My heart throbs. They’ll have each other at least. They deserve happiness, even if it’s without me.
The curse’s wide smile falters, black eyes dropping to our joined hands. My magic brushes it, but doesn’t bind.
The world pulses, the white bubble around us rippling. The curse hisses and lunges, rows of teeth all I can see as I scream. But it flickers away. The world flickers away. I’m stuck, frozen with my arm outstretched, the sensation of another’s hand in mine still there, but the curse nowhere to be seen.
My heart thumps, cold and hot. Cold and hot. Whispers. I blink and look down. A woman, pale and gray, smiles at me. Her copper hair sticks to her sweaty forehead, her heart a black glow as it thumps slowly, a thread shivering to extend to my split heart.
A black shadow ripples around her, and a rasped whisper hums, “I love you, Astoria Rose.”
She braces my feet with her fine bone hands. A thread stretches behind her. Another woman, similar yet different. Down farther and farther, as far as the eyes can see. Generations connected by one, black thread.
Echoes above and I turn upward. A gold thread stretches high from my heart. And there, with her wrist wrapped around it, is Viola. Tears stream down her face. “I love you.” And she cups my cheek.
Threads. Glowing, pulling. Everywhere. I turn as more and more branch out. Gold threads of Creation. Black threads of Entropy. Green threads of Transformation. Blue threads of Preservation. All of them branch farther and farther until I gasp.
All around me the Tapestry of Magic shimmers. Each strand linked together in an ever-changing kaleidoscope of swirling stars.
Heart thudding, I reach for the Tapestry with my free hand. Fingers lace with mine. A figure emerges from the strands, tall and regal, the stone of her statue in Monument Park dusting away until Antonia Androclaria stands before me.
I can’t breathe as green eyes peer into my very soul.
The great Archweaver of the past speaks, the sounds of her voice misaligning from her lips and echoing all around. “It’s not time yet.”
I swallow, gaze dropping to the Weave. A rope of all four threads twisted together blooms from the darkness to touchAntonia’s heart, the chambers still in death. The rope slips past my ancestor to arch down into the darkness around.
Antonia reaches out, her fingers dipping into my chest where my Dual Threads flicker. Her index loops around the gold thread and the middle loops around the black. She draws them forward and my chest aches. The severed pieces of my soul vibrate like two magnets fighting to connect.
Through the pain, her voice echoes, “All your life, you feared what you are because you were told to fear it. An abomination to be culled. A mistake in the Weave to be fixed.” She draws her own multistrand Soul Thread forward, making the line tight. “You believed that you are to be feared for what you cannot control.” She winds my black thread first. Smoke hisses and a tar-like substance bubbles away to reveal the glistening strand beneath. She smiles. “They were right about one thing. You are to be feared.” She winds the gold. Her green eyes sharpen, her voice an eerie hiss in the cosmos. “Because magic does not make mistakes.”
She releases the threads.
My soul snaps together and my mouth stretches open in agony. Searing hot pain burns through me like a soldering iron is drawn up the center of my being. All four threads weave along the glowing crack, stitching the halves together.
Power pulses throughout me, changing me, elevating me. My scar from when my soul ripped apart remains, but all four threads are twisted together to make a single, opalescent line.
My eyes shift and glow like two embers. One gold. One black. A ring of multicolored glory halos them. I turn to the curse, who is frozen a mere few inches from my soul.
Magic thrums and I throw the creature away before the sharp teeth sink into my face. But it doesn’t go far. Bones crack, shoulders popping free, when the creature reaches the end of its arm span, for I do not let go of its hand.
The creature screams, writhing like a worm on a hook. The white skin sizzles and peels back to reveal swollen black veins and the putrid, discolored meat of its flesh. A surge of power fills my chest, power that I have not felt in years. I blink and a smile spreads across my face, elation surging to chase the shadows and fear.
Entropy and Creation do not mix. It’s magical law. But now they are balanced by Preservation and Transformation. A great cycle of magic. A rightness that rings true and clear. My two flames burn, my eyes flickering. Gold flames rise from one eye, black flames from the other. My heart pulses, the fire twisting, blending, and swirling into a cycle. No longer forced apart, my flames ripple through me, birthing me into something new and wondrous.
The curse screams, writhing and trying to rip free. But I don’t let go. I smile down at the creature, my skin glowing as I ascend past being a mere weaver. I am a new Heir. The Heir of Antonia.
My voice echoes. “I’ve changed my mind.” Great wings beat in my heart and a throbbing pulse fills the space. “No deal.”
Then the sphere holding me shatters. The curse shrieks an unholy sound and scrambles. My magic explodes, my head throwing back. I laugh and it’s the pure sound of bells chiming. An untainted flame of glorious heat washes over me, searing away the dark corruption that I permitted to drown my soul. A stain remains along the scar. A remembrance of my wrongs.
The fire cycle unfurls around me like the mighty wings of the phoenix.
My father was right. It’s a glorious magic.
I whisper, “Run.” Fire erupts.
The curse does not falter. It flees, unwinding itself from my soul and magic. My fire burns the corruption in sickening sizzles and pops before traveling down the line to the curse. The linesnips, the fire burning it up until it hisses. The curse, unbound, bolts away, the black oil going with it.
My wings of fire beat and I rise, spinning in the glory of all that I am.
