Chapter 21: Valen - Bound to Ruin

BAUER ESTATE, PRESERVATION DOMAIN, ASTRUM FOREST

The moment I take form on my family estate’s platform, I fall to my knees. My hands are shaking too much. I fumble my chalk and then have to redraw the sigil back to Memorial Park twice before the lines are smooth.

“Travel,” I say in the old tongue, but the circle stays dark. “Travel!” I yell, but it’s no use. Lucas must’ve destroyed the park’s platform.

I slam my fist down with a roar. Birds take flight, their panicked calls mixing with my cries as I hammer my fists against the useless stone. I could make another circle, one that would send me to the approximate area of the park without an anchoring one, but I’m too shattered to concentrate. I’d end up miles away, and I know deep in my heart that Lucas is long gone with no trace for me to follow.

Except, I know where he’s going. The signet ring on my right hand will allow me to pass through the Archweaver estate’s wards effortlessly. I could head there now to try to stop him, but then what? Bring him back and imprison him here? How long would I have before he slips free? His rings are still healing. I’d be causing him more damage needlessly and increasing his likelihood of failure.

I reach into my pocket and withdraw the notebook paper he placed there. As he said, there are coordinates, but it’s the note scribbled at the bottom that breaks me.

I’ll find you. I swear. Trust in me.

I squeeze my eyes closed. Lucas will get Astoria or die trying.

The one thing she asked of me was to keep Lucas safe, and I failed. Again.

I drag my upper body off the stone to sit back on my heels, my head tilting up. The sun blinds me through the jacaranda trees, but there’s no peace to be felt. I am not alone. The jacarandas sway serenely in their endless dance, giving away the direction of the approaching assassin, but their rustling disguises the sounds of their approach. Lucas was right. It was not safe to return here, yet he sent me because it’s what I wanted.

This is the end of me. I can feel it deep in my bones. Every storybook has led me to believe that a sense of serenity, an acceptance of the inevitable, would comfort me in the moment. The storybooks are wrong. I feel nothing. I can do nothing. I am utterly defeated, my shoulders slumping. I simply close my eyes and hope that it is quick.

A blade touches my throat, a body pressing against mine. My head tilts back, and a fleeting thought to protect myself tries to filter through the soul-deep agony of everything I’ve lost.

A disappointed voice huffs in my ear, “You are no fun today.”

My eyes snap open, and I whip around to fall on my ass when the blade leaves my throat. I blink and blink again before choking out, “Are you real?”

The laugh is unmistakable, deep and oddly menacing. My sister tosses back her long black hair, her white teeth bright in the light. Her lips are a dark blood red against her perfectly snowy skin, like the sun has never touched her. Her blue eyes dance and are somehow brighter than mine, with her thicker dark brows and longer lashes.

She spins her dagger between her fingers in a little dance. “Surprise! I’ve come to kidnap you.”

I blink, and she reaches her hand out cheerfully to help me up. “Well, technically it’s no longer kidnapping. More of a joint grieving moment for dear ol’ dad. How did he croak, anyways?”

I limply grip my sister’s hand only to crumple when she tries to pull me up. Emilia stumbles, nearly dropping her dagger, her eyes wide. I claw at my too-tight throat and whimper, “Emilia,” before wrapping my arms around my head to hide.

She places a cool hand on my shoulder, crouching down next to me like a silent sentry standing watch. I have no more tears. My body shudders with the force of my breaths. I cough, unable to get enough air in.

“Come on,” my sister says softly. She draws me up to standing and slips under my arm. “We need a drink.”

I lean back on the large ornamental couch I’m sprawled upon after filling my sister in on everything that has happened since she left six months ago. My mother would skin me alive if she saw me with my feet up on the cushions, but it doesn’t really matter. This is my estate now. And she abandoned me.

The front parlor Emilia and I settled in is one that my mother was very fond of. The windows facing the gardens are massive, and if it were still daylight outside, I’d be able to see the ornamental hedges that grow in the shapes of different animals. When there were guests over, the hedges came to life, the elephants lifting their long trunks, the horses galloping in place, the swans spreading their wings as if to take flight.

