Chapter 28: Lucas - Bound to Ruin

THE ARCHWEAVER ESTATE, ASTRUM FOREST

Ice crackles along the door before exploding outwards. My threads slice through the Guild members quickly, and Emilia’s daggers bury to the hilt in the throats of the frozen weavers. She reclaims her blades with ruthless slashes.

Emilia nods down the hall. “Keep up. We need to go fast.”

She sprints away, and I huff after her.

“You and your brother, I swear. This isn’t stealthy.”

“Fuck stealth. We need to free Valen and stop Alasdair.”

I keep pace with her as she weaves through the halls. “How does the Ascension work? What will happen?”

She throws open a patio door and leads the way through the dark gardens. The old temple sits in the heart of the greenery, its tall dome of a roof obscuring the stars. “Usually, the ceremony begins with the burning of the previous Archweaver’s body, then the Heir enters the sacred mirror to ensure the Archweaver’s soul rejoins the Tapestry of Magic. But no Heir has ever taken another soul with them before. Whatever Alasdair has planned, it can’t be good for my brother. Now shut up and stay quiet. Luciana locked the rest of the Order out of the temple.”

She nearly dives into a crouch, keeping low down and silent as she leads me around the perimeter of the building. The remains of a funeral pyre sit in ashes with a few bright embers glowing. The Order is indeed gathered out front, some watching in awed silence, others frowning in disapproval. Alasdair clearly doesn’t care about maintaining loyalties. Then again, he was going to kill them all.

Wisteria grows thickly up the sides of the round temple’s stone walls, vines digging into the gaps of the stone. Most of the flowers are gone, leaving behind seed pods that hang heavily in the lush leaves. Emilia tucks her skirt into her belt and begins to climb. Tilting my head back, I study the vines. Given my size and weight, they don’t look the strongest, but I’ve completed more difficult climbs, and I’m not about to let a weaver blueblood show me up. I have a reputation to keep.

I climb after Emilia, keeping pace with my rings dark so I don’t draw attention. The problem with glowing threads and rings is that they tend to be giant “We’re here” flares at night.

The dome is perfectly smooth glass, and Emilia perches precariously to peer down into the temple. I join her. There’s no iron running through this glass, but the relief is short-lived.

A giant mirror ripples with a twisting power that burns my eyes. It stands in the middle of the temple. No other furniture or decorations adorn it. The wisteria, having climbed and weakened the round temple’s walls, hangs down into the room with heavy fronds.

The Archweaver Heir stands before the mirror, eyes wide and completely black. Valen kneels before him, Alasdair’s hands digging into his shoulders. His eyes are rolled back so only the whites are visible. There is no reflection in the mirror. Just more of the swirling power that seems to be sucking them inward.

Luciana stands beside her son, her eyes trained on him. There’s no fucking way she doesn’t know something is horribly wrong with him. His eyes are black, his veins engorged and pulsing. Yet, she looks upon him with all the motherly concern one would expect if she were gazing upon a newborn.

There are at least ten other weavers present. I sweat. Those odds aren’t great.

Emilia whispers, “Luciana’s family. The Krolls run the Transformation Domain. Sort of like the Bauers of Transformation, but they haven’t held power as long as we have.”

“So, they’re like a dozen mini-Dimitars?” Fuck me, I hate these odds.

“I can stop their transformation, but I need to catch them by surprise. You can kill all of them if you’re able, but leave Luciana for me.”

“And you want me to…” I trail off, not sure I want to know the rest of her plan.

“Be the distraction, obviously. Shatter the glass and drop down. When they go to kill you, I’ll get in range. They don’t know I’m back in the forest. They won’t expect me.”

“Why don’t we just kill Alasdair from here?”

Her lips thin. “I don’t know what would happen to Valen. I don’t want him to become a lost soul while he’s in his current state. The best we can do is get the iron off him so he can escape and return to his body.”

I sigh. “Fuck it. Fine. Just don’t let me die.”

She snorts and arches a brow at me. “And risk my brother’s lovesick wrath? I’d rather Astoria skin me alive like my father.”

“She didn’t⁠—”

“It doesn’t matter. Just go.”

I scan the temple one more time. “Who is the most powerful?”

She points to the burly man in the center, his arms bulging as he crosses them. “Luciana’s cousin. The next in line for Councilor and head of their line.”

“Fantastic. What do they all turn into?”

She scoffs. “Anything? They are Transformation.”

“Right. Fuck me. Okay. Wish me luck.”

“Don’t die.” She pats my shoulder awkwardly.

I soundlessly crawl along the glass. Thank fuck it’s a new moon so I don’t cast a shadow. The mirror is lightly glowing, but it’s pretty damn dark down there. I position myself right above the burly one. I let out a slow breath.

I’m coming, Valen.

My rings flare, a risk I have no choice but to take. My threads shoot down like an arrow, shattering the glass below my feet. Shards rain down with me, the world slowing, and I stare unblinkingly at the man below me. He’s just starting to tilt his head back when my threads spear him. My lips curl back. Using my momentum, my threads drive down through him from skull to taint, hitting the ground and slowing my descent.

My boots hit the weaver, his body crumpling under me in a sickening crunch. I land in a crouch, ripping my threads clean from the foundation and body. I crack them towards the other weavers, but they’re well trained and recover from the shock quickly enough to dodge. I manage to injure one, though not enough to slow him down.

I throw my hand towards the door. My threads shoot out, wrapping around the handles and weaving along the stone to seal out anyone outside.

