by Sarah Fine
She tossed a coin out of her realm, and it hit Moros in the chest and landed on the ground between him and Rosaleen, who closed her Scope quickly and snapped it to the chain around her neck. “Was that—?”
“The Keeper of Heaven herself. Yes.”
Rosaleen gave him a cautious look as she scooped the coin from the ground. “So it’s true, what you’ve told us about Aislin.”
Moros was already impatient to get back to her. He waved dismissively as Rosaleen offered him the coin to split with his teeth. “My dear woman, did you really think I had made up that outrageous story just to entertain myself?”
The woman’s chin lifted in defiance. “I’m not sure what to think about you yet.”
Moros grinned, giving her a nice view of his fangs. “Likewise. And keep the change.” He willed himself back to his penthouse.
Cacia was still there, but she’d gathered her things and was preparing to leave. “Aislin looked better today, I think. I swear she thought my story about nearly losing my Scope in the canal was funny. Her lip kind of twitched.”
Moros ran his hands over his face, wishing Cacia weren’t so sunny and optimistic all the time. She’d been here every single day for hours, talking to Aislin nonstop. She can’t hear you, he wanted to shout. But he’d managed not to, for Aislin’s sake. She loved Cacia. She wouldn’t want her to despair. “How encouraging,” he murmured as he saw her to the door. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Cacia stopped and turned to him. “You don’t believe she’s going to wake up, do you?”
He sighed. “You have to understand the magnitude of the task she’s been given.” And she was doing it. She’d figured out how to cut the threads, and that meant she must be hard at work. Somewhere in the realm of her mind, Aislin was puzzling out her new responsibilities.
It made him miss her more than ever.
Cacia’s eyes met his. “Do you remember the things you saw when you touched me?”
Guilt pulsed inside him. “Yes.”
“I do, too.” Her voice was level, but the note of sadness was impossible to miss. “I was destined to be with Eli all along. We were going to have kids. It was going to be messy and awesome and heartbreaking and beautiful.”
He looked away. “That’s true.”
“We’ll never have those kids now. We’ll never have that life, because his was interrupted.” Cacia poked Moros’s arm to draw his gaze back to hers. “But we’re still together. And it’s messy and awesome and heartbreaking and beautiful. I’m still me, and he’s still him, just dealing with different stuff. But even when his thread was cut, or however that works, it didn’t keep us apart.”
Moros shivered as he felt Aislin cut another thread. He pushed the sensation out into the Veil, assigning one of his Kere to do the honors. “I’m glad the two of you are finding your way.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not telling you this so you can be condescending.”
“Then please tell me what you do want, Cacia, and I’ll do my best to provide it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I guess the condescension is just a built-in perk.” She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “I’m telling you this because, after you touched me, you told Eli that I belonged to him, and you were right. And as traumatic as that whole experience was, knowing that I was meant to be with him helped me stick it out, even when things got really bad. I wouldn’t give up. I won’t ever give up.” She leaned forward. “You shouldn’t either.”
“But Aislin and I aren’t—”
“She belongs to you,” Cacia said quietly. “Right?” She scuffed her foot along his floor. “It makes sense, to me at least. I can’t really picture her with anyone else.”
“Does it matter? She’s gone. She was never meant to play the role of Fate, and it’s too much for her.”
“Then help her.”
“I can’t reach her,” he said from between clenched teeth.
“Find a way! I want her back, and I’m doing my part. I come here every day and make sure she hears my voice. I make sure she knows what she’s missing.” Her voice had gone tight, and her eyes were shining. “I tell her how much I want to talk to her again, and how I’m so sorry I was such a bitch to her. I promise her that the next gala we go to, I’ll wear an appropriate dress.” She angrily swiped at a tear. “But I don’t think she’ll come back until you do the same.”
“I’m not partial to wearing dresses.”
“Goddammit, you know what I mean!”
“She has enough to do!” he said, his voice rising along with his frustration. He was by Aislin’s side night and day, the shadow in the corner as her family visited, the ghost watching over her all night, pacing the floor and listening to her heart beat. He would protect her and take care of her until the end, but that was as far as it went. “I refuse to add to her burden.”
“But she needs to come back!” Cacia’s cheeks were suffused with pink, and her hands were balled in fists. “And she needs you to remind her why she should.” She took a step toward the door, tightening her ponytail and letting out a deep breath. “See you tomorrow.” She turned on her heel and headed for the elevator.
Moros watched her disappear inside, his heart pounding. None of them understood. They’d never seen the weaving room, or how hard his sisters worked. And the Keepers had made Aislin like him, carrying all that responsibility inside her mind and body.
She hadn’t been made to handle it.
He closed his front door and walked back to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway. Aislin was as beautiful as ever, her skin smooth and luminous, her face peaceful.
His want of her was slowly crumbling his heart, and suddenly it was too much.
He kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed, pressing his face to her hair and wrapping his arm over her body. He had been trying to keep his distance, not wanting to distract her from her duties, not wanting to drive her further into the realm of her mind where she’d been banished, but now he was certain his chest was going to cave in if he didn’t hold her.