The carpet beneath us was her favorite, with colorful sprites dancing along the border and flowers blooming and wilting in an endless cycle of life. For someone who hated the Creation Domain with such a passion, my mother did enjoy all their luxuries. Or perhaps Viola gifted her all of them. I never thought to ask.

Emilia’s hand covers her mouth as she leans against the ornate chair’s armrest. I pass the time waiting for her response by inspecting the clear crystal tumbler holding my barely touched drink. The lamplight really does dance within the amber liquid quite nicely.

I take a slow sip. The smoky, vanilla accents burn down my throat perfectly, and yet I nearly gag it back up. Retrieving a bottle of my father’s favorite scotch from the cellars was the wrong choice. Every sip brings the image of him skinned in the bookshop I fought for my life in not that long ago. I’ll add it to my ever-growing list of fuck-ups to brood over during my long, lonely life.

I rest the cold glass against my forehead. “You’re too quiet.”

“I’m processing. A woman is allowed to process.” Emilia takes a massive gulp of her own drink. “So you’re in love with a magician.”

I frown at her. “That’s the part you’re fixating on? Not Alasdair or the civil war or—let me think—oh, yes, our father’s slow, torturous demise?”

She sighs. “Yes, that is unfortunate. I hoped he would pass in a more peaceful way.”

I gawk at my sister, and she glares back. The resemblance to our mother is striking. “That is an unattractive look, brother.”

“Apologies, I forgot myself during your shockingly impassive response to our father’s death,” I snip back.

She sighs again, and I smirk cruelly. “What an unattractive sound, sister.”

She snorts. “Yes, six months of freedom has changed me.”

I have no response to that, and I watch her sip her scotch, the large ice cube sliding in the crystal.

“It’s rather unfortunate that I’ve gotten months of grieving and waiting for his inevitable downfall, while you were blindsided by it. I have this odd sense of relief that it’s finally come to pass, and I fear it is chafing against your shock.”

Tingling ripples down my body, and I swallow down the rising bile. It rasps my voice into nearly a whisper. “Am I the only one who cared for him?”

The glare she hits me with could peel paint. “Don’t be dramatic. Of course I cared for him. He’s our father, and I loved him deeply. Mother will be utterly ruined when she hears, a burden that will fall to me, and I’m not the most sympathetic one in the family.” She smirks. “Perhaps I can borrow some from your sexy magician. He seems full of a gentle compassion that is missing from our genes.”

My eyes close with the pang in my heart. “He is.” I take a burning gulp and do gag this time. I set the glass down on the floor and fold my arms over my eyes.

A smack against my leg has my arms lifting to peer through them. Emilia is beside the couch and pats my stretched-out legs again until I draw them up. She elegantly falls onto the cushion and welcomes my legs onto her lap. She rests her glass on my knee. “I wish I could make you feel better. It destroys me to see you like this.”

The lump in my throat grows, and I reach out a hand towards her. She takes it and squeezes. “I’ve missed you.”

My breath releases with a shiver. “Me too.”

She smiles and lets go of my fingers. “I will say your magician is delicious.”

I snort. “I thought you found men repulsive.”

“Oh, I do, but I can acknowledge a beautiful specimen when I see one.” Her fingers dance over the rim of her glass. The tang of magic hits my tongue as the gift she inherited from our mother breaks down the ice until the cube no longer exists and the water dilutes the strong liquor. She takes a sip and smiles. “Much better.”

My gaze flicks from the glass to my sister and back. “How long have you been watching Peripetia Bookshop?”

An elegant laugh softens her features. “So clever. I don’t think Father even knew I was in the city. I’ve been there a few weeks at most. I couldn’t get past the wards until the grimoires went wild.”

“What was it that you took from behind the pentagram?”

Her eyes dance when she meets my gaze. “Figured that out?”