Crackling stings my ears, and I drop down, barely missing the magic that curls the ends of my hair, the sharp smell wrinkling my nose. I don’t have much time to dodge the next attack. The advancing weaver is practically on top of me with his fist drawn back. Eyes flaring, I watch his arm ripple with power as he punches down. Hastily, I weave a shield with my threads, but even so, his blow nearly knocks the wind from my lungs, and my teeth clench.

I throw my shield up, knocking him off balance, and slam my elbow into his knee. His nose crunches satisfyingly under my fist, blood spraying down on me. The man falls to his side in a crumple, and I’d give anything for one of Emilia’s blades. Making do with what I have, I grab the tiny knife the size of Tori’s index finger that I keep in the lining of my boot and bury it in the weaver’s eye with enough strength to puncture the brain.

Two down. A shit ton more to go.

A roar has me rolling out of the way, and I have no choice but to abandon my blade. I barely scramble to my feet before I’m quickly shuffling back to dodge blow after blow, each strike that misses me hissing with power. No way in fuck am I letting those fists touch me. I learned that lesson the hard way from fighting Alasdair. My rings are hot, stinging my fingers in a warning that they need more time to cool down. I’m forced back and back until arms wrap around my chest.

Oh, fuck that. I throw myself back, kicking my feet up to slam them against the advancing weaver, my threads pulsing in my muscles to send him airborne, but the one behind me barely bends backwards. His arms tighten, and I gasp, flexing to keep him from crushing me. My threads weave under his arms, my flesh sizzling until my vision flashes with the pain. My threads rip outwards, breaking his hold, and I grab him, twisting and throwing him. He hits the ground hard, and I have just enough time to stomp his throat to keep him down a little longer before I’m stumbling back again to dodge another attacker.

Anytime now, Emilia, I snarl in my head, my rings burning hot as threads weave around my forearms like bracers. All I can do is block, this weaver even faster than the last. In a panic, I realize another attacker is advancing, magic crackling along his form. My heel hits the wall. A fist cracks into my jaw, sending me spinning. I don’t go far. My skull hits the stone wall, a few vines padding it just enough to keep me from knocking out completely. I go down in a deadweight. Blood dribbles from my mouth, and I spit out a molar. Nora is going to be so pissed when she has to grow me yet another one.

Luciana’s smug voice fills the temple as a boot pins my head to the ground. “Magic-thieving scum where they belong. When my son ascends to be a god, he’ll wipe you all out.”

I laugh, because what else am I going to fucking do? “Funny, he promised the Guild the same thing about you bluebloods.”

“Playing simple-minded fools. Ryan, crush his skull. I want his insides to be the first sacrifice for our new god.”

The pressure increases, and I gasp, my rings flaring before another weaver stomps on my hand. I cry out, rings pulsing, the threads lining my bones to keep from being completely crushed. But fuck, I’m pinned like an insect for observation.

Then a weaver gasps, and the one pinning my head down stumbles. I grin as Luciana and her cronies tremble, some of them trapped mid-transformation. Luciana holds the clawed harpy hands she favors before her, panting as they’re forced back to human hands. Sunspots and wrinkles form, her hair streaking gray.

I smile pleasantly. “I believe you remember Emilia.”

Luciana whips around, and a knife buries itself in her shoulder. She cries out, stumbling back and buckling to the ground.

I don’t waste the opportunity since I have no clue how long Emilia can hold them. I surge forward, my threads exploding out in long arcs of death, my fingers blistering, but I don’t care. The weavers stuck mid-transformation are easy. Just like Dimitar.

Emilia crouches down and grabs Luciana by the neck, heaving the older woman up enough so their faces nearly touch. A long blade touches Luciana’s throat, and she hisses, “This is from my mother, you wretched creature. We know you hastened Gildra’s demise. We’ve always known.”

Despite the blade in her body and the knife at her throat, Luciana laughs. “You have no proof. That’s just a story from grief-stricken fools.”

“That’s the great thing about knives. They don’t care about proof.” Blood sprays forth, painting Emilia’s peaceful face red as she slowly drags the blade across Luciana’s throat. “You’ll never find peace in the Tapestry. I’ll ensure it.”

The blade rips free and Emilia releases Luciana with a thud. I pause with the last weaver in a chokehold, my jaw dropping, as Valen’s sister hacks off Luciana’s ring-covered hand. “Damn. Remind me to never get on your bad side,” I mutter and snap the weaver’s neck.

Emilia only smiles as her long nail pierces the air in a hail of bright sparks. She drags down, like she’s ripping reality a new asshole, and slides Luciana’s hacked-off hand into it before sealing it up. Emilia grins at the cooling corpse. “My mother has a little glass container for that hand. No one will be able to find it. This bitch’s flesh and bones will never all be burned.”

I nod like I’m not a little unnerved by her similarities to Astoria and make a note to tease Valen about it later, like when we’re all alive and this nightmare becomes a hilarious story.

Emilia rummages through Luciana’s clothes before withdrawing a key. She holds it up in triumph.

With a click, the iron releases easily, and Emilia tosses the restraints far away. Valen’s freed arms hang weakly at his sides, but he doesn’t wake up. I make it all of ten seconds before I ask, “What now?”

Emilia’s throat works. “Now we wait.”

My head swivels between her and the mirror. “Can’t you go in after him?”

She goes even paler, a sheen of sweat glazing her face. Her voice is smaller. “I don’t know how.” Her blue eyes glisten when they meet my gaze. “My brother will come back. I trust in him.”

I nod and glance down at Valen before kneeling beside him. I whisper low for him, “Give him hell, V.”