Fated (28 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

F
ate was happily digging in her basket as the magnificent loom behind her did its work. When she’d discovered that she could pull what she needed out of thin air, she’d set herself to the task of building the most efficient machine possible.

This was her job, after all, and it was her mind, her realm. She made the rules. As soon as she’d discovered that, things had begun to really move. The knowledge of what needed to be done came to her intuitively, as if she’d been meant to do it. Despite that, the task had been all-consuming. The only time she had been distracted was when she heard the faint, echoing voices, the ones that filled her with quiet longing. Every time she heard them, she hummed loudly until they stopped, because straining to listen only made the feeling worse and slowed her down.

She had finally reached the last of the threads in the basket, and one final strand lay coiled, all alone and untangled, atop a swell of unprocessed wool. She could only assume the wool was the raw material for new lives, whose threads had to be created, whose paths had to be set. Once she got this final thread into the tapestry, she could begin to spin new strands. Surely there was a way to automate that, too. She reached into the basket and scooped up the last remaining thread. Images flooded her mind as it coiled around her fingers.

It was Aislin Ferry, gazing out over the city she loved before turning to look at the man standing in her office. He had olive skin and gray eyes, ebony hair and an impeccable sense of style. His smile was dangerous and inviting at the same time. And his face . . . she could have stared forever. She’d memorized all his expressions but still didn’t know what all of them meant. She wanted to, though. God, how she wanted to.

“Jason,” she murmured, then jerked with surprise as she heard his name come off her tongue. “Jason Moros.”

She held the thread tightly, her fingers dancing along the length of it, reliving nearly a hundred years of victories and failures, frustrations and joys. And then she slid her fingertip along to the end, when it cut off abruptly—the last thing she saw was his face, decorated with a smile that took her breath away. She was in his arms, and that was where she belonged.

Come back, Aislin,
he whispered, the sound reaching out to her, slipping around her, holding her still.
Come back, and we’ll have forever together.

Aislin.
That
name,
his
voice . . .

“I’m Aislin Ferry,” she said quietly, looking around at her loom and her basket and the brilliant order she had brought to this previously chaotic room. The thread fell from her fingers as confusion and memory battled. “I wasn’t always here, and this isn’t everything I am.”

As soon as she said it, a ladder appeared, rising from the floor up into the white sky. She walked over to it and began to climb.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

H
e was telling her about Santa Maddalena, a beautiful little village in Italy where he longed to take her, when he heard her heartbeat accelerate, tapping fiercely within her chest. He held his breath, refusing to allow hope to take root. It had been nearly three months now, and she was unmoving, unchanging. The only thing that had kept him going was the sting when she sliced through the threads—it told him she was in there, working tirelessly. Order was being restored, driving Chaos deeper and deeper into eternal slumber, never completely dead, but no longer an immediate threat. All the Shade-Kere had been killed, all his Kere were loyal, and the Ferrys had already rented new office space while construction began on their new headquarters.

Cacia and Declan came to visit every day, sometimes bringing Eli and Galena along. Declan always glared at Moros with quiet suspicion and wouldn’t say a word until he gave them privacy. So Moros would sit out on his patio and pretend he couldn’t hear, drinking Scotch and listening to Declan telling his sister how he meant it when he said he forgave her, how he’d made mistakes, too, but what he really wanted was for her to come back. She was missed. She was loved.

It was hard to listen to. Harder every day.

Moros turned to Aislin, placing his hand on her chest, over her heart, which was pounding. “What’s going on in there, darling?” He said it gently, mostly to himself.

But at the sound of his voice, her eyelids fluttered. He propped himself on his elbow, his own heart crashing in time with hers. “Aislin?”

Her fingers twitched.

“I’m here,” he said to her, his voice breaking. “Come back, Aislin. Come back, and we’ll have forever together.”

“Jason,” she whispered.

One word that shattered him. He let out a choked sound and laid his forehead on hers. “Yes. Come back now. Open your beautiful eyes.”

She obeyed, and he tensed. Her eyes were solid white. “Jason?”

“I’m right here.” He lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek.

She blinked rapidly, and suddenly the white cleared, and her blue eyes focused on him. She gave him a wistful smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he said in a strained voice.

“I remembered who I was.”

“I’ve never forgotten, even for a moment.”

Her face fell. “Have I been gone a long time?”

He shook his head, eager to bring the smile back to her face. But then her eyes went white again, making his heart stop. He felt the familiar sting in his chest just as she focused on him again, and the miracle of it settled on him so heavily that he nearly collapsed on top of her. Instead, he pushed the face and name outward to one of his Kere, and then tenderly kissed Aislin’s palm. “You amaze me,” he murmured. She had remained conscious, here with him, and still managed to attend to the threads of fate.

“I take it you defeated Chaos.”

He laughed. “Thanks to you.”

“And that the Keeper of Hell let you go.”

“Again, thanks to you.”

Her gaze traced over his face, and she sighed happily. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He closed his eyes as she slid her fingers into his hair. “I am now. I’ve never missed anyone or anything as much as I’ve missed you.”