“Not many can break down the physical into its base particles. Only Mother and you have that born ability to negate Transformation so thoroughly.”

“Astoria had something that Mother created with Viola and Gildra. I wanted to reclaim it before her curse rotted her mind.”

Astoria hiding something her mother created does make sense. I remember Viola showing up in tears because the Archweaver took something of Gildra’s that Viola was saving for Astoria. “But what is the notebook?”

“It’s the only known record of the surviving priesthood magic. Viola gave it to Astoria in hopes that she’d be able to find a way to balance her Dual Threads before erupting.”

My lips part. I knew my mother researched ancient magic with her friends in their youth, but priesthood magic?

“Do you have it?”

Emilia lifts her hand. Her long nail pierces the air, a static sparking against the tip. She drags down, leaving a flickering line, like a seam ripping. She slips her hand through and withdraws a very dusty and yellowed-with-age leather-bound notebook. I take it when she offers it to me.

I turn the pages carefully, the old paper crackling as it moves. Diagrams of runes fill the pages, different theories and notes scribbled alongside them. My mother’s and Viola’s elegant scrolls are easy enough to identify, leaving behind a third handwriting that has sharp points like knives instead of the loops of the other two.

My heart aches when I touch the writing. “I bet Astoria loved seeing her mother’s notes.”

“I’m sure,” Emilia says softly, leaning closer to me to see.

Conflicting emotions swirl in my chest like a building storm. I turn the pages, barely reading them as I go. The rune diagrams appear less and less frequently until the pages fill with theoretical research. My mother’s sections focused deeply on the weaver birthing cycles. I pause to scan a long ranting ramble about weavers being incompatible with the basic laws of nature. She even drew a diagram of family trees, showing how one weaver can only pass down their thread to one child, leaving no room for growth or repopulation. Gildra’s notes scribble along the margins, and the next three pages are full of all the Entropy family lines that were lost during the Revolution.

Doomed for extinction is noted at the end. Damn, that is depressing.

The Bauer tree is there. I touch my father’s name and Viola’s saucy note that reads, More smitten than a kitten. A doodle of my parents kissing in the tree accompanies it.

My attention drifts to my sister, and I ask, “You missed me, but did you miss Father?”

“Of course.” She takes a sip to hide her frown.

“Then why didn’t you come back to help us? If you’ve been in the city for the last few weeks, then surely you knew of the civil war.”

She pauses mid-sip. The glass touches down on my knee again. “What is the real question you want to ask?”

I breathe in slowly, my mind piecing together the words until I finally say, “Do you believe this was all caused by Father?”

Her brows furrow. “You need to be more specific. All of what?”

I rub my brow. “Everything, I guess? All of the bad things that have happened in the last seven years?”

Her head tilts up. “Ah, so you want to know who to blame for Dad’s death.”

“Perhaps. Alasdair’s curse upon my mind has made everything confusing, and Lucas gave me much to think about.”

“Clearly.” She takes another sip before setting down her drink. “I thought the magician was a curse-breaker.”

“He is. Why?”

“I just find it odd that he didn’t sense a curse or try to break it.”

“His rings need to heal. He’s not supposed to use too much magic because of it.”

“And your magician is too cautious and uncaring to even attempt it?”

I frown, her words needling me. When I remain silent, Emilia scans me slowly, her eyes lightly glowing. “Even if Alasdair has this new, terrible magic we’ve never seen before, I just can’t believe he could curse you while you were within a dream. The mechanics of the magic don’t make sense.” She sets her glass down on the floor beside the couch and turns to fully face me. “Sit up. I want to try something.”

I groan. “Can I just lie here instead? It’s been a hellish day.”

“Absolutely not. Come on.” She grabs my arm and pulls.

I reluctantly drag myself up to sitting and mirror her pose. “What is your plan? Travel into my Soul Thread to witness the corruption?” If Astoria is able to accomplish it so easily with the help of Jinx, then Emilia and I should be able to as well.

“You’re overcomplicating this, Valen. If the curse-breaking thief didn’t sense a curse, then I’m inclined to believe that there isn’t a curse.”

