Chapter 24: Valen - Bound to Ruin

THE ARCHWEAVER ESTATE, ASTRUM FOREST

The Archweaver estate is in chaos. Glass shatters with a series of explosions, the iron warping from the heat and glowing in the darkness.

Emilia whispers from our hiding place in the gardens, “Your magician lover is efficient.”

I smile, my heart thumping with a mixture of pride and fear. “He is a menace.”

Another set of explosions on an upper level takes out a wall. Rock rains down, and I raise a brow. Lucas definitely knows how to make an entrance. Emilia nods towards the open garden doors, the weavers who were guarding it long gone. “We can get in through there. You go find your magician lover, and I’ll find you later.”

I shoot her a sharp glare. “Emilia.”

“Don’t you want to find the statue?” She smirks darkly.

“What do you have planned?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a little something, something and revenge.”

“Against who, exactly?”

She doesn’t answer. She dodges out from behind the bush we’re hiding behind and runs for the door. Is this what it was like for Lucas to see me run through the statues? Because I loathe it. I’ll need to add it to my long list of apologies.

I scan the estate, mapping the series of explosions. They are going to the east and up. If my guess is correct, Lucas would be herding them farther away from where he’s going. Which means the west wing will be unoccupied, and my best bet at finding him.

I take off after Emilia, jumping up the steps leading to the open door. She is nowhere to be found. Probably off doing whatever mysterious shit she’s into nowadays. We used to share everything, and I miss it keenly. Hopefully, time will fix that rift the last seven years have caused. For now, I need to focus.

Avoiding the weavers in the estate is easy enough. They’re trying to regroup and hunt down Lucas. I hide behind corners, waiting for them to pass, before slipping into one of the ceremonial rooms which holds the red velvet robes and the silver masks the Order don when wielding powerful magic. Many are missing, confirming my suspicions that the weavers hunting Lucas are wearing them, like when Atticus’ trap was snapping around Astoria. I quickly pull on a robe and slide a viper mask over my face. Any elite weavers who take the time to peer into my soul will know I’m of Preservation instantly, but hopefully they’ll be too busy running after Lucas’ detonations to notice.

Another explosion has me stumbling, but I manage to move quickly and avoid most weavers where I can.

The west wing is nearly empty. There’s an enclosed courtyard here, with a glass dome much like the atrium to my family’s museum where the sphinx used to rest. Humidity is thick to keep the tropical plants that a previous Archweaver favored healthy and abundant. Large-leafed palms obscure every corner, flowering vines crawling up towering trees. Agitated colorful birds squawk and rustle along the branches. It makes it hard to hear any approaching sounds.

Statues fill this tropical rainforest. Extinct, ancient beasts snarl, and weavers with their long fingers in intricate signs peer at me. My skin prickles and sweat drips from my brow. The magic that keeps the cloak and mask at a comfortable temperature falters under the magically generated humidity. The temptation to strengthen the runes along the mask is strong, but it’ll risk drawing attention to me.

Sweat stings my eyes, blurring my vision. This is pointless if I can’t see straight. There’s no helping it. I risk discovery and remove the mask and hood for the small moment it will take me to strengthen the runes to counteract the humidity, wiping the sweat clear of my eyes.

Then movement from within my periphery has me lunging back. But it’s too late. I’m grabbed and thrown back against a statue. The shield holding my shoulder blade together bends with the impact. The air knocks free of my lungs, and my magic that sparks at my fingertips dies when my vision flashes with agony.

A hand slaps over my mouth, and I’m forced to breathe through my nose. There’s not enough air, and I grab the wrist holding me. My vision clears before my magic recovers, and I stare into unmistakable amber eyes. Lucas holds a finger up to his lips and I stop breathing. Movement through the jungle rustles, and birds take flight.

Lucas’ hand releases my mouth with the relaxation of his body. His full attention snaps back to me. He whispers quietly, “Thank fuck you took that shit off. I was about to slit your throat.”

I can’t speak; all I can do is suck in breath. Everything I was about to say leaves me. He’s alive. He’s actually alive. Thank all the nonexistent gods within the Weave.

He searches me. “What are you doing here? What about Alasdair’s influence on you?”

I swallow, but still nothing comes. I can’t stop staring at him, my heart pulsing with the fickle hope that everything I want might be achievable.

His hand flattens against my heart as he scans me. “Are you okay? Is it your shoulder?”

“I’m no longer influenced by Alasdair.” My stomach jumps with nerves, and all I can manage is to grab his hand with my right one. I grip it hard and gasp out, “I want it.”

