by Sadie Moss
When I finally reach Callum, I grab his arm and yank, throwing my body weight behind the motion to make him turn and look at me.
He wheels around, anger flashing in his eyes. “What?”
I press my lips together, the ache in my chest at his earlier pain switching immediately to ire. “Don’t ‘what’ me! You dragged me away from the throne before I could sit on it.”
His piercing green eyes narrow. “Is that what you think I did?”
“Yes!”
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “No, Sage. I broke your connection with the light before it killed you.”
“It wouldn’t have—”
I break off before finishing the sentence, my heart thudding hard in my chest.
He’s not wrong. It would have killed me.
I could feel myself being torn apart as I tried to force my way through the light that surrounded the throne, but desperation and determination had made me forge ahead anyway.
Callum reads the expression on my face and nods, his expression steely.
But just because he’s right, that doesn’t mean I’m willing to concede on this. It doesn’t mean Paris and Echo weren’t right too when they said I might be the only one who can do this.
“I thought it was a given that we were all putting our lives at risk for this cause,” I say, aiming for the most logical, even voice I can muster. Callum looks as if he’s ready to fly off the handle at any moment, and I can feel my own emotions roiling inside me like wild beasts.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“All four of us sacrificed ourselves to reach this realm,” I point out. “It’s a little late to change your mind now.”
He grips my arm and leans in, his tone heated. “And yet, we’re still together, aren’t we? I’m not going to lose you, little soul.”
I peel his tight fingers away from my bicep, but I don’t let go of his hand. I’m angry at him and I’m frustrated, but I still need this connection with him. I can’t bear the thought of losing him either.
“You won’t,” I rasp out, not sure if I’m trying to reassure myself or Callum.
Maybe both.
“You don’t know what that throne will do to you. If you manage to take it without dying.” His grip on my hand tightens, and he pulls me closer as he speaks, something wild and almost manic flashing in his eyes.
“You don’t know either,” I whisper, forcing the words through a tight throat. “But there is no one else here, Callum. No one left to ask for help.”
He releases my hand suddenly and whirls around. The loss of his touch feels like losing a part of myself, and I catch my balance to keep from toppling over as he strides to a nearby window. A moon hangs in the sky beyond the glass, forming a haze of light around his form.
His voice is low and soft, unlike anything I’ve ever heard come from him, when he speaks again. “Why does it have to be you?”
The raw, hopeless pain in his voice makes tears spring to my eyes.
He loves me.
I feel it and see it in everything he does. He would snatch me from the light a hundred times if he had to in order to keep me alive.
And here I am asking him not to. To hold himself steady and still, to sit by and watch while someone he loves walks headfirst into possible death.
It’s not fair.
But none of this is fair. It never has been.
I cross the wide hallway and come to stand behind him, sliding my arms around his waist. Resting my head against his back, I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of leather and musk.
“I don’t know why it has to be me.” My voice is a whisper, my breath ghosting over his back. “But it doesn’t matter. If there’s even the slightest chance I can take that throne and gain the power of the Weaver, I have to do it. I would risk annihilation a hundred times over in order to help my people.”
Callum lays a hand over my own where they’re entwined on his stomach. I think he’s probably beautiful in the light of the moon, especially in the twilight of yet another eclipse. I want him to turn around and look at me, to show me his emotions.
But something inside me understands this stoic, solid mountain of a man needs room to explore his feelings. He has more of them than I once gave him credit for, and he feels more intensely than almost anyone I’ve ever known.
So I just press my forehead harder into his back and squeeze him as if I can give him strength.
“Your life isn’t worth sacrificing for anything on earth or in the gods’ realm.” His voice is rough, and his hand tightens on mine as he speaks.
“Maybe not.” I breathe a soft laugh. “But maybe it is. For me, it’s worth trying to give my family a better existence. You understand that, don’t you? What it’s like to love someone and want the best for them?”
Callum turns in my arms, and I step back to give him room. But he reaches out with both hands to snatch my arms in mid-air and tugs me back into his sphere.
His green eyes are dark, churning with emotion. He looks down at me and runs the fingers of one hand through my blond hair, then cups my cheek. “I do know, Sage. I know very well how that feels.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s plain in his voice that he’s thinking of me.
He leans down, his lips seeking mine in the shadowy light of the coming eclipse. His kiss is desperate and full of need, as if he’s trying to stop me from my mad quest with only the power of his lips. There’s a hint of anger behind his desperation, though I’m unsure whether he’s still angry at me or at himself.
Or maybe, like I am, he’s angry at the worthless gods who led us here. Who forced us to this point.
The kiss deepens, growing heated and more passionate. Callum tightens an arm around me and lifts, and I react automatically, winding my legs around his waist. A low noise vibrates in his chest, and he turns and presses my back against the wall, freeing his hands to roam my body.
He kisses me as if he could never get enough, and I cling to his neck as if I’ll never let go. His lips are hot as his tongue dances with mine, and need turns my body to flame.
