Fated (26 page)

Her
strength. Theirs. He couldn’t tell where she ended and he began, but knowing she was with him pulled him from the ground. Chaos stomped toward him, his many arms reaching, and Moros jabbed and parried, chopping off a few. For the first time, the monster’s face twisted in clear frustration. He tried to kick Moros again, but Moros dove between his tree-trunk legs and sliced at his calves before rolling away in time to avoid Chaos’s feet. Then the monster turned, with surprising quickness for something so huge, and before Moros could escape, the god had him in his grip. Moros’s fingers clutched at his dagger, barely able to hold on as Chaos lifted him into the air.

The monster pulled him toward his gaping mouth. “You can’t destroy me,” he rumbled. “Everything falls apart. No order lasts forever.”

At those words, Moros’s thoughts suddenly cleared, and Aislin’s face appeared in his memory. “But it doesn’t have to end today,” he said.

Then he shoved the blade upward, the point penetrating one of the creature’s armpits. With a shrieking howl, he released Moros, but instead of letting himself fall, Moros looped his arm around one of Chaos’s flailing limbs and plunged the dagger into the god’s flesh again. Black blood spurted from the wound, a bitter-smelling liquid that burned as it splashed over Moros’s legs.

Not today. Not today.
Aislin’s voice powered every thrust of his blade until the creature fell, landing with Moros’s dagger buried in his chest. His massive arms twitched as his six eyes sought Moros’s. “Someday,” he rasped before going still.

Moros scrambled back as the beast began to crumble, and he turned to see the minions doing the same, collapsing in on themselves as shocked Ferrys and Kere watched. The air around him swirled with cinders and dust as he got to his feet. It was more destruction than he’d witnessed in millennia. The dead and injured were everywhere. The Veil would be crowded with souls waiting for their eternal reward—or punishment. The city was in ruins. But the survivors were looking around as if their thoughts had suddenly cleared. It gave Moros hope.

Cacia was stirring weakly in Eli’s arms. The Ker looked up at him as he held his beloved close. “She was ready to stab me to get to Aislin,” he said, nodding toward the false version of the Charon that lay crumbling on the sidewalk a few feet away. “So was Dec. How did you know it wasn’t actually her?”

Moros glanced at Declan, who was leaning against Trevor, looking like he had a massive headache. “I’d like to know that, too,” Declan muttered.

Moros tossed his blade to the ground and began to dust himself off. “She never calls me Moros.”

Declan’s eyebrows rose. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Do you happen to know where the real deal is, then?”

Moros nodded, his heart taking on a new, urgent beat. He’d won. And that meant these were his last moments on Earth. “I’m going to get her now.” He met Declan’s eyes. “She’ll be with you soon.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

T
he Keeper of Heaven looked down at the three glowing balls that floated an inch or so above her upturned palm. She’d been staring at them as she awaited the outcome of the great battle being waged in the earthly realm. The Keeper of Hell stood at her side. Their murmured conversation was so quiet that Aislin couldn’t catch what they were saying.

She’d long since sunk to the floor, too tired to hold herself up. It was better than being chained to the wall, though, so she didn’t bother asking for a chair. Clotho and Lachesis had gone quiet, but Aislin knew they expected good news soon.

Not if she had anything to do with it. She’d been very specific in the voice mail she’d left for Cavan before she’d headed for the summit. The Ferrys would double the quarterly gold allowance for the Lucinae, if only they put Magda on the throne. She’d basically incited a coup, but she’d known the Lucinae were on the verge of rejecting Baheera anyway. Aislin had simply wanted to speed the process along, because Moros needed those blades.

She hoped the plan had worked, that Cavan had succeeded and Declan and Cacia had made it to the realm before it moved to another hidden location. Misgiving pricked at her silent heart. Even if everything went perfectly, Moros was going to come back and try to give himself up. His reward for victory would be eternal torture. The more she pondered that, the more insane it seemed, and the more determined she was not to let it happen. Slowly, she rose to her feet, shuddering as she caught sight of the black veins spidering across the back of her hands. “I’d like to discuss what happens next,” she said to the Keepers.

The two of them turned to look at her. “Funnily enough, that’s what we were just doing,” the Keeper of Hell said to her. He gave her a speculative look. “Let me guess. You’re about to offer yourself permanently, to save the Lord of the Kere from eternal torment.” He yawned, an exaggerated, teasingly human affectation. “Mortals are so predictable. And selfish. We have bigger things to worry about, Charon.”

“Really?” Aislin gestured toward the glowing orbs. “You seem eager to restore order, but isn’t Moros a fairly important part of that? Punishing him to repay a two-thousand-year-old grudge seems rather
small
in that context.”

The Keeper of Heaven stifled a giggle and poked the Keeper of Hell in his bulging biceps. “Do you still like her?”

The Keeper of Hell grumbled under his breath. “A little less than I did.”

“Liar,” said his mate. “She’s perfect for what we need.”

Aislin blinked at them. “Perfect for what?”

The Keeper of Heaven tilted her head, sending a sheet of shining black hair sliding over her shoulder. “You seem eager to save him. Is it because you were fated to be with him, do you think? Like a compulsion?”

