I didn’t know how long we’d been riding when we finally reached the Great Oak. My boots and hair were drenched, and my teeth chattered from the cold as we dismounted and stepped into the shelter of the enormous tree.
Even Kaden looked pale as he drew a dagger from his belt. Strands of midnight hair were plastered to his face, and water streamed down the tip of his nose.
Wordlessly, Sorsha held out her hand, and Kaden made a small incision before slicing his own skin.
Side by side, they placed their bloodied palms flat against the trunk, and I watched in amazement as the golden runes that draped the tree were illuminated with an otherworldly glow.
Slowly, the bark began to crumble away, opening the familiar doorway that led into the Great Oak itself.
Kaden caught Adriel’s eye, and something passed between the two males — a language only they understood from centuries spent at each other’s side. I followed the royal guard into the shelter of the trunk before the bark rematerialized over the opening, blocking my mate from view.
I shivered. Although I knew Kaden and Sorsha had to remain outside to unlock the tree, I couldn’t help the anxious feeling fluttering in my gut.
Clutching the bag with the Death Bringer’s hands, I descended the earthen stairwell. My lungs filled with the scent of earth and rot, and the air seemed to grow colder with every step I took.
Finally, we emerged into the familiar chamber lit by glowing torches. The tapestry of Fate was even more stunning than I remembered. Hundreds of millions of glistening threads were woven together to create a design that no mortal could have dreamt up.
The Three sat hunched in their ivory robes, silver-white hair cascading to the ground. Clotho was busy spinning as always. A single gossamer thread of starlight glinted as sheworked, weaving the very fabric of existence into pale, shimmering matter.
The squeak of the treadle filled the chamber and raised the hairs along my arms. Morta sat still and lifeless in a chair formed by tree roots — a stark contrast to her busy sister.
“She has returned,” came a girlish whisper. “The huntress who seeks to end the Dark One.”
My gaze flicked to a shadowy figure half-concealed in the folds of the tapestry.
It was Diem, the Weaver, who arranged the threads of fate into the breathtaking design.
Morta stirred in her seat, that eerie silver gaze roving over me with a predatory alertness.
“We have come to return your hands,” I told her, though I kept my eyes on Diem. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to meet the Death Bringer’s gaze. It felt too much like an invitation.
The incessant rhythm of the treadle faltered, and I sensed Clotho watching me.
Reaching into my crude canvas bag, I carefully extracted the hands and knelt before the Death Bringer. I swallowed, my own hands shaking as I placed them at her feet.
“And you have brought theMorkahlf,” Diem intoned, a petulant edge to her voice.
I winced. I’d forgotten that Adriel hadn’t exactly made the best impression the last time we were here.
“He is the only one who can restore your sister’s hands,” I explained, nodding at the jar of clay clutched in Adriel’s grip.
Diem peeked around the glowing tapestry, her eyes gleaming with interest. “TheMorkahlfcommands the earth,” she hissed. “He has been granted Gninou’s sacred blessing to restore that which has been taken.”
I lifted my eyebrows. I wasn’t sure we’d gotten the silver god’s blessing, but perhaps Kaden’s and my . . .activitiesat his dedicated tree had garnered us some favor.
Feeling Morta’s eyes on me, I started to unroll the scrap of linen I’d used to wrap her severed hands. Slowly, I exposed the pale, shriveled fingers, the shining gold rings, and wrists that ended in gory stumps.
I heard a sharp intake of breath and chanced a glance up at Morta. The Death Bringer was staring down at her own hands, silver tears welling in her eyes.
Something twisted in my chest, and then I felt a tingle of magic. The hands rose from the ground on a cloud of golden light, and the Death Bringer held out her arms. The sleeves of her robes fell back to reveal her residual limbs, and I watched in stunned amazement as she levitated the hands into place.
“You can restore them?” The Death Bringer asked, fixing her silvery gaze on Adriel. Her voice was like a sack full of bones rattling together, as if she hadn’t spoken in years.
Adriel cleared his throat and gave a jerky half-nod. Stepping toward her, he dropped to one knee and set the clay vessel on the ground.
It was a strangely heart-wrenching sight — the fearsome royal guard kneeling at the Death Bringer’s feet. I watched as he scooped out a handful of clay, which filled the chamber with its sharp, mineral scent.
Brilliant swirls of gold and green mixed together as he brought the clay to the place where Morta’s wrist and forearm joined. As it touched her, the clay glowed with the same otherworldly light, which poured out from between Adriel’s cupped fingers and burned the backs of my eyes.
