A laugh explodes from me. “Oh,youcan use crude language, but I can’t?”
“I am a woman and you are still a child, so yes.” Her long fingers stroke down my cheek. “Oh, my sweet. If I could, I’d render her flesh clean of skin one finger-width strip at a time. But for now, I’ll wait until Atticus is alone and talk with him.”
“Like that will do anything. He was there and said nothing.” I duck my head, shoulders rounding. “Why did he even want me?”
“What was that?”
I glance at my aunt. “Why did Dad claim me as an Androclaria if he hates me so much? Why even let me live? Does he enjoy watching Luciana hurt me that much?”
The silence stretches. Viola’s brows are tight, her bow-shaped lips thin. It takes me a moment to find the words to say, “Tell me. Please.”
Viola sighs softly and slides closer to me on the bench of her vanity. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and I lean into her familiar, warm embrace. I curl to better lean against her breast, the softness a comfort that has cradled me all twelve years of my life.
She speaks softly for only me to hear. “Creation and Entropy do not gift children often, let alone to mixed parents. It is why our domains are so sparsely populated when Transformation and Preservation are so full. It didn’t used to be that way. Each family line used to be as bountiful as the Bauer line. Valen and Emilia being born eleven months apart was not the miracle it now is. It was quite common then.”
She takes a steadying breath and I wait patiently for her to continue. “When Gildra became pregnant, the whole Order was shocked. Atticus lay with so many that cycle with no success that we were all sure that he would fail again. But to chooseGildra—” Viola’s wiry body tenses, her breath holding until she manages to continue, “Gildra was already losing control of the black flame. I was so sure she would lose you early, but Gildra…” A small, broken laugh shakes Viola’s frame, “Oh, Gildra. My stubborn girl.”
I murmur into Viola’s embrace, “You loved her.”
“So much. Her, Rossana, and I were like three souls divided into three bodies and Gildra was special to both of us. She could see things as they were, not as what others believed. And shesawyou, Astoria. She proclaimed that you were bound for greatness, a harbinger of a new golden age for weavers. Her steadfast conviction convinced Atticus of the same. He proudly boasted that you, his child, were the future of the Order, an Archweaver like none other. And I swore to the Weave itself that I would honor Gildra’s choice. You would live. No matter what.
“Your birth—” Viola’s tale cuts off and she releases me to cover her mouth with her hand. I wait patiently, familiar with this heavy grief that consumes my aunt in waves. Finally, Viola releases a trembling breath and continues, “We knew your birth would take Gildra. She was already beginning to ash during the last few weeks of her pregnancy. She’d lost toes and fingers, her skin was a grayish tint as it spread. But shelovedyou, Tori. She’d sing and talk to you all day, tracing her fingers around you as you rolled and kicked. She did everything she could to guarantee your life, even though it hastened her end.”
My throat aches and I whisper, “Why would she do that?”
“Gildra was never to have the same long lifespan as other weavers. She decided that if that was her fate, then she’d pass to the Weave birthing you, her greatest love. Even as she breathed out smoke, she refused to allow a healer to cut you early from her, no matter how much Atticus insisted. It wouldn’t save her from the black flame and she believed you were in no dangerfrom it. Atticus disagreed. Jinx had to stand before Gildra’s birthing bed in all her beastly glory to hold him back from interfering. I was the only one permitted by the bedside and I had spent months preparing for it.”
Viola shifts her arms so that the thick scars that mangle her flesh are visible. “Gildra did not push. She did not need to. You came into this world all on your own, just like Gildra knew you would. Magic poured from your tiny body in staggering waves, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. I caught you in my arms, held you as your power burned me. My brother was screaming that I bring you to him, but I knew in my soul that I was to bring you to Gildra. The power coming from you, that heat, it saved you from the cold, black flame. I put you on her chest, and the flames…” Tears drench my hair and Viola sniffles loudly. “Daughter and Mother. Creation and Entropy. The gold and black flames. They became one, swirling around you like the sun and moon waxing together. Gildra was flaking away as ash replaced her flesh, but she managed to kiss your sweet head and whispered your name as she passed, her body crumbling away to leave you nestled in the softness.”