“Then what is it?”

She smirks and shakes out her hands, little sparks of magic lighting like silvery blue static. “You’re fixating on trying to solve the puzzle of what Alasdair is now, when you’re forgetting what Alasdair was.”

My brows furrow. “And what was he? Corrupted?”

“No, you idiot. He’s of Creation.”

My lips part. “You think he placed an enchantment on me?”

“Obviously. Something so subtle that you wouldn’t find it. It’s very Viola of him. He probably thought it was poetic to tear you away from Astoria by using their aunt’s own tricks against you. Now hold still and stop twitching.”

I hold my hands up to gently bat her sparking fingers away from my chest. “Wait. How would that work?”

“My guess is that he created an illusion of whispering that would echo your deepest, darkest fears and thoughts. He’d make the quiet thoughts loud and slowly shift the tone to match your own so you couldn’t tell the difference. Now stop moving!”

She smacks my hand and I shake out the sting of frostbite. “For the love of the Weave, try to at least be gentle.”

She snorts. “Such a baby.” And her fingers touch my chest over my heart.

Pain erupts. My sister is many things, but delicacy was never her strong suit. I grit my teeth, the coldness of her magic crackling up my sternum like she’s injected ice water into my veins. Her eyes glow, her smile wide as her fingers trail up my sternum. Flashes of that night when I faced Alasdair return to me. The way his shadow Dimitar ripped through my chest, splaying open my ribs.

Alasdair’s manic laughter. It grows and grows, the parlor flashing with images of him and his black and green eyes.

A cacophony rings in my ears and an anguished roar tears from my throat, blood pounding in my ears when my sister places her fingers against them. Frostbite stings, and I flinch away, but a gold mist gathers along her fingertips when she slowly pulls away.

The tiny, glittering cloud hisses with endless words all mixing together. Emilia rolls her hands and blows the cloud. It scatters in a rain of glitter that dims to nothing.

My chest pumps, my eyes wide. Emilia grins at me and claps her hands together to rid herself of the frost that gathered on her nails. “How do you feel now?”

I blink. “I’m… not sure. I feel the same?”

“What about if I tell you that Astoria is a crazy fucking bitch who deserves to suffer for all eternity in the hell Alasdair has trapped her in?”

I flinch back, horror warping my features. “Emilia! You used to be friends.”

“True, but then she broke your heart, and I had to watch you suffer for years. I’ll never forgive her for hurting you. I’ll be nice if that’s what you wish, but my loyalty for you runs deeper than my friendship with her.”

I sigh. “That’s not fair. It was a complicated situation.”

Her brows rise, and my breath catches. Her smile grows when my fingers touch my temple. Silence greets me. No twisted thoughts, no pulsing headache. Just silence.

My hand falls to my chest. “Oh, gods, Emilia. I’m such an idiot.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You just didn’t have my brilliance to see your conundrum from a fresh angle.”

My gaze meets hers, and she holds it. My heart pulses, the physical pain of her rough treatment fading away. A new hurt fills me, and I whisper, “Why did you leave me?”

Her head tilts, her eyes tightening. “You couldn’t leave Father, and I couldn’t leave Mama. It’s the hardship of being children of a failed marriage, I’m afraid. We each chose a side. I missed you, though. It’s why I’m here now. I won’t go back to Mama without you. So tell me you’ll come with me, because I cannot leave you to be hunted by Alasdair.”

I rub my chest, my thoughts swirling. My head aches, oddly light after being spellbound, but there’s something lingering. Something that weighs heavy in my heart. “You missed some of Alasdair’s enchantment.”

She glares. “How dare you. I am nothing but thorough.”

“I feel… I… I don’t know…” I rub my chest hard and wet my lips, head tilting. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She retrieves her glass before taking a sip. “The nonsensically vague one about our father? Or do you want to fixate on your little puzzle again?”

All my energy is gone, and I lie back down, kicking my legs back into her lap. “Which puzzle is that?”

