I want to reach for Logan’s hand and feel his fingers close around mine before these ancient beings crack me open and spill my secrets across the deck. I want his thumb tracing circles on my knuckle. I want the jolt of electricity that jumps betweenour skin, and the steadiness he always gives me right before the world falls apart.
But Evie’s watching from across the boat, the air around her rippling with heat, and the hatred in her eyes keeps my arms locked at my sides.
The Seer of Origins fixes those ember-gold eyes on me, the weight of centuries behind them.
“Step forward.”
My legs don’t want to move, but I force them to anyway, leaving the comfort of Logan’s presence to stand before the three giants.
“The Harrington bloodline.” The Seer’s massive head tilts, studying me. “Magic dead for generations. A family that forgot what they once were. Merchants and socialites, trading power for prestige until nothing remained but a name and empty veins.”
I almost roll my eyes. Because great. Even ancient god-beings think my family is a disappointment. Join the club.
His ember eyes flare brighter. “The storm goddess looked upon the mortal realm and claimed you as her weapon against the rising darkness.”
Weapon.
As always, the word sits wrong in my chest.
The Seer of Essence glides forward before I can spiral further. His burning red eyes lock onto me, and then he’s pushing into my awareness like hot fingers sifting through my skull.
It’s like being turned inside out while everyone watches.
“Celestial magic fused with mortal flame burns inside you,” he says. “Powers wrapped around each other like mating serpents.”
That’s... a really weird image. Thanks for that.
“The storm-serpent is coiled within you, waiting to strike. You have learned to cage it inside a sphere of will and desperation, but containment is not control.”
I sort of see his point. Because the glass sphere works, mostly. Except for when it doesn’t.
“This power was never meant to be contained,” the Seer continues. “It was meant to be unleashed. And one day, the serpent will uncoil, whether you are ready or not.”
Thunder rolls overhead, and the Seer of Consequence drifts forward.
When he’s standing in front of me, his ethereal form goes still, those swirling silver eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Then, he begins to pace, and his expression shifts into frustration. Actual frustration, visible on features that should be beyond mortal emotions.
Finally, he stops directly in front of me. His eyes bore into mine, a weight pressing against my consciousness, and it’s not painful like the Seer of Essence. It’s more like he’s searching, trying to find a truth that keeps slipping through his fingers.
“Impossible.” The word echoes across the water like a curse.
The other two Geryons exchange surprised looks.
“Your fate-thread defies me.” The Seer falters, then centers himself again. “I have read the threads of countless mortals across countless centuries. Warriors and scholars. Kings and beggars. Heroes and monsters. Each one was clear and measurable, leading to an ending I could see.”
His silver eyes swirl faster.
“This thread is the first anomaly I have encountered in fifteen hundred years.”
My blood runs cold.
Anomaly.
That’s not a word anyone wants applied to them by a fate-reading god.
“Your destiny cannot be measured, predicted, or categorized,” he says, his voice rising with each phrase. “The thread exists, but it refuses to show me where it leads.”
I think about Circe running her fingers over my threads and frowning, saying it tangled with others in ways she’d never seen. At the time, I thought she was just being cryptic. A mysterious sorceress doing mysterious sorceress things.
