"And won," Elli says, with the faintest chuckle. "He was prideful. I am inevitable."
"Have you come to kill me like your kin tried?" I remember Mal and the thing on his shoulder. The Un who wanted me dead, who saw me as an obstacle to whatever designs they had for Rhianelle.
"Kill you?" She seems genuinely amused and chuckles. "Oh, child. I care nothing for you. Your life or death means less than nothing to me. I'm here for the girl."
Everything in me goes cold and sharp. Every monster in my soul rises to the surface, ready to defend what's ours.
"If you harm her—" I start, shadows gathering around my hands.
Elli interrupts with another cackle. "Harm her? Harm our little Rhianelle? In an age where gods starve on disbelief, where the old powers fade because mortals no longer remember our names, she is one who still worships. She remembers us when all others forget. We adore her."
The affection in her voice is somehow more unsettling than threats would be.
"Because of that we've been arranging things for her. Smoothing her path. Weaving possibilities into her future," Elli continues.
"Arranging?" My voice drops dangerously low. "What have you done to her?"
"Let me show you something, vampire." Elli raises one gnarled finger and the air shimmers around us.
The veil between worlds thins and peels away. Beneath the surface I can see them.
Countless strings stretch through the air like a spider's web made of light. They connect everything and everyone, weaving an infinite tapestry that extends in all directions. Some threads glow bright, pulsing with vitality while others are fraying, ready to snap.
"Do you know what these are?" Elli asks, those ancient eyes studying my reaction.
"Threads of fate," I say, watching light travel their lengths. "Weavings of destiny."
She nods approvingly. "Very good. Most mortals can't see them at all. But you're not entirely mortal anymore, are you? The curse that made you opened your eyes to things they shouldn't see."
Elli gestures and the threads shift, rearranging themselves to show patterns I can almost understand.
"We usually leave them alone," she says evenly. "Let mortals stumble through their destinies blind. But for those we favor, we intervene."
"Then save her," I demand. "If you can weave fate, weave one where she survives."
"We create possibilities, not certainties." Her expression is almost pitying. "We can't force outcomes but only arrange circumstances. Whether those circumstances lead to salvation or damnation depends on the choices made."
The fuck does that mean? They can manipulate fate itself but they can't heal her? Then what good are they?
"A vampire bound to an elf," Elli muses, watching the threads shift. "Do you know how many threads of destiny you've already torn just by existing in her life? How many carefully woven patterns you've unraveled simply by loving her?"
I recognize one thread among the thousands. It glows sapphire blue, bright and strong. It extends from somewhere behind me, reaching across the distance to wherever Rhianelle lies dying.
I know the blue string belongs to Aelfric.
"That was one possibility," Elli says, noting where my attention has gone. "Her knight. One of our better attempts actually. Loyal, devoted, already half in love with her. Thethreads were so perfectly aligned. He would have been good for her."
The thread begins to fray as I watch. Individual strands unraveling, coming apart.
Elli lifts her cane and brings its tip down against the failing strand gently. The fraying accelerates, unspooling faster.
"That path is closed now," the goddess says, voice even and assured. "He has accepted you, and he has accepted her choice."
The thread snaps. It dissolves into motes of light and fades like dying stars, disappearing into the vast tapestry surrounding us.
"He stepped aside with grace," she continues. "A bond cannot take root in ground that has already yielded."
I should feel relieved. Instead, cold dread creeps up my spine.
