer.
I landed without a sound, my boots absorbing the impact as I came down in a low crouch directly in front of her. My massiveblack wings swept forward, unfurling to their full, magnificent span. They wrapped around us, the tips brushing against each other to form a perfect enclosure. The roar of the Agora was instantly muffled, the flickering torchlight extinguished.
It was a private world of my own making, one in which no one else but us mattered. Her scent filled the small space, a clean fragrance that was the only air I ever wanted to breathe again. I leaned in, gently resting my forehead against hers. The asphodels in her hair tickled my skin. The claim rumbled from my chest, a resonance of undiluted possession. “You are mine.”