Finally, he breaks away from the kiss, breathing deeply, and presses his forehead against mine. His chest rises and falls against my body, soothing and rhythmic. Still pressed between his large frame and the wall, I rest my head against his and close my eyes.
Despite where we are and what we’ve been through, everything else fades away for a moment—the fear, the doubt, the pain.
For a blissful instant, it’s just Callum and me.
And it’s all I need.
My messenger takes a deep, shaky breath and leans back just enough to look me in the eye.
“I existed for hundreds of years before you came along, little soul. I lived numerous lifetimes without you. But now…” He trails off, cupping my face in his broad palm as his gaze rakes over me, as if he’s memorizing every aspect of my face. “I don’t know how it was possible to exist without you. And I never want to do it again.”
I can’t help the flutters that move through my stomach or the grin that spreads across my face. From the day I met this man, I never expected him to become mine so thoroughly. I never expected to fall in love with him—and vice versa.
He kisses me again, slow, deep, and sensuous, enough to raise my body temperature to new heights. Then he pulls away from the wall, but he doesn’t set me down. Instead, he tucks his face against my neck and tightens his arms around me in a strong embrace, as if he’ll never let me go.
“I feel the same way about the three of you,” I murmur, his long hair tickling my face when I speak. “I don’t want to exist without you ever again.”
He doesn’t reply, though his arms tighten that much more around me.
“But I have to do this, Callum,” I say gently, brushing my fingertips down the back of his neck.
He nods, then presses a kiss to my collarbone, his breath fanning over my skin.
“I know.”
19
When Callum and I return to th
e throne room, Echo greets me with a smile and a soothing brush of his fingertips on my cheek. “I’ve been thinking.”
“I hope you’ve come up with something good,” I say wearily, leaning into his touch.
He glances over my shoulder at Callum, who stands behind me like a sentinel, his arms crossed and his expression set like stone. I could feel the tension returning to the large warrior’s body with every step we took toward the throne room, but I know he meant it when he told me he understands that I have to do it.
That doesn’t mean he likes it though.
That’s fair. Neither do I.
When Callum makes no move to encourage him—or discourage him—Echo goes on. “Maybe the reason the light hurts when you’re pushing through is because it wants you to be connected to the weave upon approach to the throne.”
I blanch. “I can barely hold on to my senses when that light is around me. How am I supposed to hold on to the weave too?”
“I’ll work with you,” he says, a hint of his earlier excitement filtering back into his voice. “Of the three of us”—he motions to Callum and Paris, who are watching the exchange silently—“I’ve always been the most interested in understanding the weave. I have the knowledge, so I’m the best qualified to teach you.”
“Except you know nothing about the magic here,” I point out gently. “None of you can wield it without being stung by it. It’s clearly not the weave we’re familiar with.”
“You’re right. The weave here is beyond anything I understand. Beyond anything a god even knows. But we can do this. I trust we can. Nobody else is out there trying to defeat Kaius. It’s us. Only us.”
The earnestness in his tone—and the reminder that we are the only thing that can stand between Kaius and the world—fills me with resolve.
Besides, what other options do I have? If I’m determined to try to take the throne, I need all the resources I can get at my fingertips. Trying to simply muscle my way up the steps is going to get me killed.
So I steel my shoulders and nod. “All right. Yes. Let’s give it a go.”
Echo grins, a look of relief passing over his face. It occurs to me that although Callum had the most intense reaction, all of my men are worried about me. They all just watched me nearly die.
“Good,” he says fervently. “I have a few theories, but let’s examine the one I already mentioned—getting you into that light while holding the weave. Sit.”
He holds out a hand toward the floor, and I sink into a cross-legged position on the plush carpet. Echo follows me down, sitting directly across from me so that we’re knee to knee. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Paris jerk his head at Callum. The big warrior nods, and they move from the room—probably going to make sure the rest of the palace is secure and that no threats linger in hidden hallways.
My heart squeezes with love and gratitude for the three men who’ve somehow become an intrinsic part of my life. They won’t try to stop me from doing what I feel I must, but in this small way, they’ll do what they can to keep me safe.
Pulling my attention away from their retreating backs, I focus back on Echo, determined to make the most of whatever lessons or training he can give. This magic is beyond his knowledge too, but he’s the closest thing I have to a guide in this strange land.
“Take hold of the weave,” he says, watching me intently as he speaks. “Wrap it around your wrists and then hold the ends.”
I stare at him, my mind rushing to catch up to his words and make sense of what he said. “Beg pardon?”
Echo hums in his throat. He reaches into the weave and curses under his breath as it sparks painfully beneath his fingertips. I’m reminded how different the weave is here from in the afterworld or earth, how volatile and reactive it is. But my messenger pushes beyond the initial snap of pain and shows me what he means—takings the strands between his fingers and wrapping them tightly around my wrist before placing the threads in my hands to hold them in place.
I follow his instructions, stumbling on the second hand after I’ve already gotten my grip on the threads in my first. But after a few moments, I’ve wrapped the magic tightly around my wrists. It doesn’t escape my notice how much the weave feels like a set of manacles now, as if I’m bound to the magic and unable to get away.