“Are you implying I didn’t make a conscious choice?”

“Your heart used to beat without you thinking about it. Is that what this is?”

“I don’t think so,” said Aislin. “I’ve watched him for as long as I can remember, and I know he’s brave and he’s determined and there is no better ally. If you want to repair the damage Chaos has done, you would have no stronger or more dedicated servant of fate than him. I am replaceable. He is not.”

Something flared in the Keeper of Hell’s eyes as he snatched one of the silvery balls from the Keeper of Heaven’s protective grip. “Wrong. You think I can’t reach into his chest and yank out one of these?” He inclined his head toward Clotho and Lachesis, who had sagged in their shackles, all their energy and divinity gone.

“Who is better suited than Jason Moros to bear its weight, though?” Aislin asked, her throat tightening as she thought of the way her entire family looked at him, the way the Lucinae openly loathed him, the way his own siblings had betrayed him. He’d borne it all with such strength. He deserved better than he’d gotten. It crushed her that she wouldn’t be able to offer him everything she wanted to. But she could offer him this. “If he wins this battle, you should allow him to remain free.”

“And what price would you be willing to pay for that freedom?” the Keeper of Heaven asked.

Aislin looked at the Keeper of Hell, at his ebony eyes and massive hands, remembering how his thick fingers had plunged into the chests of Clotho and Lachesis as if their breastbones were cobwebs. She wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that centuries of torture wouldn’t destroy her love for Jason Moros, but perhaps knowing he loved her, too, would sustain her. The alternative—seeing him in chains, brought to his knees, hurting and defeated after he’d fought so hard—was unthinkable. “Everything,” she said. “Anything you ask.”

The Keepers grinned and advanced on her as one. “I’m so glad you said that,” the Keeper of Heaven said as the Keeper of Hell tossed the third glowing orb at his lover. It flew onto her palm and floated there with the other two.

Aislin took a reflexive step back but gasped as she collided with a hard chest. The Keeper of Hell had appeared behind her. His hands covered her shoulders, holding her still. His midnight gaze moved from her face to his mate’s. “This will be interesting.”

The Keeper of Heaven nodded as she approached Aislin. The orbs in her hands were bright and pristine. They swirled in a circle as if they were magnetized. Aislin stared at them. “What are you—?”

“Birth and Mortality,” the Keeper of Heaven said quietly as she plucked one of the orbs and examined it.

And then her fingers closed around the orb, and she slammed her fist into Aislin’s chest. Aislin’s mouth dropped open as her vision went blinding white. Her body filled with a pressure so intense that she was sure her rib cage would explode outward, scattering the wreckage of her heart across the throne room. But just as she felt herself cracking and breaking, the pressure eased for a moment.

“Destiny,” she heard the Keeper say.

The agony doubled as she felt herself collide with the Keeper of Hell’s chest, as his hands held her mercilessly tight, as she lost control of her limbs and thoughts and self.

“Inevitability,” a voice echoed far away, and then Aislin was falling, flailing and screaming and unable to slow herself down as she plunged into a shimmering white abyss. Her only thought was that she had to stop her fall and climb back up, but bits of her were breaking off as she bounced against diamond walls—her fingers and toes, her arms, her legs, her skull. She was losing herself, and the further she descended, the less of her there was. Her loved ones’ faces passed through her mind and fluttered away like butterflies, too quick and fragile to hold on to. Her understanding of herself, her pride in her work and everything she had built over the years, her fear that she would disappoint her family . . . gone. The more she tried to cling to herself, the more she was lost. So she held on to the one thing that comforted her—she might be gone, but Jason would be free.

She hit bottom, shattering into a million glittering shards that pinged off the walls and floor of a wide white room before coming together once again, splinters of flesh and bone wedging themselves back into place. Panting, she rose and looked around. She was wearing a gossamer white dress, and her skin was smooth. Her hands ran down her body as she looked around in confusion. This room had no ceiling, and the walls rose so high that all she could see was endless white for miles. The chamber was empty—except for a large basket sitting a few feet away. With faltering steps, she shuffled over and looked inside.

It was full of glinting threads. Mesmerized, she reached down to touch them, but as soon as her fingers sank in, her mind filled with images, people she’d never seen before in places she’d never been, so many at once that the shock drove her to her knees. She grabbed the edges of the basket to keep from falling.

When she’d caught her breath, she reached in again, but this time she was careful to only brush a fingertip over the end of one thread. A vision of an old man rose before her, with a bulbous nose and a kindly smile. When she pulled her hand away, the image disappeared. Her heart kicking against the walls of her chest, she touched another, and another, and another as realization loomed. These were the threads of people’s lives, all tangled together in this basket. The torn, jumbled remnants of the fabric of fate.

And it was her job to put it back together.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

M
oros appeared in the throne room of the Keepers, his stomach tight with dread and eagerness, loathing and love, extremes that could barely be contained as he braced himself for what he would find.

“You did it,” said the Keeper of Heaven, who had her back to him. She was facing the Keeper of Hell, and whatever was between them glowed with an eerie light.

