“What do you know about him?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Aster?” Vilder’s eyes narrow. “Well, he’s one of the seven lesser gods, but as the son of Zerex, one of the two primordial deities, he’s the most powerful of the lesser gods by far. And, if everything goes according to his father’s plan, he will soon have twice the power of the other seven, rising to the ranks of the higher gods. That is probably the reason he is here, to work out the details of the plan they have for getting back at”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“Casimir.” I get the impression he doesn’t do it out of fear, but rather to avoid anyone listing in. “From what I know, the C’elen and the gods have been planning this for years, and it is this”—he holds his index finger an inch away from his thumb—“close to execution.”
The overheard conversation floods back—Llyr’s guilt, Aster’s reluctance, their talk of prices too high to pay. Whatever this plan is, I have a sinking feeling I won’t like it. The thought sends a chill through me just as the barmaid who keeps eyeing Vilder drops another basket of bread at our table, and he grabs one.
“He is, of course, an exceptionally strong wielder of elen—you and I both saw the glyphs covering his body—but he also has powers over death, dreams, and endings, and he weaves the strings of fate.” He takes a bite of his bun. “Although that last part is no longer possible for him to do.”
“Strings of fate?”
He nods. “I don’t know this for sure, but the legend says that when his twin brother caused the Darkenin—”
“Wait.” I place a hand on Vilder to stop him. “Aster is Casimir’s twin brother?” My blood chills at the casual way he killed Nana. How could anyone do such a thing to their own brother?
Vilder takes a sip of his beer and nods. “Yes. And when Casimir caused the Darkening, our primordial mother goddess, Mah, stripped him of all his celestial powers—leaving him only with the dark powers of the Void. Up until then, Casimir was the keeper of the weave, guarding the fate of Reans and men alike. As a weaver, Aster used to have the power to change the pattern of the weave, but since Casimir’s fall, the weave has been in a sort of limbo. It used to be a collaboration between the two twins of some sort. To not give Aster the power to change fates as he saw fit, Casimir had to approve of the change of the pattern he was currently holding, and the goal would always be to weave to the greatest good of all. I don’t know how they did it—through a merging of twin souls, I believe. But since Casimir’s fall and the Darkening, there has been no keeper of the weave and no way to control the pattern.”
“Does this mean that”—my stomach curls—“there’s no free will?” The mere thought makes me nauseous.
His finger taps against the tabletop. “It is not a straightforward yes or no,” he says. “The weave is believed to be branches, crossroads, and as we—humans and Reans alike—represent the single strands the weave is made out of, every choice we make, good or bad, affects the pattern.”
“The currentpredicament,” Seniia says as three full mugs of dark, rich beer land on the table, “is that with all the humans and shadowborn turning to the Void, the weave may soon be tipping in its favor.” She slides down into the booth next to me. “The weave is neither good nor bad, it justis.Casimir and Aster were its gatekeepers, but now...”
Vilder grabs one of the beers and drinks deeply. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says, seeing my worried expression. He wipes the foam off his upper lip. “The elder C’elen and the gods have a plan. They’ve all been around for hundreds of years—I’m sure they know what they are doing.”
I bite down on my lip. With everything going on with Aster, I've almost forgotten about Llyr and his mind wiping. How many memories has he taken from me over the years? With the power to remove my brace, he could have done it any number of times. At least Llyr hasn’t had his hands on me since I arrived in Rea, and I will make sure it stays that way.
“Sure,” I say, pressing a smile as I meet Vilder’s gaze over my mug of beer, although I’m anything but. What is it that they want with me? A human.
Because there’s one thing I’m certain of, and it’s that those in power always have an agenda.
chapter twenty
I STARE AT THE DRESSES Vy brought to my room. There are a dozen different cuts and colors, and I’m unable to decide. Seniia sits on the bed, already wearing a beautiful blue-green gown composed of layers upon layers of sheer material. It exposes some of the golden glyphs on her arms and upper back, and it matches her eyes perfectly. Her long powder-pink hair is in an elegant swirl at the nape of her neck, with a few loose curls gently framing her lovely face.
“I like the midnight blue with the tiny golden stars woven into it,” she says, bouncing on the bed for emphasis.
I purse my lips. It’s very similar to the one Nana wore to the ball in my dream. The thought of her makes me wonder if Aster is still here. I haven’t seen him—not even in my dreams—since the day I stabbed him a week ago. My sleep has been silent and empty, devoid of any trace of him. Whatever gods of death are generally up to, I’m sure he’s busy.
Pushing Aster to the very back of my mind, where he belongs, I reach for anothergown to try on.
In the end, I opt for an ombre dress that darkens from snow white to icy blue, its sheer gossamer sleeves cuffing at my wrists and veiling the scars on my arms.
A part of me wishes I took Seniia up on her offer to heal my scars. If I’m constantly covering them up, I might as well have. I slip on a pair of golden slippers and make my way to the tall mirror by the window. My entire right leg shows through the long split of the dress as I walk, but somewhere along the way, I’ve become comfortable with this. Still, if it were up to me, I would have leggings on under, but Seniia made it quite clear that is not an option for a ball. I sigh.
Get used to it, Laïna.Your legs are by far the best part of you, after all.I give myself a twirl in front of the mirror. Supposedly, all the dresses are designed like this so that one will have the freedom to fight if needed.
“Look at you!” Seniia squeals as I do another spin in my dress. “You look amazing! Now sit down so I can do your hair and makeup.” She ushers me into the chair in front of my vanity table, ready to do her magic.
A sharp rap on the door sends a jolt of tension through my body. My eyes lock with Seniia’s in the mirror, but the small shake of her head tells me she’s not expecting anyone, and neither am I.
I haven’t even gotten out of the chair before the door swings open and Llyr strides into the room as if it’s his own. His jaw is tight, his hands clenched at his sides. “Why were you not at sparring practice this afternoon?”
I frown. “Because I’m getting ready for the ball you want me to attend,” I say as I stand, gesturing down at my dress.
“Do not be smart with me, Laïna. Vy’s reports tell me you have been roaming downtown, staying out late. I do not know if you have forgotten, but we have a deal, remember?” His fury is evident in his green eyes. “You would be wise to understand that if they think you cannot be kept in check, therewillbe consequences, yes?”
I flinch. The threat is clear: If I don’t uphold my part of the bargain,nothing stops him from bracing me again.Or stealing your memories. I wisely take a couple of steps back.
“I remember the deal being that I have to spend the night here at the Arc,” I say, pushing down the nausea his implication brought forth. “And I have. What is it that is so important about me that I must bekept in check? Why does anyone even care whatI, a mere human, do? I sleep here. That should be enough.” If his unwillingness to tell me the truth wasn’t already evident in the way he has been avoiding me for the past moon, it becomes quite clear in the way his gaze now keeps slipping to the side, unwilling to meet mine.
