Her gaze shifted back to the glowing stones.
“The old ways of travel require more than will and words. They require ancient power and intense energy, both of which I barely possess anymore. I need the relic of the Way Weavers. The relic forged by Way Weavers, for Way Weavers. Once I hold that relic in my hands, I can open the portal you require as my strength will be returned.”
My stomach sank. Wedid nothave time for this.
Aster let out a loud, frustrated sigh, one I had also been holding in so as not to sound rude.
“What is this relic?” I asked instead, but it was Aster who replied.
“You speak of the Weaver’s torch, don’t you?”
She inclined her head.
“Yes. The torch holds power similar to what tore a gateway between our worlds, though our portals are different. The Rift was created for evil intentions. With the torch, I can open a doorway to get you close to the capital, or…” Then she turned my way, her eyes entirely focused on me, so intense it was like she was trying to send me a message. “A portal back to your realm if you so choose.”
I frowned in confusion.
“Why would I want that?” The words came out harsher than I intended, but it was also warranted.
“This darkness here is worse than the darkness in your realm. It would not be cowardice of you to change your mind, go back, and build a new life, whilst co-existing with those that you call Myths.” She took a deep, rattling breath before adding, “We would not hold it against you to change your mind. To go back to Riley and forget about Theïkós.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. My mouth was gaping open at her words. I was stunned into silence. How could I forget about Theïkós? How could I forget about Atlas? How could I do any of those things she suggested?But also, how the hell did she know about Riley?
Had she read my mind?
“Sweet child. They were not suggestions. Only the easiest path for you to take,” she replied to my inner turmoil, telling me that I was right, she was reading my mind. My fists clenched until my nails were digging into my palms.
“I would take an impossible path to help Atlas, even if it meant sacrificing myself.”
The Way Weaver laughed, clapping her fragile hands despite the effort.
“Excellent then, for you clearly know your own mind. Which you will need for the journey ahead when you pick the path most dangerous, one that has already been forged for you by the gods of fate.”
“So that was a test?” I asked, making her grin.
“Yes, but not for me. To think of the path ahead and to speak it are different things. But you argued against any other option, and that is something else entirely. I see now that the Gods chose well as the King’s anchor.”
I shook my head a little, trying to make sense of her words. She was speaking as if I had somehow been prophesized for the king. When, in reality, we had started as enemies before falling in love. Of course, I didn’t really know what was supposed tohappen when two people were fated to fall in love, but I doubted it started with wanting to shoot each other.
“So, if we get the torch, then you can get us there?” I confirmed, making her nod her head. “Where will we find this torch?” I asked.
“We do not know. It has been lost for generations,” Stava replied, making me gasp.
“You’ve got to be kidding?” I asked, my hopes of reaching Atlas all but disappearing into the abyss. For a moment, none of us spoke. The silence hummed with the faint pulse of the stones, their glow flickering. A faint hum came from the stones as if they were excited to be filled with energy once more. I looked at Aster, and in that moment, I saw resolve, fear, and something deeper written on his face, mirroring my own.
“What is it?” I asked, biting my lip because it was rare to see fear on Aster’s face.
“The torch is not lost,” Aster said slowly, glancing at his aunt, who looked as shocked as I did. The Way Weaver’s brow raised in question.
“So, you know where to find it?”
Aster’s silence answered for him. He looked down, his expression dark.
“I recall many stories about our ancestors and the relics. They interested me more than anyone else’s tales because my father told them. There were whispers, too, of someone beyond our herd, who took a great interest in relics. A collector. One who sought artefacts of all kinds. If he has the torch, which I believe he does, it’s kept somewhere within his fortress. One we can’t just walk into uninvited.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of all their words in one emotion. Dread.
“Where is it and who is ‘he’?” I asked, not liking how cryptic Aster sounded. His eyes flicked to Stava’s and then to the Way Weaver before he shifted uncomfortably.
