“Yes. As does she.” But why did they care? Why wasthatthe important thing? Unless they knew. Unless they saw and schemed to set this up. I knew they hadn’t. The Fates don’t care for the whims or desires of gods and mortals. They are neutral. They care only for what is. What has been. What will be. Still, something in that tone rattled me.
“The Mad Queen,” they said in unison, their forms rippling with what might have been excitement. “More interesting than the boy king, though both were necessary steps.”
Something cold settled in my gut. There was a game being played here, a longer, deeper scheme than I had anticipated.
“I didn’t come to discuss your interest in Paesha,” I said, forcing myself back to the point. “I came because she suffers. The voices in her mind grow stronger each day, driving her toward madness and destruction. You could help her. You could change her fate with a single adjustment.”
“And what would you give for this adjustment?” they finally asked, the question laced with cruel anticipation.
“Whatever it costs,” I said without hesitation.
They laughed, the sound like a thousand small bells, each slightly out of tune. “You would give up your Ever? So easily?”
“Not easily,” I growled, fighting to keep my temper in check. “Never easily. But I would make the sacrifice if it meant her freedom from this torment.”
Death shifted beside me, growing impatient with the Fates’ games. I felt his power stir.
“And if we refuse?” they asked, their attention now fixed on Death.
“Then I will tear this realm apart,” I promised, my voice dropping to a whisper that still somehow filled the void. “I will end every thread you’ve ever woven. I will unravel the tapestry of fate until nothing remains but chaos.”
“Bold threats from a god whose power wanes,” one said dismissively.
Death stepped forward, his presence suddenly filling the void with terrible weight. “His is not the only power you need to fear, and I can assure you, mine does not wane. Death is the only guarantee in life. In existence. Let me show you.”
He opened his palm, and a small orb of darkness formed above it, dense and absolute, a fraction of death magic, brought into this realm where it should never exist. The Fates hissed, drawing back from the abomination.
“You would not dare. Death has no place among the unborn possibilities, the futures yet to be woven.”
He looked dramatically over his shoulder, around me, gaze shifting this way and that. “And yet, here I stand, in a place you claim I shouldn’t be. I wonder what would happen if this touched your precious loom?” The orb floated slightly higher. “Would the threads burn? Would the futures they represent cease to exist? Or perhaps something worse?”
“This is madness,” they protested, but there was fear beneath their outrage.
“No,” I said coldly. “Madness is what you’ve condemned Paesha to suffer. This? This is merely the consequence of your refusal to help. You fucked around and now you’re finding out what the cost of that was.”
I moved to stand beside Death, letting my own power flare brighter, golden threads of creation interwoven with his absolute darkness. Together, we formed a threat the Fates could not ignore.
“We could destroy everything you’ve built,” I continued, “or you could grant us one simple request. Help her. End the voices. Free her mind from this torment. A small price to pay for the continued existence of your realm, wouldn’t you agree?”
The Fates conferred among themselves, their forms merging and separating in a dance of indecision. “The madness serves a purpose,” they said. “It drives her toward the fulfillment of her true destiny.”
“Which is what, exactly?” I demanded.
“To break the balance, as was foretold.”
Anger surged through me, hot and fierce. “That prophecy was your doing, wasn’t it? You gave Ezra that vision at the beginning and he fucking ran with it.”
Their silence was confirmation enough.
But that couldn’t have been it. This had to go back further. Back to the beginning. Back to when… they set up Minerva. The pieces clicked into place with terrible clarity. The imbalance of power wasn’t an accident. It was their design all along.
The Fates shifted uneasily. I could see them now, ancient and terrible, threads of fate wound through their flesh like living chains. Faces that had once been beautiful were now twisted by centuries of spite and the burden of their existence.
“We merely observe the patterns,” one insisted, far too late.
I stared at them, understanding dawning with sickening certainty. “We need to leave,” I said without warning. “Right now.”
Death’s shoulders stiffened. “But?—”
