With a deep breath, I raised my leg and kicked in the door with one powerful motion. I perhaps kicked harder than necessary, because the door flung open, bouncing off the wall with acrack. The woman with brown hair spun on her heel, eyes wild and wide, Air Magic springing to her palms.
After the initial shock of my intrusion wore off, I dropped the hold on my magic, pushing back my hood to reveal my face.
The woman’s eyes widened with shock as we both recognized each other.
“Goddess?”
“Pip?”
We asked simultaneously.
“What are you doing here?”
She hissed her question, a bead of concern bleeding through as mine was stated in pure confusion.
I paused, raising an eyebrow in her direction. The last I’d seen her was before my marriage to Alois, when she convinced me to sleep with him before disappearing completely. I assumed she’d left out of disgust for my actions, and never anticipated seeing her again, especially not here.
My eyes pulled from her face that flowed between a dozen emotions, her thin lip caught between her teeth.
The room was small, barely larger than a storage room, really. A small cot was pushed against the far wall, a pillow and thin blanket thrown on top almost as an afterthought. What really drew my attention, however, was the litany of papers that adorned the walls.
Every square inch of the sloped ceiling and wooden walls was covered with maps and charts. I recognized the architectural layout of the manor as well as an artistic rendition of Meru—cracked landscape and fighting magics etched in fascinating accuracy. Next to it was a similar picture—the mountain instantlyrecognizable—but instead of the landscape I knew intimately, there was a thriving field with animals I’d never seen before. The forest was thick and lush, the magic cleared from the heavens. I squinted, blood running cold at the date etched into the corner of the paper.
That . . . that can’t be.
It was dated thousands of years in the future.
What the fuck?
Pip moved to obstruct my view of the picture, but I simply cast my gaze elsewhere, overwhelmed by the drawings and charts, unease flowing through my veins. There was an architectural map inscribed with Fate’s Rune, nearly obscured by large pictures of overlapping concentric circles inscribed with names that sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place.
“Who are you?” I finally asked, a new respect and fear erupting in my veins for the woman who stood in front of me.
Her expression was hard, formidable even, and I frowned.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I said, holding my hands up in a placating gesture.
“Thenwhyare you here, Goddess of Death?” Pip asked, hardness in every syllable. Gone was the timid girl—if she was ever truly that in the first place.
“To intimidate Dria,” I responded absently, now feeling incredibly foolish for this little plan in the face of something so very . . . other.
“I have it under control,” she growled back, fingers carving through her messy brown waves. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Why not?”
“It’s messing with the flow of time . . .” She mumbled something too low for me to hear as she began to pace back and forth in the small space.
She almost seemed . . . unhinged.
“Who are you, Pip?” I asked again, softer this time.
“My name is not Pip,” she spat, and I fell back a step.
“I’m sorry. What am I to?—”
“Nothing. You don’t call me anything. Acolyte is fine.” She continued her pacing and muttering, pulling her hair as she walked. Abruptly, she stopped in front of a chart, finger tracing the mishmash of numbers and runes that made little sense to me but apparently formed some sort of message for her. Pip quickly smudged one with her finger before procuring a charcoal stick from gods knew where and etched a few other runes and numbers in a line below the smudge.
“You must leave. Fate demands it,” she called over her shoulder.