“I’m going to try to take the magic from you,” Echo says, gaze sweeping over the threads sparking around my wrists. “I want you to fight me. Don’t let me take the threads away.”
“Hold the magic and fight you off?” I wrinkle my nose. “I’ll probably incinerate myself with the power.”
Echo leans forward and catches my chin in his fingers, then presses his lips to mine. It’s a bolstering kiss, but I feel a hint of the same desperation Callum kissed me with earlier. This is Echo’s way of trying to protect me, and he’s determined to keep me alive.
“No, you won’t. Focus. The weave here likes you.”
“Or something,” I grumble, but he ignores me and reaches for the threads at my right hand.
When he grasps several of the strands around my wrist, I can feel our connection through the magic. It’s a bit like the connection we share on a soul level—where I can sense his emotions and feel his presence, exactly as I do with Callum and Paris. Only with the weave connecting us, I feel his inherent power too. The special something that makes him a messenger.
Echo freezes, his eyes wide and the weave zinging beneath his fingertips. “Can you feel that?”
I assume he’s talking about the connection and nod. “The power in you? It feels a bit like our soul connection.”
“I feel power in you.” His brown eyes bounce between mine, still wide as saucers. “Something… different.”
“Stop trying to convince me I’m the chosen one.”
He laughs at that, and the sound bounces off the high ceilings, filling the throne room with life for once. “I don’t need to convince you. You’re going to convince yourself.”
Then he rips at the cords on my wrist.
I react immediately, tightening my fingers on the ends of the strands while tugging my whole arm in toward my torso.
My plan is to do an awkward tug of war until I can shake his fingers free, but my first tug does a lot more than just fight against his grip.
The weave sparks, almost as if it’s reacting to my sudden movement. A flash of white light blasts through the chamber, and Echo lets out a shout as he’s blown backward over the stone floor. When the light fades, he’s on his side, limbs tangled and breathing hard. The floor between us is cracked and broken, smudged with black streaks as if it’s been burned.
Stunned, I let go of the weave before I accidentally put a hole in Echo. All the threads vanish immediately.
Echo sits up and blinks at the ruined floor. Weave magic has torn a vicious scar through the hard stone as if it were made of nothing more substantial than cloth.
“You’ve certainly gotten more of a grasp on magic here,” he says, awe in his voice.
“I don’t think I do,” I argue. “It feels like I’m a child brandishing a lit torch. Like I’m playing with fire.”
“You are, in a way,” Echo muses, his dark eyes studying me. “But if our theory is correct, you’re the firekeeper. You have what it takes to wield this magic. We just have to untangle the mystery of what it means to be the Weaver, and what it takes for you to access the weave in a way you never have before.”
His determination and optimism almost make me excited to try, but one more look at the destroyed floor dampens my enthusiasm.
“How do you suppose we do that with no one here to teach us?”
Echo pushes quickly to his feet, tossing a glance at the damage with a shrug. “One day at a time.”
While Paris and Callum are off searching the palace, Echo and I continue to work.
Eventually, I’m able to fend off his hands without damaging property or skin. But despite the victory, I’m terrified to try the next step.
Echo trying to snatch t
he weave from my grasp isn’t a good correlation to how it feels inside the light. I have a sinking feeling that the light could strip me of magic as easily as it could flay the flesh from my bones.
Still, Echo’s encouragement and unwavering faith in me is enough to get me on my feet. He walks around behind me so that we’re both facing the throne. The stone chair seems so innocuous now, but walking toward it feels no different than walking into fire.
“Now, hang on tight and keep going.” Echo’s voice is quiet, close to my ear. He nudges my lower back, giving me a gentle boost into motion.
My fingers tighten around the weave, pulling the strands taut against my wrists. I keep my steps sure and even as I walk toward the throne, though I cringe when the light begins to shine, growing brighter and brighter.
I remind myself that the way I’m tied in to the weave anchors me to the magic. I know Echo is full of theories and guesses, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’s correct, but I have to trust that we’re on the right track.
We have no other option.
So I press forward. Weave magic flows around me, but even so, every step is difficult. When the light consumes me, I have to fight to remain on the floor in the strange, weightless atmosphere. My weight shifts to my tiptoes, and I bear down with every step, gripping the weave so tightly my hands ache.
I creep forward, losing all sense of time. The brighter the light becomes, the less I can feel Echo at my back, as if the energy is forming a barrier between us. I want to search our soul connection, to prove that he’s still there and won’t let anything happen to me, but I know if I let go of the weave, I’ll just be thrown clear of the light. I want to prove I can do this.
Finally, I reach the base of the small, shallow staircase and pause to take a deep breath. The air feels statically charged, and the throne crouches just ahead, just out of reach.
Four steps and then I’ll be there. Just four little steps.
I’m lightheaded as I force my foot onto the first step. Swaying a bit, I cling to the weave and use it to balance myself before I fall backward, away from the throne and out of the light. I refuse to give up—I’ve made it this far already.