His brows furrow, and his gaze flicks to our hands before snapping back down. He inspects my frostbitten fingers before grabbing my left, where my old ring sits. His eyes meet mine again. “What… What does⁠—”

“I gave the ring to my sister so you’d know the depth of my feelings when I tell you I’d leave it all behind. My power. My position. Everything.” My hands shake as I hold his. “I can’t live this life without both you and Tori. I trust you, Lucas. If you believe Tori is here, then I do, too.”

His lips part. And then he’s kissing me. Our arms wrap around each other, our combined strength keeping the two of us up with the intensity.

An explosion in the distance lights up the night sky. The dome’s glass cracks and shatters, raining down sparkling enchanted glass all around. A shield flares into existence around us with a ripple of my fingers. The glass bounces against it with a series of soft chings.

Lucas cups my jaw, his thumb stroking me as he sucks on my lower lip. I smile, one hand snarling in his hair. I murmur against him, “My letter should’ve said ‘I’m scared at how quickly I’m falling in love with you’ because I was. I was terrified. Tori and I hurt each other so deeply, but I’m tired of being broken and afraid. I love you, Lucas, and I love the woman who has enslaved our hearts.”

He purrs when I pull him tighter against me. “Thank fuck. I don’t think I could choose between you two otherwise. I love you, Valen, and I look forward to punishing Torment slowly with you.”

I laugh, pulling back enough to see him. “Let’s go save our beloved.”

He smiles brightly. “Let’s.”

“Well, isn’t this romantic,” a voice croons from behind us.

Alasdair stands there in his immaculate cream suit, his green eyes dancing. The whites of his eyes are just that, white. If it wasn’t for the starved look he gives Lucas’ chest, I’d wonder if the cursed creature I met within Lucas’ nightmares ever existed.

Lucas’ rings ripple power, and he growls, “Where is she?”

Alasdair laughs. “You read my mind, but we’re searching for two different things at this point. You want to know where her body is, and I want the location of her slippery soul. But no matter. She’ll reappear now that I have both of you.”

“Bold words from a dead man.” Lucas’ rings explode with threads. Alasdair jumps back to avoid the attack.

Magic sizzles up my arms, the darkness lighting up with a blue glow as my magic answers my call. Ice crackles along Alasdair’s leg, and he punches himself free, the glittering shards of ice raining away. He barely has time to recover to block Lucas’ punch and sends the magician’s fist into one of the statues. It explodes from the gloves, and Alasdair cackles, “My, those are fun.”

Lucas goes to punch again, but Alasdair has freed himself from my hold, his smile wide. “Playing with you both would be delightful, but sadly, I’m pressed for time.”

Weavers flood into the atrium, swarming around Alasdair and blocking him from us. The hairs along my arm lift with a crackle of power that surges towards me. I turn in time to raise a shield to block the vicious spell that would’ve torn my arm off. With an arc of my right arm, I encase the nearest weaver in ice that shatters when Lucas punches it with his rune-covered gloves. But more weavers pour into the atrium. The birds are flying free into the night.

Lucas’ back presses against mine, and he twirls the black blade over his wrist. There are too many for just the two of us to take down. Unlike last time we faced these odds in this very estate, we don’t have my father and his allies to save us. Weavers from all four domains surround us, awaiting Alasdair’s command.

I was right. Our allies did betray my father to save themselves. Anger burns within me with the surge of grief at his painful demise. But if they sold my family out, then why didn’t they storm the Bauer estate to claim me? What is it that Alasdair needs from us? It’s a mystery that threatens to distract me, but Emilia is right. I can’t become fixated on one aspect of the puzzle. I need to step back to see the big picture.

Alasdair’s voice rises over the crowd. “Capture the magician unharmed. I have plans for him. The Bauer spawn? Optional.”

Lucas’ eyes meet mine. A heartbeat passes and whispers a thousand unsaid wishes between us. I refuse to lose the hope that we’ll be together again.

He needs to run without me. I do not trust these backstabbing worms that dare call themselves weavers to restrain themselves. They could follow Alasdair’s directive while maiming him beyond repair. I cannot allow that to happen.

I scan the destroyed dome above. Lucas could use his threads to launch through like the birds who escaped. Providing him with a distraction will be easy enough. Then I could focus on staying alive until Emilia comes for me.

And if I fail, I’ll at least be able to take out as many of these betrayers as possible so my loved ones will survive.

My gaze flicks from Lucas to where the birds escaped the dome before whispering urgently, “Run.”

Lucas’ jaw sets, and my heart seizes. “I will not abandon you.”

I suck in breath, eyes widening. “Idiot! Get out while you can.”