His throat was impossibly tight as he kissed her temple. “Your sister is a fierce little creature,” he said quietly. “I think she almost punched me just now.” He laid his head on the pillow, inhaling Aislin’s clean violet scent. “She believes I should be telling you all the wonderful things you’re missing.” His thumb stroked her cheek. There was no momentary blindness when he touched her anymore. Now it was simply skin on skin, him and her.
“I can’t do that,” he continued. “Because very truthfully, the world is a mess, and slightly messier than it should be right now. You’re not the Charon anymore, and Psychopomps will suffer for it. I certainly won’t stand in Rosaleen’s way, but she’s not you. She can’t read a room like you can. She can’t tell within an instant what each person wants, and she’s not as clever about making people feel like they’re getting exactly what they crave when all the while you’re pushing them into place, getting them to follow your agenda.” He chuckled quietly. “What you did with the Lucinae . . . brilliant. I was so determined to save you, but you saved me instead. You saved us all.”
He propped himself on an elbow and skimmed his fingertips across her brow, over her cheekbones, each touch an act of worship. And as he gazed at her, he thought about everything he’d just said, and everything he knew about the woman he adored. “Actually, I’m not sure why I didn’t believe you could manage this. You’re in there, setting things right, aren’t you? You’re organizing and innovating, and you’re going to make it better than it ever was.” He caressed her pale cheek, a desperate hope sinking its fingers into his marrow. “Once you’ve turned that mess of thread into a tapestry, once you’ve figured it out—come back.”
His eyes burned, and he swallowed hard as he gave in to the pull of all his wishes, as he surrendered his pride and his distance, as he stripped away the armor that had held him together ever since he’d returned from the Keepers’ throne room. “Please come back,
Aislin. I’m here, and I need you. I can’t be happy until you’re by my side. I was alone for thousands of years, but that loneliness was nothing . . .” His voice had faded to a rasp, and he cleared his throat. “That was nothing compared to having you with me but not really having you here. So do what you must do, but then come back. Come back to me.”
He nestled in close to her, her hand in his, and lay awake all night, whispering his plea into her ear, even as he felt the sting and prick of Aislin, deaf to his words and hard at work, snipping away the threads of lives and loves that had come to an end.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Fate was happily digging in her basket as the magnificent loom behind her did its work. When she’d discovered that she could pull what she needed out of thin air, she’d set herself to the task of building the most efficient machine possible.
This was her job, after all, and it was her mind, her realm. She made the rules. As soon as she’d discovered that, things had begun to really move. The knowledge of what needed to be done came to her intuitively, as if she’d been meant to do it. Despite that, the task had been all-consuming. The only time she had been distracted was when she heard the faint, echoing voices, the ones that filled her with quiet longing. Every time she heard them, she hummed loudly until they stopped, because straining to listen only made the feeling worse and slowed her down.
She had finally reached the last of the threads in the basket, and one final strand lay coiled, all alone and untangled, atop a swell of unprocessed wool. She could only assume the wool was the raw material for new lives, whose threads had to be created, whose paths had to be set. Once she got this final thread into the tapestry, she could begin to spin new strands. Surely there was a way to automate that, too. She reached into the basket and scooped up the last remaining thread. Images flooded her mind as it coiled around her fingers.
It was Aislin Ferry, gazing out over the city she loved before turning to look at the man standing in her office. He had olive skin and gray eyes, ebony hair and an impeccable sense of style. His smile was dangerous and inviting at the same time. And his face . . . she could have stared forever. She’d memorized all his expressions but still didn’t know what all of them meant. She wanted to, though. God, how she wanted to.
“Jason,” she murmured, then jerked with surprise as she heard his name come off her tongue. “Jason Moros.”
She held the thread tightly, her fingers dancing along the length of it, reliving nearly a hundred years of victories and failures, frustrations and joys. And then she slid her fingertip along to the end, when it cut off abruptly—the last thing she saw was his face, decorated with a smile that took her breath away. She was in his arms, and that was where she belonged.
Come back, Aislin, he whispered, the sound reaching out to her, slipping around her, holding her still. Come back, and we’ll have forever together.
Aislin. That name, his voice . . .
“I’m Aislin Ferry,” she said quietly, looking around at her loom and her basket and the brilliant order she had brought to this previously chaotic room. The thread fell from her fingers as confusion and memory battled. “I wasn’t always here, and this isn’t everything I am.”
As soon as she said it, a ladder appeared, rising from the floor up into the white sky. She walked over to it and began to climb.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
He was telling her about Santa Maddalena, a beautiful little village in Italy where he longed to take her, when he heard her heartbeat accelerate, tapping fiercely within her chest. He held his breath, refusing to allow hope to take root. It had been nearly three months now, and she was unmoving, unchanging. The only thing that had kept him going was the sting when she sliced through the threads—it told him she was in there, working tirelessly. Order was being restored, driving Chaos deeper and deeper into eternal slumber, never completely dead, but no longer an immediate threat. All the Shade-Kere had been killed, all his Kere were loyal, and the Ferrys had already rented new office space while construction began on their new headquarters.