“The one where you want a nice easy person to blame for everything that has gone wrong in the last seven years.” She shifts so she’s curled up on the cushion, her feet tucked up under her skirts. “Unfortunately for your persecution complex, I don’t believe there is a singular person at fault. But if you’re so determined to go down the long sequence of events to find a core to our family’s breaking, then I’ll humor you. If it were me, I would go back twenty-six years when Atticus chose to bed his sister’s very unwell best friend without a care that she wouldn’t survive childbirth. Or earlier when he didn’t name Viola his Heir because he was afraid that Viola’s maternal Preservation line would become too powerful.”

She pauses to drink again before pointing her glass at me. “Or maybe that’s too far. Let’s instead focus on our recently deceased father and his poor decisions that tore our family apart.”

“You mean when he didn’t support Tori as Heir?” I fold my arms over my eyes. The chandelier’s warm light makes them ache.

“Well, yes, there’s that. They had a deal, you know. Viola and him.”

I lift my arms for a moment to frown at her. “A binding one?”

“Oh, no. Dad would never trap himself like that. It was a good faith deal. Viola would ensure Astoria and your child would be named Astoria’s Heir if Dad helped Astoria win out over Alasdair, but instead of following through, he got scared and backed out of it, which in turn upset Mama.”

My brows furrow. “But why was Mother upset? Viola didn’t cut ties with her, only Father.”

Emilia’s eyes narrow, her lip curling as she looks off into the distance, like she’s glaring at a ghost in the corner. “Astoria wasn’t the only one who got fucked over by Father. He’s left a long trail of women he’s stomped on to keep his power.”

My lips part, and Emilia’s glare snaps to me. Her arm flashes out, her long nail pointing at the signet ring on my right hand. “Who wore the signet ring for nineteen years, Valen? How do you think it felt when I woke up one day to Father ripping it off my finger and selling me to be a wife to Alasdair? I wasn’t asked. I wasn’t given a choice. Mother sure as hell wasn’t consulted about it either. Dad told us that we had to obey for the good of the family. He said I’d be able to rule as Archweaver through my marriage to Alasdair. But guess what, Valen? I was never supposed to be the power behind a husband. I was supposed to be the head of the family line. That should have been me.”

She drains her glass and thumps back against the couch. She steals my full drink before continuing, “I never wanted to leave you, Valen. I really didn’t. It killed me to walk away, but we begged you to come with us. I’m sorry it hurt you, but nothing is ever simple in these situations, and we hurt each other because of it.”

My breaths become shallow, and my throat tightens when I say, “It didn’t have to be that way. You could’ve left me a trail to follow.”

Her gaze drops. “That… that is valid. I should’ve.”

I shift on the cushions and ask, “Why didn’t you?”

She spins the glass between her fingers, staring at the liquid dancing in the light. “Father would’ve found us.”

My lips part and voice rasps, “Was he hurting you?”

Was I so blinded by my heartbroken grief for all these years that I’d missed my own sister hurting?

She shakes her head. “By the Weave, no. Father is many things, but he’d never lay a hand on either of us. And Mama…” Her fingers turn white when she clutches the glass. “Father lied to her. He said he wasn’t at the Archweaver estate when Viola was executed and couldn’t stop it, but that bitch Luciana let the truth slip just to watch Mama break. She couldn’t bear to be around Father after that, and neither could I.”

The silence stretches between us. My thumb rubs along the ring on my middle finger, now heavier than ever. I swallow, fighting against the pressure behind my eyes.

Emilia glares. “Don’t you dare.”

A sob escapes, and my legs shift on her lap when I roll to my side. “Then look away. Just—Fuck, look away.”

“Ugh, Valen! At least tell me this blubbering is about something other than me.”

My breath is trembling, and I try my best to sound normal. “I failed you.”

“For the love of the Tapestry, Valen.”

“You were engaged to a rotted, mad weaver for seven years. I should’ve done more to help you. I should’ve refused the signet ring.” I gasp for breath. “I’m as bad as our father.”

