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His eyes focus on me and my heart thumps. I lean closer to him and say calmly, “It’s important that you know this is because of me.”
He bucks in my grip and power sparks down his soul. He screeches, and my smile grows. I wait for him to settle from the bolts of soul pain before continuing, “I always thought I’d drag your suffering out for days. Yet, here I am without the luxury of wasting my precious time on such a pathetic creature.”
My other hand shifts, my fingers lengthening with long talons. They click together as my power ripples, that euphoric pulse relaxing me into this moment.
“But don’t think it won’t be painful. Oh no. Any hope of that died when you chose to come after Lucas and Valen. Those men? They are mine.”
My voice deepens, echoing with power as everything dims, my magic surrounding us in darkness. “For all eternity, you will know nothing but suffering.”
I tear into his soul, the wet ripping oddly satisfying. The screaming echoes within the Tapestry, and I smile, head tilting as I bask in the glory of my revenge finally coming to a close.
When he’s no more than dangling ribbons within my fist, I toss the shredded pieces over the edge so they disappear into the dark pit below. My fingers return to normal with a roll of my wrist. I’ve done all I can to help Valen and Lucas. I’ve shot my location like a flare into the night sky for my brother. He’ll come running, if not to reclaim my soul, then to stop me from becoming the new Archweaver.
He knows that if I do, I’ll tear through his fucking curse to become his worst nightmare.
CHAPTER 26
THE ARCHWEAVER ESTATE, ASTRUM FOREST
LUCAS
They’ve taken Valen to fuck knows where and, instead of saving him, I’m forced to kneel on the floor at Dimitar’s feet like his dog. The section of the estate we’re waiting in is not as well kept as the main wings. Situated way back in the property, it looks like it hasn’t been remodeled in centuries. The high ceiling has rafters that form an A-shape with beams running across for stability. A chandelier hangs from the middle beam to offer light, with a roaring fireplace along the wall assisting with holding off the dark shadows of this room.
My teeth grind as the fucker’s hand slides through my hair, feeling the long strands. My skin crawls, and it’s a battle to keep my shoulders from shifting. Showing any weakness will only provoke the psychopath. I need to stay calm, practice my breathing, count to a hundred, do complex math—anything to keep from ripping off his hands with my bare teeth.
His smug voice is like a drill, chipping away at my self-control. “The first thing we’re going to do back in my city is chop off this mess and get you a clean shave. You’re much more attractive when kept properly.”
My hands can’t move in the iron gauntlets that surround them, but they strain against the metal as they try to fist. Disgust surges, memories of being kept just like that while naive to his true nature surging. The instinct to flinch away is powerful, but I master it. I need to stay calm. I need to focus. Whatever happens, I cannot miss even the smallest opportunity to get free. Valen needs me, and I will not abandon him to Alasdair because I lost sight of what’s important.
Dimitar’s statement slowly processes, and my brows furrow. “Your city?”
He hums, sliding his hand down to the back of my neck. “Of course. I wouldn’t trade my seat of power with the Magistrate for anything less. You’re looking at Delornia’s first king.”
I suck in breath, and Dimitar chuckles. “Oh, Lucas. Did you think you were the sole reason I’m here? Don’t flatter yourself. You were the extra throw-in to sweeten the deal.”
“What did Alasdair want in return? The statue?”
He clicks his tongue. “What a disappointment you’ve aged to be. You’re thinking too small. This is above petty sibling squabbling. This is a new world order. One where a god rises, and kings rule.”
“Whatever Alasdair is promising, it won’t work. You’re putting all magicians at risk for this power grab.”
He leans forward, and I try not to recoil when his hand slides from the back of my neck to grip my throat. His lips brush my ear, and I scowl. His voice rumbles with a low growl of his other form. “I’m saving us all. Think about it. There will be no more Magistrate. No more rules keeping magicians in check. We’ll be free to make more tokens again. Our numbers will grow until we’re an army and we’ll rise to rule the weak as we’re meant to.”
I swallow down the horror of this new world he’s painted. I’m not sure I understand what he means by “a god rises,” but I’m sure it’s fucked up if it involves Alasdair. “The weavers will never permit it.”
He whispers, “There won’t be any left to stop us.”
My tone slips from my control as I snarl, “How the fuck would you get the Soul Threads for tokens then?”
“You should be more worried about how you’re going to convince me to allow you to live a comfortable life. I have a cage or a room for you. Which am I going to lock you in?”
My mind whirls, my gaze bouncing around the room as I try to form a plan. At least four Guild members stand guard in the room and dutifully pretend not to hear our conversation. They’re either examining their own tokens or gazing out the iron-lined windows. More are outside the hall to guard the space from the Order in case any of them decide they’d rather risk their lives killing the magic thieves that infest their sacred space than follow Alasdair.
I doubt that will happen, though. The weavers all practically sprinted out of the receiving hall to the old temple to be witnesses to Alasdair’s Ascension. Apparently, a new Archweaver is a big thing to them, even a crazy, demonic one. Only a few were left behind to keep an eye on the Guild.
My hands twist experimentally in the tethered gauntlets again, but nothing budges. My teeth grit, frustration building. What the fuck am I going to do? I need to get out of here. I need to save Valen. I don’t know what Alasdair has planned for him, but he stepped on his father’s corpse to reach Valen and dragged him away. Then there’s Tor imprisoned in that statue. There’s just too much for me to do alone without magic.
My gaze slides up the windows. The iron slicing through the glass is going to be a pain in the ass if I try to escape that way. My eyes follow the arching ceiling and the crossing beams. I freeze, not daring to breathe. Crawling along the beams is a woman with icy blue eyes and black hair braided back in a complex twist. How she smoothly moves like a cat while in a skirt is beyond me. She holds up her right hand to press her finger against her lips, a familiar gold signet ring glinting on her hand.