Cacia and Declan came to visit every day, sometimes bringing Eli and Galena along. Declan always glared at Moros with quiet suspicion and wouldn’t say a word until he gave them privacy. So Moros would sit out on his patio and pretend he couldn’t hear, drinking Scotch and listening to Declan telling his sister how he meant it when he said he forgave her, how he’d made mistakes, too, but what he really wanted was for her to come back. She was missed. She was loved.
It was hard to listen to. Harder every day.
Moros turned to Aislin, placing his hand on her chest, over her heart, which was pounding. “What’s going on in there, darling?” He said it gently, mostly to himself.
But at the sound of his voice, her eyelids fluttered. He propped himself on his elbow, his own heart crashing in time with hers. “Aislin?”
Her fingers twitched.
“I’m here,” he said to her, his voice breaking. “Come back, Aislin. Come back, and we’ll have forever together.”
“Jason,” she whispered.
One word that shattered him. He let out a choked sound and laid his forehead on hers. “Yes. Come back now. Open your beautiful eyes.”
She obeyed, and he tensed. Her eyes were solid white. “Jason?”
“I’m right here.” He lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek.
She blinked rapidly, and suddenly the white cleared, and her blue eyes focused on him. She gave him a wistful smile. “Hello.”
“Hello,” he said in a strained voice.
“I remembered who I was.”
“I’ve never forgotten, even for a moment.”
Her face fell. “Have I been gone a long time?”
He shook his head, eager to bring the smile back to her face. But then her eyes went white again, making his heart stop. He felt the familiar sting in his chest just as she focused on him again, and the miracle of it settled on him so heavily that he nearly collapsed on top of her. Instead, he pushed the face and name outward to one of his Kere, and then tenderly kissed Aislin’s palm. “You amaze me,” he murmured. She had remained conscious, here with him, and still managed to attend to the threads of fate.
“I take it you defeated Chaos.”
He laughed. “Thanks to you.”
“And that the Keeper of Hell let you go.”
“Again, thanks to you.”
Her gaze traced over his face, and she sighed happily. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He closed his eyes as she slid her fingers into his hair. “I am now. I’ve never missed anyone or anything as much as I’ve missed you.”
“That’s because we were meant to be together,” she said simply. His brow furrowed, and she stroked her fingertips over it, smoothing it out. “Your sisters told me. They wanted to use it against you.” She drew him down, and he brushed his lips across hers, scared to give in to the overwhelming relief and passion winding along his bones. “But when they told me, I knew they were right.”
“I don’t see how it’s possible.” He was outside of fate and always had been. But he thought back, how he’d watched her grow, how she’d always been the first person he noticed in a room, how hers was the heartbeat he found himself tapping his fingers in time with, the face that made him smile . . . and then there were the times they’d been together, when everything had become startlingly clear. “Never mind,” he said with a chuckle. “They were right.”
She stroked her hands along his shoulders and chest. “What now?”
“Now we make sure you don’t try to do too much too soon. You are bearing a huge responsibility, and it’s still very new.” He drew his thumb along the edge of her jaw. “But there are a few people who will be desperately happy to see you awake, and we should probably go see them in the morning.”
Her eyes flashed white again, and Moros felt the result, another soul to be reaped. Then she blinked, and her fingers strayed to her throat. “I’m not the Charon anymore.”
&nbs
p; His stomach tensed. He hadn’t anticipated having to talk to her about this. “No, and you’re not a Ferry anymore, either.” Her raven mark had disappeared; he’d spent a few evenings holding her to his chest, tracing his fingers over her back, following the lines that used to be there.
Her eyes filled with tears, and he waited, his chest aching, while she fought to control them. “Rosaleen could use your guidance, I’m sure,” he said. “And if she’s not wise enough to accept it . . .”
Her eyebrows rose as she swept a stray tear from her cheek. “Yes?”
“If being in control of the fate of every living human isn’t quite enough to keep you busy, I may have a job for you. I do happen to own a number of businesses myself, all of which would benefit from your leadership and brilliant management.”
She sniffled and laughed. “You want me to work for you?”
He leaned down and nudged her nose with his. “Not for me. With me. And if we are together, no one else stands a chance.”
The intrigued, triumphant spark in her eyes was too much, and he captured her mouth, unable to resist for another second. Her arms wound around his neck, and she moaned. It was so devastatingly right that he wanted to roar with satisfaction. They were equals in every way now. Immortal and timeless, servants of fate who were fated to be together.
It had been worth the long, lonely wait, worth the fight, worth every moment when he thought he’d lost everything. As Aislin arched up, seeking the weight and heat of his body, seeking him, he couldn’t help the joy that burned through him.
The future stretched long and beautiful in front of them, and it was time to get it started.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My endless thanks to the publishing team at 47North, including and especially Jason Kirk, Britt Rogers, Ben Smith, and Alex Carr, for their tireless dedication to making sure the Servants of Fate series had the visibility it needed to reach its readers. Thank you for your confidence in me, your patience, and your creativity. My books could not be in better hands. And a special thanks goes to Cliff Nielsen, for designing my incredibly beautiful covers.