But his hesitation and my inability to sway him are our downfall. The window of opportunity closes as magic surges around, closing off the dome. We have no choice. We’ll survive this together. My power rips forth, my glowing eyes highlighting the masks around us in cerulean blue as the weavers rush forward. Lucas leans against my back, blood spraying as he cleaves through shields, a severed hand flying through the air in my periphery as I block deadly magic arcing towards us.

But then Lucas’ cry of pain splinters my focus. I turn back, fear stinging me with its icy grip. Blood drips from his fingers as he falls to one knee. Alasdair stares darkly at me, one hand splayed against Lucas’ chest. The whites of the accursed creature’s eyes flash black and he smirks cruelly.

Snarling and crackling with power, I lift my arm to strike the monster down, but something cold snaps around my raised wrist.

Then everything happens too fast. My magic dies in my hand, and I whip to the side to behold the iron manacle. My other arm is grabbed, yanking me off balance. My knees slam into the unforgiving ground and the other manacle binds my wrists together behind my back. A fist in my hair yanks my head back. Something cold snaps around my mouth, my eyes widening. A muzzle.

A foul smell fills the air as the iron sears my mouth. My Soul Thread writhes, sizzling until there is nothing in my chest except for my pulsing heart. I gag, panic flooding my senses. I thrash against the bindings, but I only manage to further wreck my shoulder when the magic covering my healing wound wisps away. Blood drips down my back, and my vision flashes with the pulsing agony.

Lucas is yelling for me, and I barely have the strength to lift my head in his direction. I’m grabbed and forced to stand. As I’m dragged out, I groan, my teeth grinding together. I can’t speak to tell them that my shoulder blade is fractured, but it doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t care. My blurred vision fills with spots, and I gag. Fuck, don’t throw up. I was declared “optional.” A deadly enemy too risky to keep alive if too difficult to subdue. They would let me drown in my own sick to appease Alasdair.

Astoria lived this hellish existence for three days as an eighteen-year-old child. How she kept her sanity is beyond me. I close my eyes and permit myself to fall into this torturous existence. No wonder she cursed us all. My beloved. I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner. If we survive this, I’ll beg on my knees for your forgiveness.

I’m jolted from my misery when tossed onto the hard ground, the stone biting into my knees. I barely catch myself from collapsing. Staying upright and enduring the pain is far better than struggling to get back up with a wrecked shoulder and arms bound behind me.

Lucas is thrown to the floor beside me. He’s not gagged, but his arms are bound behind his back. Iron gauntlets encase both of his hands and connect with a thick chain. Our eyes meet. He searches my face with an air of desperation, but I ache too much to do much more than stare back at him.

Alasdair strolls between us, breaking our eye contact. He ascends the few steps onto the dais where the Archweaver lounges in his throne. Alasdair takes his place on the right side of it, his hands sliding into his pockets as he faces us.

Low and raspy, as if he’s aged a century since we last saw him, Atticus’ voice drifts across the room. “Well done, son.”

Alasdair croons, “Of course, Papa.”

Luciana ascends and stands beside her son. Her painted mask is poorly done in comparison to how it looked the last time I was here. Her corset has cracked gems but still glitters with enchantments. She places her clawed hand on Alasdair’s arm, tightening in a white-knuckled grip.

The Archweaver doesn’t stand, and if I could think past the throbbing pain, I’d wonder why. At least I can see a little better as I adjust to not having magic pumping through my veins.

“You break into my home… you destroy this sacred abode…” He wheezes and clears his throat. “For your crimes against the Order, I declare both⁠—”

Alasdair’s hand claps down on his father’s shoulder, nearly sending the old man off his chair. “Forgive me, but you can’t execute the magician. You see, I’ve already sold him to a new friend.” Alasdair raises his hand and snaps his fingers.

The front doors screech open. Darkness stretches out beyond the front steps. A green glint like a stalking predator’s eyes reflects, and my breath catches. The edges of a massive, hulking thing are barely visible without the magic within my eyes. I wait with held breath to witness this new beastly horror of Alasdair’s.

The creature steps into the open door’s flooding light, and my heart drops. The collective gasp and murmuring signal that I’m not the only one scandalized by this alliance, though I’m sure for very different reasons.

The Amur strolls inside the sacred doors to the Archweaver’s receiving hall with the Guild following close behind. His brown hair is slicked back, his grin wide within his neatly trimmed beard. His finely made suit pairs well with a fur-trimmed coat draped over his shoulders. It makes the enormous human even larger, to tower over the others.

Alasdair’s friendly response sends prickles down my spine. “You’re just on time. As I promised, for your assistance, I have your prize.”

My head snaps towards Lucas. He’s pale, panting.