“Let’s not go that far. At least you feel remorse.” A pause, then, “What has gotten into you? Other than a magician.”

“Fuck, Emilia.” I burst out laughing, my arms dropping from my face. She smirks darkly. I wipe my face clean. “I hate that we were torn apart.”

She clicks her tongue and holds my hand again. “For the record, I don’t regret leaving. I don’t regret throwing my engagement ring at Dad right before either. That felt amazing. But I regret leaving you.”

Yet, there’s a wave surging within me. I gasp, my eyes aching as I gaze deep into my sister’s that match my own. My heart pounds, chills shivering down my spine.

Her head tilts, and she asks quietly, “What is it?”

I swallow rhythmically before answering. “Astoria.”

“What about her?”

A dull pain expands in my chest. “I think… I think I fucked up.”

“How?”

“I… I… I don’t know. Emilia. I… Every decision I’ve made, every option I’ve chosen, has led me down this path of agony. I asked her to return here with me, and she refused.”

Emilia snorts. “Well, duh. You really set yourself up to be the victim with that one.”

“She asked me to stay with her and leave the Order.”

Her eyes flare. “And?”

“I said no.”

Emilia scoffs and tosses my hand. “For the love of the Weave. You’re a damn idiot. No wonder you’re all messed up. You’re just floundering around purposefully making bad choices.”

I snap, but my voice cracks, “I didn’t choose to suffer! I chose what is expected of me.”

“And look at what that’s gotten you.” She spans her arms wide, my stolen glass’s ice cube clicking against the side. “How does the empty house feel? Depressing as all hell? Because I’ve been back only a few hours and am about to gnaw off my own leg if it means we leave faster.”

“How can you say that? This is our family. Our legacy.”

She laughs. “Who are you arguing with? Because Dad is dead.”

I gasp. “Stop.”

“No. I won’t. Dad is dead. Do you want to be dead, too? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you stay here. And then I’ll die because I’m not leaving you here again because you’ve decided to become suicidal.” Her leg shoots out from under her skirts to kick me. “Snap out of it.”

I scrub my face. “Emilia.”

“Valen!” she mocks. “Time is running out. Now tell me. What is wrong? Because there’s something else in that little dark pit you shove all your emotions into, and it needs to come out. We’ve talked about Dad. We’ve talked about Mom. We’ve talked about us. I even broke the spell you were under. Now, tell me, Valen. What is stopping you?”

I pant. “I don’t know. I don’t…” But I do. It’s bubbling in my chest, and I groan with the pain that surges with it. “I don’t know if it’s real.”

“What’s real?”

The room is spinning. A tingling I’ve never felt before prickles along my face. I search the room desperately, trying to find something, anything to make this terrifying surging wave go away. A mirror in the corner flashes with a flicker of red, dark smoke that doesn’t exist within the parlor wisping over its surface.

“Astoria!” But as fast as they appeared, the smoke and red hair are gone. I grip my chest again, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Astoria. Oh, fuck, Astoria.”

Emilia smirks. “There you go. What about Astoria? Come on. Dig deep.”

She condemned me to die.

I bolt up, my leg kicking the glass out of my sister’s hand. The crystal shatters into thousands of glittering pieces. I grip my chest, trembling. “My apologies. I didn’t mean… I need a moment.”

Emilia’s brows rise. “Are you sure ‘a moment’ is what you need?”

I jump off the couch as if it caught on fire. “Yes. I need to collect myself.” My hands are shaking, and I grip and release them until they stop. I force my tone to be normal, but I can’t seem to sustain it. “But you’re right. We can’t stay here for much longer. Shall we quickly pillage our family estate and flee for our lives? Because I refuse to live in destitution.”

Her lips purse. “Yes, but only because you’re finally making sense. Don’t get me wrong! We are dealing with all your repressed feelings about Astoria, even if I have to drag them out of you. We’ll just conveniently do it after we’re safe.”

“Looking forward to it,” I grumble and practically bolt from the room.