“I did,” said Moros. He hobbled forward. Most of his injuries had healed rapidly, but the wound in his thigh, delivered by the Blade of Life, remained. He would have preferred to appear before the Keeper of Hell strong and unbowed, but getting Aislin out of here was far more important. “As promised, I’m here to give myself up.”

“And to liberate Aislin Ferry from my diabolical clutches.” The Keeper of Hell smirked. “Very moving. But there’s no need.”

Moros froze. “What?” He looked around for Aislin, but she was nowhere to be found. Worry and need twisted together inside him. “Where is she?”

“Right here.” The Keeper of Heaven stepped to the side, revealing the source of the eerie glow.

Aislin was limp in the Keeper of Hell’s grasp, her platinum hair hanging in waves over her face. Moros cried out as he rushed forward.

“She’s free to go,” the Keeper of Hell said as he released her, allowing Moros to scoop her into his arms.

Her head lolled against his throat, and her breath was warm against his skin. “She’s alive again,” Moros said quietly.

“She’s more than alive,” said the Keeper of Heaven.

“Aislin,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Wake up, darling.” He needed her to look at him, to smile at him. He needed to feel her arms around him.

The Keeper of Hell laughed. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

Moros’s gaze traced over Aislin’s face. Her skin was luminous, her lips soft and pink. She looked perfect. But the Keeper’s laugh sent a chill down his spine. Something was very wrong. “Wake her up. I want to say good-bye to her.”

“Like I told you, I’m not keeping you here. You can take her and go.” The Keeper turned his back and strode away, heading for his dark throne.

Moros held Aislin tighter and looked at the Keeper of Heaven. “What’s wrong with her? What did you do?”

The Keeper shrugged her slender shoulders. “We asked a lot of her. But we needed someone to bear the burden of order, now that your sisters have given up their duties. And she really was perfect.”

Moros looked up at Clotho and Lachesis, still chained to the wall. They were staring at Aislin with an odd yearning in their eyes, and their chests were concave. Hollow. “No,” he murmured, looking back down at Aislin with horror taking root in his heart.

“She agreed to it,” said the Keeper.

“She did it for you, brother,” said Clotho, her voice a mere whisper.

The Keeper of Hell reached his throne. “Shut up,” he said in an annoyed voice. He looked over his shoulder at the Keeper of Heaven. “I’m off to reunite these two with their sisters and brother. Their screams will echo for an eternity.” His ebony eyes were wistful.

The Keeper of Heaven blew him a kiss. “Until next time.”

The Keeper of Hell made a catching gesture, his large fist closing over empty air. And then he turned to Clotho and Lachesis, whose chains dissolved. But before they could flee or fall, he grabbed them by the throats and dragged them toward his throne. They began to shriek as he pulled them into the black and disappeared into the inky darkness.

Moros felt his wounded leg begin to shake beneath him as he returned his attention to the woman in his arms. His strength was fading, grief filling him up. “You destroyed her,” he said in a low voice.

“I remade her,” said the Keeper of Heaven. “She is Fate now.” Her smile was bright. “She’ll be amazing.”

“She is mortal,” Moros shouted. “Her mind and body weren’t made for this!”

“Well, she’s immortal now,” said the Keeper of Heaven. She reached out and touched Aislin’s hair. “We decided to place the whole of Fate in her hands—and in her body, where it will be safer than a realm within the Veil. But I’m sure it’s overwhelming for her.”

Moros’s world was bleeding crimson. “Overwhelming? You’ve given her the burden of every fate, of every living human. A responsibility three immortals used to bear. And you’ve forced it upon her. You forced it
inside
her.” He could barely breathe as he imagined what they’d done, jamming those glowing orbs of divinity into Aislin’s precious chest.

“She was willing. She said she would do anything to set you free.”

It felt like Chaos’s hands were locked around his windpipe again. “She should never have had the choice,” he whispered.

“Her body will go on forever,” the Keeper said. “That should console you.” She turned to walk up to her throne. “And as long as she does her job, I’m not really concerned either way.” She lifted the hem of her gown and strutted up the stairs of the dais. “Nice seeing you again, Moros. I’m glad you defeated Chaos.” She disappeared into the glittering light of her throne.

Leaving Moros alone with the woman he loved in his arms. He’d expected a tragic good-bye. He’d expected her to cling to him before he was taken away. He’d expected to send her off, back into the earthly realm, with her taste on his lips and her scent in his nose, the things he would carry with him into Hell.

He hadn’t expected this.

With leaden footsteps, he walked to the edge of the Keeper’s throne room and willed himself back into the real world, to his penthouse, his refuge. The building was still standing, as it was a few blocks to the west of Psychopomps, but he had a clear view of the devastation. Aislin would have been horrified—but then she would have set to work overseeing the salvage and rebuilding. But now, as he laid her on his bed and brushed her platinum hair from her brow, she’d been given an infinitely larger responsibility, one she might not be strong enough to bear, one that had driven her so deep inside herself that her mind was unreachable.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he sank to his knees. His sisters had taken their revenge, and so had the Keeper of Hell.

Moros had Aislin back. They were both alive. But he’d lost her all the same.