Atticus’ voice trembles. “Alasdair… What have you done?”

“Save your strength, Papa. I have everything under control,” Alasdair says as one would to an elderly relative on their sickbed. Then he throws his voice for Dimitar to hear. “Go ahead, Dimitar. Show my father what we’ve accomplished. Bring forth my gift to him.”

Dimitar’s grin grows, his yellow eyes glinting. “Of course. As promised, we retrieved her and kept her safe until you were ready.”

Dimitar sweeps his arm to the side. The magicians part, and my breath catches. The stolen statue of the Archweaver Antonia rolls in on a platform. As the wheels pass the doorway, the illusion shimmers away to reveal Astoria’s broken and screaming form, her chest ripped open just like Alasdair’s shadow Dimitar did to me in Lucas’ memory.

I should’ve seen this coming, but not even I could have ever guessed Dimitar and Alasdair’s alliance. But the Magistrate officers’ arrival after my father’s death could only be orchestrated by the Amur. He wanted revenge against Astoria. He wanted to seize power over the city. And Alasdair handed him both on a silver plate to keep the Order unaware until he was ready.

But all that buries deep with me when the wave of shock lifts. A cracked keen escapes my throat, my eyes wide and fixed on the way Astoria is frozen, screaming, and the way Jinx clutches her heart, like she could save her.

Alasdair’s starved, “Perfect,” sends my skin crawling.

If I wasn’t muzzled, I’d make a powerful stand, a speech to sway the weavers who glare distrustfully at the Guild. This is a weakness I could exploit, an opening to turn the Order against Alasdair. But he muzzled me.

I quickly scan the masked weavers, the rafters, the dark corners, anything that could be a good hiding place for my sister. My heart pounds, and I swallow.

Come on, Emilia. Make your move already.

I quickly drop my gaze so no one catches me searching when Alasdair’s cheerful voice sings through the hall. “Set her up right here so she has a good view of what’s about to transpire. I’d hate for my sister to miss such a thing.”

Everything is happening too fast. Antonia’s statue is wheeled past us by four magicians, and Lucas lunges towards it, but the weaver standing at his side yanks him back.

Atticus’ wheeze is barely heard over the murmuring from the assembled weavers. “Astoria?”

“This is my gift to you, Papa.” Alasdair rests his hand on the Archweaver’s shoulder, and he leans down to speak in his ear. “She can never threaten your reign again.”

“You’ve done this?” He sits up higher in his throne to better scan his trapped daughter.

“For you, Papa. I did it to honor you.” Alasdair kneels beside the throne and grips the Archweaver’s hand. “You never stopped trying to save me. You never doubted that I could return. Now you can ensure your rule will remain strong like you’ve always wanted.”

Atticus’ breath rattles. The Archweaver scans the statue, taking in the proof of the kind of twisted, dark magic his Heir has inflicted upon his wayward daughter. The pain, the horror. The bastardization of Atticus’ grandmother’s memorial to keep Tori’s brutalized body preserved in endless suffering.

A few of the weavers shift, frowning at the statue. A tentative hope seeds in my chest.

Atticus trembles as he grips the armrests. Alasdair watches with a dark glint in his eye as the Archweaver stretches to his full height, his spine popping and cracking until he stands straight. His gaze lands on Lucas, and the hope in me dies. “Well, Dimitar. Take your payment.”

Dimitar’s rumbling growl is too close. “Gladly.”

Lucas gasps, and I whip towards him. Dimitar drags Lucas back towards the gathered magicians by his jacket and shirt collar. I gasp against the iron burning my mouth, my heart tearing, and his name muffled on my lips. I nearly topple over, but manage to remain upright.

Lucas snarls, thrashing against the hold, his eyes burning with rage. “Get the fuck off me!”

Alasdair laughs. “You are welcome to stay and watch the show. In fact, I may insist. I’d hate for Lucas to miss what’s about to happen to his lover.”

Dimitar crouches down and pins Lucas to him. He holds Lucas’ jaw in a firm grip, his chest pressed against Lucas’ back. He whispers something to Lucas, and violence flashes in Lucas’ warm eyes.

A wet clicking sends prickling shivers up my spine. Slowly, I turn to face the dais where the Archweaver and his spawn stand. Alasdair’s gaze is trained on Tori’s frozen, stone-coated form, and some of his mask slips. His skin takes on a waxy, yellowish hue that tightens around the hollows of his cheeks and eyes. The look of raw starvation flickers a mere moment before his form shifts back to that of the handsome weaver, but his eyes don’t leave the statue.

