Atticus points at his sister’s body. “Viola died because she hid what you did and dared to oppose me, preventing my retrieval of you for far too long! She chose her love for you over the good of the Order.” His eyes flash. “Over the command of her Archweaver.”
“As she should! Someone should love me more than this fucking Order!” I step forward, screaming. “Youshould love me more!”
“I did love you!”
I bark a laugh, my hands starting to shake. “Not as much as Alasdair.”
“Alasdair understands his place.”
“Alasdair is the only reason I’m here. You don’t give a damn that I could’ve killed myself with this curse. You only care that your precious mediocre son is dying because he’s too stupid to save himself.”
Atticus roars, “I won’t have both my children die!”
“Then enjoy the death of one!” My smile stretches, my eyes wild. “Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m alive. Ilivedwhenlesser weavers failed. Look at me!” I throw my arms wide. “I am power incarnate!”
“Your arrogance will be the death of you.” He heaves in breaths, his eyes mirroring mine. “I knew it the moment you tried to curse me instead of seeing reason. You are too weak to stand against the corruption of real power.”
“I’m stronger than you’ll ever know.”
“You are as resilient as a roach. But you are weak, Astoria. A real weaver would’ve learned their place.” He shakes his head. “Now obey me, child. End this curse and perhaps it’s not too late to save yourself in the process.”
The pleasure that unfurls in my chest sends a shiver through me. My smile takes a cruel edge. “No. If you are so powerful, then you end it.”
His face blotches red, his mouth thinning in a hard line as I wait. I want him to admit that he doesn’t understand my curse. I want him to say out loud in front of the Order how powerless he is against it. Most importantly, I need him to admit that the Order was wrong about Dual Threads.
It is a puzzle that my father cannot fathom the end image of. He’s too rigid, too black and white in his views of magic and Dual-Threaded weavers. He never understood that magic is a flexible, living thing.
But the priesthood understood it. Viola and Rossana did too, and through their teachings and secret notebook, I understand it as well. I communed with my great-grandmother Antonia’s grimoire to absorb her research into curse-work. Then I combined the resulting increase in magical capabilities and knowledge with what I learned from the notebook. I was able to forge my own curse, the likes of which no weaver has ever seen. The runes I carved into Alasdair are of my own creation. It allowed the curse to both be slow-acting and spreadable with the soul corruption of the foulest of dark magics.
It was through the notebook that I learned how the priests wielded curses freely. They bound their curses to grimoires. It’s why I created my grimoire while cursing Alasdair. Now, as long as my grimoire is safe, my curse will continue on, even if I die.
If my father has connected the pieces, then he knows I managed to create a grimoire, something that the Order firmly believes is impossible for a Dual. The enjoyment of hearing him admit this wrong would be immeasurable.
“Well then.” My tongue slides over my teeth. “I guess you’re fucked.”
My father’s power rises and I nearly step back. His voice lowers in that terrifying way he used to use on me. “I will give you one last chance, child. Obey your Archweaver. End. This. Curse.”
I step forward, my own magic answering the call. “No.”
Resolve sets over his face. “Then you leave me no choice.”
The ironwood stake pinning Viola’s right hand to the wall rips free. I prepare to counter, my magic surging, but the wood streaks towards the door. Towards Lucas. I scream, hands reaching out and magic gripping the wood. It slows and stops to graze Lucas’ shirt. His chest pumps, eyes wide. Valen’s hands slip from his pockets, his face too pale as he stares at the wood inches away from killing Lucas.
My father’s voice booms, echoing oddly in my mind. “Obey, or he’ll join your aunt!”
I’m shaking, my voice a shrill shriek. “Don’t touch him!”
“If your own life is not worth saving, then I’ll force your hand with the only thing you do care about. I’ll tear your magician apart, one piece at a time, until there’s nothing left for you to knit back together. I will take his soul and feed it to the demons of the deep Weave, so that he will know no peace in death.”
Panic and rage flood me as I yank on the ironwood, but it doesn’t budge. I don’t have the strength to do more than hold myfather’s attack back. He wiggles the stake to prove he can and I sob, my hand trembling. Lucas’ eyes fall to mine and my vision blurs.
I cannot lose him. Not Lucas. My lips tremble. Tears burn my cheeks and mingle with his blood that’s caked on them. “Do… not…” My heart thumps in my ears, my hand shaking. I’m breathing too fast, panic too overwhelming. Fear floods my system, my vision flickering. “Touch him…” My hand convulses and I feel it.
The cliff.
Slowly, I look down the dark, endless cliff of my soul. The sea of Entropy is calm and smooth as onyx. My face reflects in it. Then mist forms, swirling in a gentle dance not unlike the darkness I saw in the halls. It draws me closer until I’m leaning out over the water, my toes gripping the edge.
The golden forest behind me is no more. A few sprigs of grass struggle in black puddles. My magic, my Creation Thread, my beautiful flame, is tapped. But the dark ocean… it is vast. Maybe I can still save us. All I need to do is claim my birthright and wield the black flame of Entropy.