She leans back and wipes her face roughly. “Your father and I disagree on what Gildra intended to whisper. She only managed to say ‘Astoria Rose’ before passing and I know she was trying to say ‘Rosemont.’ But your father saw your power and claimed you Astoria Rose Androclaria. So, no. He does not hate you. He hates that he fears you.”
The grimoires shift and hiss as I walk through the stacks, my fingers trailing along them. A few arch like cats into my touch, others shying away. I try to read titles, try to navigate through the stacks to find something that can assist me withThe Arachnomicon. But I’m too distracted, too lost in my memories of Viola to do more than wander.
On my sixteenth birthday, Viola took me to the Archweaver archives, where we could be alone. She sat me down on our favorite bench and told me the rest of my birth, the missing truths she withheld until I was old enough to understand.
She takes my hands in hers as she speaks, her voice straining as if she is confessing her sins. “We did not know you were a Dual Thread until after you were born. We were sure you were of Creation; we could sense the magic from Gildra’s womb, but when Gildra passed and Jinx remained, her power shifted to link to your soul. That is how we knew, even though your heart was too little for anyone to fully see the threads. An emergency Council meeting was called to discuss what was to be done. They wished to cull you and I would not allow it.”
Her grip pinches my fingers, her green eyes unwavering as they gaze into mine. “Your magics were so unstable and there was fear over what would happen after the Raveng Horror. Jinx was the only thing keeping you alive. She wrapped around you like a living swaddle, slipping into a deep, meditative state. It left her completely vulnerable, but it allowed her to guard your soul while she struggled to stabilize your threads. For six weeks, I held you in my arms, never daring to set you down. I was fully prepared to send anyone who tried to take you back to the Weave. But we could not live like that forever. I knew if I could not convince the Council, then I had no choice but to convince Atticus to save you. As Archweaver, he makes the final decision on if a Dual Thread is a threat to the Order or not.
“I went to him, got on my knees while clutching you to my heart, and begged. I cried harder than I ever have before in my long life. I reminded him of Gildra’s proclamation, about the power you showed at your birth. I swore I could train you, teach you, save you, and in return, I would give him an Heir that would rival all those who came before. I shamelessly wielded his fear that his child with Luciana would not surviveagainst him. I succeeded. He let me keep you and I bound him to that decision with an oath before the Council of Weavers. Thank the Weave for my own foresight because it was that oath that kept you from the culling when Alasdair was born healthy and strong.”
Viola and I stare at each other, our hearts the only sounds in the archives. I whisper my own confession: “I hurt, Vi.”
“I know, my little love.” The skin under Viola’s eyes is swollen and dark, red veins marring the whites of her eyes. Too many meals skipped, too many sleepless nights worrying about me have stolen the alabaster glow of her skin. Her too-thin hands tremble around mine. “If weaver magic cannot save you, then we must look outside the rigid laws of man.”
I step out of the stacks into an alcove of thick darkness. Where others would shy away, I step forward. The brick ripples, dissolving away as I approach. Blood and paint blend together to form a pentagram along the brick. At the joints, crystals of my own making glow brightly in the darkness, holding together all four sources of magic in a continuous cycle of power.
The heart of my store.
My creation.
I place my palm flat along my pentagram, stepping close to the brick until my forehead rests against it.
An ordinary notebook is pulled from Viola’s skirts. I frown at the yellowed, curled paper that crinkles in my hand. I turn to her in confusion, but she simply nods towards the book. The paper crackles loudly in the silence as I open the cracked cover. I draw in a harsh breath. “Vi…”
She covers my hands with hers so I cannot let go of the notebook. On the pages are runes, ancient from before the first Archweaver. “But the priesthood burned?” I ask.
Viola wets her lips and scoots closer. “Not all. They hid within the Order, whispering what magic they could to theirchildren. Grimoires were too easy to find. It was easier to hide some of the lore in ordinary paper. Rossana, Gildra, and I collected all we could into this book.”