The toll of keeping her imprisoned after Lucas cut his tether to her soul must be draining him. My only hope is that Tori doesn’t fall for his trap and keeps away from her body. If only there were some way for me to warn her, but there are no mirrors in this room.

Atticus’ voice booms powerfully again and reclaims my attention. “Valentin Bauer the Sixth, you are found guilty of treason and malicious intent against your Archweaver. Against the Order you swore to serve.” My eyes close briefly, my head bowing. “For your crimes, you shall be executed. Your bones scattered across the continent. Your flesh fed to the beasts of the deep Weave, so for all eternity, you will know nothing but suffering.”

I swallow, fighting to keep the tremble that quakes my bones from showing. I know Alasdair will ensure my bones fossilize so that I won’t be able to pass to the Tapestry. Any hope to warn Tori before it’s too late flits away.

Lucas is screaming, but I cannot face him. It will break me, and I want my last moments before the torture begins to be lived in dignity.

I open my eyes and stare at the Archweaver who damned me for loving his daughter, for at the root of all that I’ve done, that is my greatest crime. I stood against him to save her in this very hall. I had a father who loved me, who was willing to sacrifice everything to ensure I escaped so that Atticus couldn’t take my life.

I’m sorry, Father, I whisper within my mind in hopes that his resting soul can still hear me. Your sacrifice was in vain.

Atticus raises his hand, steady for the first time since we were dragged before him. Disgust for this vile man makes my throat and chest ache. My one regret is not asking Emilia to save Lucas and Tori in my absence. Hopefully, my demise will fill her with righteous vengeance that will burn bright within my beloveds. Astoria and Emilia allied will be a force that not even Alasdair could stand against, not to mention when combined with Lucas’ powers. I trust in that. I trust in them.

Atticus’ eyes glint with magic as he prepares to seal my fate with his final proclamation. I meet his stare and pour all my smug satisfaction into it so that he knows he will fall. Killing me will be his greatest mistake when my beloved is free. When my sister finds him. When Lucas rips into him. Perhaps even when my mother recovers from her grief. He has no chance against them.

The skin around my face stretches and pulls painfully when I smile.

Violence flashes across Atticus’ face, tinging the gaunt, ashen flesh a blotchy red. His voice quavers with anger at my defiance. “As I say, so⁠—”

His words cut off. His jaw goes lax, his eyes widening before his pupils expand. Like a puppet on a string, his whole body jerks before his tall frame crumples like someone sliced through those strands holding him up.

The thump of his body hitting the floor echoes through the hall.

No one speaks. No one says a thing. My eyes are wide, and I pant behind the muzzle.

Luciana recovers first and hurries forward, gathering her skirts in her claws. The red silk flows around her when she kneels beside her lover, the train slipping down the steps like blood flowing down a river. She cups his face towards her, one hand on his chest. With a shriek, she flinches back, sprawling upon the stone and dragging herself away towards her son. “He’s dead!”

The Order gasps, the Guild shuffling back. Luciana stumbles, tripping over her own silk skirt before managing to get to her feet. Her eyes are blazing, her voice pitched high as she grasps Alasdair’s arm. “The Archweaver is dead!”

All the air sucks from the room, and I can barely feel the sting of the iron. Luciana’s proclamation rings over and over in my ears as my mind cycles through the sudden fall of the most powerful weaver alive. My eyes flit around the room, half expecting to see Emilia grinning in victory, but there’s nothing but weavers who are as shocked as I am and magicians shifting uncomfortably. I turn to Lucas, whose slack-jawed stare connects with mine as if I can give him the answers.

A bubbling laughter fills the room, becoming more manic and wilder the longer it goes. I turn back to the dais, feeling oddly light and prickly as I face the creature the Heir has become. I swallow in the face of this new, yawning horror that consumes my mind.

Surely, someone can see what I see. A weaver of power and principles must feel this terrifying shift. But no one moves. They all just stare at Alasdair as he laughs and laughs, his arm breaking free of his mother’s clutches to grip the throne for support.

He wipes his eyes as he tries to get his mirth under control. “I’ll give you this, sister. I did not see that coming.” One arm releases the throne to clutch his stomach while he heaves in breath. “Oh, this is too good. I was so sure you’d hear their cries of agony and return to me, but I should’ve known! You’d never make our game so dull and predictable. Such a masterful move, but, in the end, so shortsighted. You see, you’ve handed me a gift.” His eyes gleam. “Now things are going to really become fun.”

My hands shift, the iron shackles clacking, but it’s no use. The iron is too tight to slip. Alasdair’s manic gaze falls to me, and I clench my fist to keep still.

He raises his voice, power cracking like a whip. “Astrum Order! Prepare for the Ascension! A new Archweaver rises today.”