Drowning in Memory
Saltwater, dark and icy, closed over my head. I shuddered as I plunged into the deep, kicking away from the Fates’ empire.
Even underwater, I could hear the thunderous crack and roar of the fire consuming everything and the sisters’ screams, distorted and hollow.
I swam blindly, my clothes dragging at my limbs.
I was no swimmer. I’d grown up in rural France, miles from any coast. This dive was a last resort, my escape from the inferno above.
The rock above me groaned, the vibration traveling through the water, through my bones.
If the cave collapsed now, I would be buried here. Crushed beneath tons of stone. Dead for the hundredth—and final—time.
My heart jammed against my ribs. Icy panic seized me.
I fought the panic, forcing my arms to pull, my legs to kick. I had to get out, reach open water, survive.
A hard wave slammed into me from below, spinning me in the dark, disorienting me. Up and down lost all meaning.
That shouldn’t happen. Not here. Then it dawned on me that Poseidon controlled the sea. Every drop of salt water in every realm whispered to him, told him what moved through his domain. I was in his territory now. The God of the Sea was an ally to Zeus, to the Fates, to everyone who wanted me erased. He would not let me escape.
I kicked harder, searching for a current that would lead to open water. Every instinct screamed to turn back, to face the sisters’ wrath and the consuming fire rather than drown in this endless dark. At least the flames were mine.
Here, I was at the utter mercy of the God who commanded the water.
I couldn’t win.
The waves toyed with me, grabbing my legs with liquid fingers, yanking me down toward the abyssal dark where light never reached, where bodies were never found.
I tried to weave my threads against its power, but the water scattered them like smoke. My most powerful blood magic was useless here—the sea washed my blood away before it could form a single strand.
Then a memory hit me with the force of the deep:
I was being dragged down, a stone tied to my ankle. Water filled my lungs. Everything went dark.
When I opened my eyes, I was floating above my own body. A spirit. Dead.
Hades carried my corpse from the water. He collapsed to his knees on the shore, my cold form clutched to his chest. His shoulders shook with broken sobs.
“Every lifetime, I searched for you. I was late, my love. I am so sorry.”
He raised his eyes, storm-dark with rage and agony, to the sky, as if he could see my spirit hovering there.
“Remember it all,” he shouted. “Even if you’ll hate me all over again when you do. End the curse!”
My spirit lingered for only a moment before it was brutally yanked away, pulled into the limbo where even the God of Death could not reach. Destined to be reborn, only to be slaughtered again.
Not this time!
I would not die today, I vowed as water poured into my nose, as my lungs burned, as my breath gave out.
I would not let my enemies win.
If I perished in this timeline, I would not return. There would be no hundred-and-first life. And my mate, my king, would finally break—just as our enemies had designed all along.
The Fates deemed this to be the end of my last thread. Little had they predicted that I’d take all my threads with me—every ending, every beginning. They were tucked between my breasts now, secured by my own weaving, impervious to fire and water, visible to me alone. A hundred lives’ worth of power, wrapped tight against my heart.
I had mapped every move while the sisters chattered. They’d forgotten one golden rule: the more you talk, the more mistakes you make, unless your words are meant to deceive, not boast. I guessed that they had so few visitors that they lacked street smarts.
