But this is different.
“You might save everything,” the Seer of Consequence continues. “Or you might destroy everything. The thread refuses to show me which. Instead, it branches indefinitely in every direction, as if your choices create new possibilities faster than fate can account for them.”
The Seer of Origins takes a small step forward. “This has not occurred before?”
“Not in fifteen hundred years.” The Seer of Consequence sounds almost offended. “When Gwendolyn began her search to resurrect her lost love.”
I glance at Logan, desperate for an indication of what this means, of what I should do, of how I’m supposed to react to being told I’m a fate-defying anomaly who might destroy the world.
He’s not looking at me. Instead, his eyes are fixed on a point in the middle distance. The air around him has gone cold, a pocket of chill that doesn’t match the heavy heat pressing down on the rest of us. It’s like he’s retreated so far behind his walls that there’s nothing left on the surface at all.
“Logan?” I ask, small and uncertain.
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even blink. It’s like he isn’t here at all.
Dread pools low in my stomach. Because I’ve seen Logan controlled before. I’ve seen him distant and guarded. But I’ve never seen him likethis.
“The storm touched’s judgment is complete,” the Seer of Consequence says, sharper now. “Her fate remains unknowable. Her destiny, unmeasurable. She is a variable that cannot be calculated.”
He pulls back, rejoining his brothers, but his silver eyes stay fixed on me.
That’s when it hits me: being unreadable might be more dangerous than having a dark fate. Dark fates can be fought. But a fate that can’t be read? That could go in any direction?
It makes me the kind of wild card that powerful beings eliminate before they become a problem.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the heavy air, my gaze naturally going to Logan again. Every line of his body is rigid with tension, but his face remains completely, terrifyingly blank.
Before I can ask him what’s wrong, the Seer of Origins speaks, his ancient voice echoing across the water.
“Three have been judged,” he says. “Now, only two remain.”
24
JADE
The Seerof Origin’s ember-gold eyes sweep across our boat and land on Callie.
“The ambitious one.”
Callie straightens, her chin lifting in that practiced way she has.
The Seer of Origins studies her with those ancient eyes. “The Bennett bloodline. Council-adjacent for generations. Ambition is woven into your upbringing, like threads of gold through silk.”
Callie doesn’t flinch. If anything, her posture improves.
“You were taught from birth that power is currency.” The Seer studies her, and the weight of that gaze borders on disapproval. “That love is leverage. That attaching yourself to those with power is the same as possessing it yourself. You have spent your life seeking power through proximity, never realizing that borrowed power is no power at all.”
Callie’s hands close into fists, but she says nothing.
The Seer of Essence glides forward next, and when those burning red eyes fix on Callie, his expression shifts into disgust. Actual disgust, visible on features that should be beyond such mortal reactions.
“What you have done to bind yourself to another...” he says, lower now, colder. “You have surrendered pieces of yourself.”
Surrendered pieces of herself?
What the hell does that mean?
The color that had returned to Callie’s face is draining away, replaced by genuine fear.