“That’s because we were meant to be together,” she said simply. His brow furrowed, and she stroked her fingertips over it, smoothing it out. “Your sisters told me. They wanted to use it against you.” She drew him down, and he brushed his lips across hers, scared to give in to the overwhelming relief and passion winding along his bones. “But when they told me, I knew they were right.”

“I don’t see how it’s possible.” He was outside of fate and always had been. But he thought back, how he’d watched her grow, how she’d always been the first person he noticed in a room, how hers was the heartbeat he found himself tapping his fingers in time with, the face that made him smile . . . and then there were the times they’d been together, when everything had become startlingly clear. “Never mind,” he said with a chuckle. “They were right.”

She stroked her hands along his shoulders and chest. “What now?”

“Now we make sure you don’t try to do too much too soon. You are bearing a huge responsibility, and it’s still very new.” He drew his thumb along the edge of her jaw. “But there are a few people who will be desperately happy to see you awake, and we should probably go see them in the morning.”

Her eyes flashed white again, and Moros felt the result, another soul to be reaped. Then she blinked, and her fingers strayed to her throat. “I’m not the Charon anymore.”

His stomach tensed. He hadn’t anticipated having to talk to her about this. “No, and you’re not a Ferry anymore, either.” Her raven mark had disappeared; he’d spent a few evenings holding her to his chest, tracing his fingers over her back, following the lines that used to be there.

Her eyes filled with tears, and he waited, his chest aching, while she fought to control them. “Rosaleen could use your guidance, I’m sure,” he said. “And if she’s not wise enough to accept it . . .”

Her eyebrows rose as she swept a stray tear from her cheek. “Yes?”

“If being in control of the fate of every living human isn’t quite enough to keep you busy, I may have a job for you. I do happen to own a number of businesses myself, all of which would benefit from your leadership and brilliant management.”

She sniffled and laughed. “You want me to work for you?”

He leaned down and nudged her nose with his. “Not
for
me. With me. And if we are together, no one else stands a chance.”

The intrigued, triumphant spark in her eyes was too much, and he captured her mouth, unable to resist for another second. Her arms wound around his neck, and she moaned. It was so devastatingly right that he wanted to roar with satisfaction. They were equals in every way now. Immortal and timeless, servants of fate who were fated to be together.

It had been worth the long, lonely wait, worth the fight, worth every moment when he thought he’d lost everything. As Aislin arched up, seeking the weight and heat of his body, seeking
him
, he couldn’t help the joy that burned through him.

The future stretched long and beautiful in front of them, and it was time to get it started.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

M
y endless thanks to the publishing team at 47North, including and especially Jason Kirk, Britt Rogers, Ben Smith, and Alex Carr, for their tireless dedication to making sure the Servants of Fate series had the visibility it needed to reach its readers. Thank you for your confidence in me, your patience, and your creativity. My books could not be in better hands. And a special thanks goes to Cliff Nielsen, for designing my incredibly beautiful covers.

To Leslie “Lam” Miller, my developmental editor: you have spoiled me rotten. Thank you for carving out the time to work with me on this book, and for the honesty, encouragement, questioning, and “benevolent butchery” that made it better. And once again, thank you to Elizabeth Johnson, my copyeditor, for patiently fixing all my little writing foibles—and for letting me know that, despite them, the story touched you.

My agent, Kathleen Ortiz, has been an unparalleled partner in this journey. It’s been over four years, lady, and a dozen books, with no end in sight. Thank you. This time around, Danielle Barthel and Joanna Volpe filled in all the gaps and held me together during some critical times. More thanks goes to the rest of the New Leaf team, including Jaida Temperly, Jess Dallow, Suzie Townsend, Dave Caccavo, and Pouya Shahbazian. You guys are simply awesome.

To my dear friends Lydia Kang and Brigid Kemmerer: whether I’m ecstatic or in despair, I know you’ll be there to share it with me. Your wisdom and empathy have kept me going on days when it has felt like the fabric of my own life was unraveling; your beautiful, intense stories have made the rest of the world drop away right when I needed it to; and your keen eyes and astute feedback have steered me in the right direction every time. I am so lucky to have you.

I am fortunate to have colleagues who make this double life I lead not only tolerable but fun. Catherine, your wit and warmth makes me look forward to work. And to the rest of the CCBS leadership team—Chris, Casey, Kristal, Bethany, and Erica—you are inspiring. I am so proud of you, and so thankful for the work we’ve done together.

Paul, I could not ask for a better mentor or friend. Thank you for everything. And more gratitude to Liz, for offering your friendship and your home as a refuge, and to Jim, for unwavering support.

To my parents: thank you for your faith in me and your unconditional love. To my children: you are my loves. Thank you for being your adorable selves.

And to my readers: thank you for coming on this ride with me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © Rebecca Skinner

S
arah Fine is a clinical psychologist and the author of the Guards of the Shadowlands series—
Sanctum
,
Fractured
, and
Chaos
—as well as other young adult novels. She was born on the West Coast, raised in the Midwest, and is now firmly entrenched on the East Coast.